A for Abandoned.

what’s the world coming to these days

when the strongest country flees

and a terrorist holds up his gun

smiles, says he comes in peace

what’s the world coming to these days

that men rush to cling to a plane

even as it thunders, taxies, takes off

and drops them like red rain

what’s the world coming to these days

when teachers lock up their schools

and little children now must learn

that education is against the rules

what’s the world coming to these days

when women are terribly told

this gunman here, he’s your husband

if you’re more than 15 years old

hark what’s the world coming to these days

and what secret pacts led to this?

whose clean hands are stained with blood 

whose pockets line this abyss?

aye what’s the world coming to these days

to abandon an entire people thus

with a shrug of the shoulders, a toss of the head

and not much more of a fuss

woe what’s the world coming to these days

heed then this shameful pity

today a country's cries fall on deaf ears

but they curse us till eternity.

(Pic courtesy: Zabi Karimi/Associated Press/NY Times)

the ebb and epiphany

how many men before me stood
here on this frothing shore
weary sailors, intrepid pirates
black rogues of legends yore
perhaps a young lover once declared
his heartache on this sand
while another escaped a ruinous romance
by stepping forth on this land
how many drunks avowed their ties
here at this fortuitous spot
their eyes wet, their voice a roar
like a whale in a harpoon caught
maybe once a conqueror gazed
here at the unending seas
smelt his triumph, inhaled their shame
and went giddy at the knees
who knows if a waif found hope
by wishing here upon a wave
while another plunged into deathly gloom
with nothing left to save
and lo, I grasp, as I stand here now
with my hands thrown heroic wide
the sands smile in knowing thrall –
you’ll be forgotten with the tide.

thirsty

there’s the glass that takes

and the one that gives

there’s the glass that slakes

and the one that forgives

that’s the glass that hurts

and the one that heals

there’s the glass that blurts

and the one that never reveals

so i raise mine in toast

with care and good heed

may yours be the one you most
most thirstily need.  

bloody

like a shaman’s eyes with coals strung

or a hot exhale from the devil’s lung 

like a scab poked with wet appetite

or the colour of fresh pain glistening bright

like a staring contest with the noon sun

or cordite corneas from a shotgun

like a slow blunt razor to the wrist

a gory gawking spray of mist

my pupils pathetic, dance and drip red

(aye look how these whites have bled)

crimson cruel, ochre obscene

from bloody texts that can’t be unseen.

(Image courtesy hospitaldrive.org)

spent

words lay bruised in a crumbled heap
like bodies with no one to mourn or weep
quietly passed night and inaudibly went day
and still there was nothing left to say.

(Image courtesy Harvard Business Review)