Flabbergasted

I am a writer rendered speechless
Flabbergasted and incinerated
I am a poet left with castrated stanzas
Mummified and stupefied
limbs chopped off like remains of carnage
they have come to feed, you see
those old men with pink faces and
blue neckties
tie a yellow ribbon around the ole oak tree
Imprisoned in this facade with circus clowns
and the bears and lions smell rotten in their cages
their weak tails and trunks floppy from wear
and tear
we have been left to hang on lynches
our necks lesioned by fibrous piles
high and dry, because according to the book
we are savages with our slanted eyes and pussies
muddy skin and broken backs
we have been whipped till senses reel
we reel in this vortex
there is no end.
We spiral down
to hell.
There is no God.
At least not in this colored world
not in this jukebox of a quarters
They are might Gods. Gods in Gold. Gods with Dough. Gods in High Towers. Gods with High Powers.
In my country, we appease the gods with wine and dine and bills pinned to possessed shamans. But no these Gods. Shamans cannot reach them. This is their Kingdom. Even gods can be reached by commoners, but not kings. Kings decapitate upon their fancies.
how dare i iterate
how dare i this subject to their kingdom be literate
how dare i this subject to their kingdom be legitimate
and so, banish them from this kingdom, they say
this is the decree
this is the speech
It is not that I am left speechless
it is I am left heartless
and I am a poet, with words as my heart.
so these verses that flowed
are a river of bleeding….
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Solitude hungry

The hunger of a poet:

Manic motions of the day
Vortex of whirlwind instances
left unchecked, without reflections
run ablaze as diluted cocktail
drunken state of incoherence
an incohesive self
an incongruent life
the inevitable black out that ensues.

The poet cannot remain
in such abyss
akin to the apocalypse
of the soul
She starves for the quiet
A longing for solitude
where her own voice is heard
in the winds that blow
from life’s currents
and carry echoes of fortitude.

Breakfast

We break our fast
On the side of the road
That takes us places

While we left our beds
Warm with stories incomplete

Ours isn’t a huge journey
Just one trail forged by discovery.

We have traveled far in one night
Breakfast marks a new day.

Untitled poem

so many menus visited and served
yet I remain hungry

as if I have fasted for years

tongue tied and void of
tasteful bites
only burnt air circulates

and dropped like hot potato cakes
flat and thick with
mash

I sit by the low table
while the diners feast into oblivion
and watch beer bottle caps pop open

until we find
effervescence.

Smoke

Just like
Smoke in a hookah
Cleansed and released

Received by you
Disbursed and expired
Dissolved upon exit

Smoke does not last
But visits your bosom home

I am a visitor
I come and go
And you, stay

The Hunters Will Depart

I have no words to speak
no honesty to spill.
My truths dwell in apathy.

I hover, stagnant, in constraint time.
The space is vast but
there is no floor for depth.
I resent.

So I play dead
and hope that soon
the hunters will depart.

Daddy 

Daddy
show us the way.
Show us what it means
to be strong.
Show us how to be
gentle as gentlemen would.
Show us what leaders do
as you head this land.
Show us how you use your head.
If femininity is sensibility
and masculinity is sense,
if there is Yin
and there is Yang,
show us the light for our shadows.

Daddy, be our father.
Raise us from birth to maturity.
Teach us how to walk, run, and ride
these bumpy roads.
Coach us to stand up after we fall,
and to fight for what we believe in.
Shelter us with your hard work
to put a roof over heads and food on our tables.

Father,
see in us your legacy.
We are your bloodlines,
we are your creation.
Love us so that
we will know to love you.
Honor us, so that
we will know to honor you.

May your hand be one of support
and not one of injury.
The mark that you leave,
may it be beautiful.

We are your imprint in this world, daddy.

In support for the student protestors in Burma who were cracked down by the military police. this is a call for the government of Burma to be the proper caretaker of our countrymen, for them to do the duty rightly.