image by Chester Cabarlie
R is for Renewal
It’s 2014 and the world is still in one piece. I got a confession to make. I really thought the world was going to end at 2012 but here we are moving on. 2012 has left and gone while we still breathe the same polluted air we made. It’s not being ready why I thought or more like hope for the world to end at 2012, it’s also more than my morbid fantasy to see the world come crumbling down. It’s the after effect, the afterglow of destruction I long to see, “Renewal” I imagine a world clean of grime and bile of the corrupted society, I want to see even if I won’t even live to experience. I’m tired, most of us are tired. But here we are still, it’s a chance. Everyday it’s a chance for us to be a clean slate, a chance to move from the rut we are stuck in, this is a game of survival. I want to live, truly live and not resenting past actions anymore. A dream maybe but I hope we all wake up.
Never ending, was the soliloquy of the old man
Like the wine in Milan, like the setting sun in Paris
But no romance, no scenery can be painted
With the frozen tip of the brush
For days he tells the crime of his people
The death of their white doves, the longing piece of the siren
His garb of filth and grime, disguising, melding
His words to insanity and lies, but not quite with contempt
As much as a plea of innocence
But still his aged bones attest, a funeral for truth,
Those buried with the sons and daughters of his crowd
And yet they smile, reminiscing the pain they buried
For time is his currency, his words stings of veracity
Feral with dignity, feral with crushed dignity, his eyes so dull but still he sees.
Pointing out the sins of their flesh, that kills like gun
But not with the same speed and accuracy
Lesser. Much lesser, but with so much hurt.
Then to spite, time leaves marks for the world to feast.
He roams the city, collecting the forgotten alms
With his mouth like a lute,
And his words as symphony, the lyrics to his hymn make
Castles crumble. But not yet. He still utter the crisp
Words of regret, the same regret used to cut open the strays.
“Do not let your fear be your faith.
Less be it your fuel to ignite the dwindling fire of your hope”.
The words reverberated as thunder
Echoes it across the halls,
But none moves, none hear, none begs for salvation
The mocking prophet, as the people
Critique him, continues to sway and rhyme.
Nothing changes for all they see is a senile old man
They think they see, they think they hear
But no one can truly witness and no one can truly heed
The never ending poem for their soul,
Their mocking elegy