A fasting companion knows of hunger,
a dying friend-weeps for memory,
inside terror-ridden bars
the shriek of anguish awakens rust-laden manacles
and, I stand apart,
with iotas of tears,
at each misquoted hanging,
gathering spirit in longer weeps
for it grows into bigger tears
each time, each moment
I hang my head in shame
as the tide swells
with salted cries
all around
I breathe fresh air,
warming myself to the task ahead
and the tears don't stop,
the tsunami of abbreviated sadness
is awaiting-
and it strikes-
for in the jungles of kipling
there were savages
whispering instinct at each breath,
and nowhere was there soul
(but in the truth of their mind and heart)
-and the tears swell
and I ride waves, until
I weaken-
my boat rocks, and I drown,
can't sleep at night,
can't breathe fresh air,
the drowning begins
scorching sun strengthens my belly
and technical mystery
marvels at its new value
but should I shake out,
and pursuit that naggine ache-
of what is the
MALADY of our generation.
I will listen,
No Talismans of purity,
a wholesome cancer of injustice,
within, without,there exists
not-bottles of white rum
not- cycles in autumn
but the fate of a generation
to teach posterity
I must raise head from the sea of tears,
stand tall in dignity-
and proclaim
I am human, I hunger,
and must you!
And cancer withers,
as the labour begins,
the manacles soften
as the scorching sun calms,
and the might is mine,
and so it will be yours
But never will you
take away the joy
of a smile
or the right to laugh
because in it is not
selfish escapism
it is not mine,
It is a wish to create for all
a dream, a vision,
maybe a mirage
of beautiful worlds
of naked kindness
of nascent truth
And, it will be yours,
mine,
and the comrade who sits
on a cold floor, with waning light
and it belongs to our children
so they will say
My father was a happy man,
a gentle man,
And a JUST man,
and he Smiled
when tides would sweep other mere mortals.-Rohan Mathews
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