Night never ending

The hours of the night, never ending, and stars all across the sky dimmed down, allow the moon to mourn, while the wind blows silent and the clouds weep on the land. Fear consumed them all, a few broken spirits and the dead remain, only the cruel could feel no pain, hope has deserted but left an eternal flame. Outside this room lies a sea of bodies with waves of men, women and children and beyond this sea, a fence that leads to daylight. Many have sailed this sea but not survived the storm of thunderous bullets that come pouring down. I was one of those who swam across currents of machine gun fire and against the echoes of drowning souls, under the watchful eyes of the planets and high tides of gloom. I was one of those who was crippled and locked inside a room where the hours of the night are never ending....

“A necklace that never grows old”

For as early as I can remember

before I took my first steps

and long before I could speak

it has etched its place by my side

on the same place it was some twenty years ago

with pieces of silver that gleamed in the moonlight

and those black threads, as dark as my wandering soul,

battling the elements bravely

to sit around my neck and hang just above my heart

close enough for me to see them jostle and move about

melodiously in sync to his beats

but as time galloped ahead since then

leaving a dust covered past behind

those black threads have unravelled with age

and feel coarse from everyday wear and tear

the smell of innocence that lingered in their knots has fleeted

even those pieces of silver that jingled to a beat and a drum

have stiffened and lost their shine,

they know, like I, all too well now that life has gotten shorter for them

so they sit further away from my heart

and I ever hopeful, have tried to mend their broken ends

to rekindle the flame that was burnt out by the dark

yet, all it took was a gift from a lover

a piece of silver engraved with Cupid and Persephone

a symbol of challenges overcome by loves eternity

to spread youth like a raging wild fire

that no one dares to put out.

“Who I ‘am” .

It’s not my will to travel down this road but I ‘am,

Where the wind blows and wherever it stops, I ‘am.

Ploughing the cotton fields and planting seeds, come rain or sunshine,

My hands shackled and feet confined, a slave to the system - I’ am.

Wilde’s nightingale searching for crimson roses in winter time,

Another of cupid’s sacrificial lambs to be slaughtered- I’ am.

Dali’s elephants reflecting the image of graceful swans on a lake,

At night a dreamer, at day a flawed man- I know not who I’ am.

One of Sinatra’s timeless records playing “the way you look tonight”,

I may grow older but from the memories made, an immortal - I ‘am.