27/11/2016 Six poems from a meandering mind; Hopeless/Chained to the future/Seconds slipping into years/She/Adam/Ugly duckling
A catch cry,
a phrase plucked from the consciousness of society.
"We can make a difference."
Chained to the future
Freedom is a myth,
we are all slaves
to our tomorrows.
Seconds slipping into years
We bend like blades of grass
in a spring breeze...
Our lives flow
with the ebbs and tides
of societal and internal pressures.
Today becomes yesterday
becomes a decade gone
in the blink of an eye.
I woke up as Moses
and I go to bed as Nannu.
Her smile shining like starlight
on a moonless night.
Behold her eyes glowing like dreams,
catching and amplifying their own energies.
My heart swells at the thought of holding her,
solid in my arms,
though a fantasy for my heart.
I inhale her hair,
I kiss the top of her head
like a baby,
like a prayer...
like my dearest memories.
A puff of dust held still in the air,
by some miracle
the breeze does not touch it,
and it hangs there,
waiting for a nebulous hand
to shape it into a man.
I walk through this cloud of dust,
it chokes and clings to my skin,
shrouding and cloaking me
like all my yesterdays.
Which I wear and display proudly,
on my face, for all to see,
for those who know what to look for.
This dust coats me like the thickest oil.
It sticks to me like a crying baby,
like mucous it is everywhere.
The weight of this experience slows me down,
it restricts my movement,
and as I emerge I attempt to shake it off,
to free myself of its shackles...
...and then my eyes land on the mirror of yours,
and I see what I have become,
I behold the aftermath of my experience...
and I realise that I am beautiful,
and I feel what you see
in my heart.
I am gold.