My brother is buried at Arlington National Cemetery. I still remember that day
His Human Heart
He laid red rose upon white casket
Tears were hidden behind dark glasses
People are such righteous asses
This question I just had to ask it
A wounded heart will not outlast it
This human life quickly passes
This human dream was love’s excess
Why was his love so very wrong?
Gender doesn’t really matter
Human dreams are still shattered
He laid red rose upon white casket
Was their love so very wrong?
The question I just had to ask it
His human heart still sang love’s song.
He stood bravely before me
with a medal of honor in his right hand
and a bandage of agony around his left knee
It seemed like he had struggled to stand,
his crutches lay useless on the ground
I found it hard to understand why,
a soldier in pain didn't even frown
With a voice firm but dry
his words shook me like thunder
"You're now the man of this house"
he uttered like a worn-out hunter
quivering up my legs like a terrified mouse
Drowning my mind through cold ears
he passed his sincere respect and sunken tears
Seeing through the wav’ring flame of light
your porc’lain skin your brazen eyes so fair,
the songs which stir the depth of frosty night
do not waylay the course of love’s despair.
For love of King, not I, thine heart’s declared.
Oh, I am damned by wanton deed bespoke
on Furies wings my cursed heart’s ensnared
and in the fire we shall rise on smoke.
My love I’ll not rescind, nor Him provoke.
Beside your sleeping form our bed a pyre,
the curtain's caught in candle flame once stoked,
we’ll go to Holy Hell within the fire,
a martyred Queen, an errant Knight so blind
for Kings and common men are seldom kind.
Seven men, three shots each, firing off into a grey sky.
her heart sank so low, as she gripped her daughter,
And then she fought back a bittersweet cry.
She felt her husband had been sent to slaughter.
That soilders song brought her down, yet she felt so very proud.
He knew the risk when he signed on, still he was willing to do his best.
The memories of his bootcamp departure, made her thoughts ring loud,
No more emails, no more SKYPE, just her man laid her to rest.
She thinks back to the earliest days, how hard they were to bare.
A soilders wife was a lonely life, and time with him she'd sacrifice.
Counting up all the lost nights from her man, she feels it was still unfair.
She'd gotten used to the field and, the cold nights, but feared the highest price.
She holds her baby's hand seated right next to his grave.
A soilder salutes and presents a folded flag, A token to remember her love.
Crown of Sonnets
the episode took place near the sewer
the boy lay lifeless on the stiff ground
his heart beat loudly in terror
his white clothes now red in color
a rowdy mob circled him
like vultures awaiting their pray to die
his horrified eyes gave their last look
but no one dared to save his life
yet we call our selves humans
missiles of rocks were fired towards him
red splashes filled the air
it was a horror movie in reality
a skinny woman wailed in pain
as she shielded the boy in great sobs
yet no one listened or moved a finger
in mid air she was thrown away
landing in the junky sewer
people watched as if it were a circus
yet they call themselves humans
the grim rippers gambled his verdict
the judge gave his eternal verdict,
cremation he thought was the best
mzee Bakar condemned them to hell
yet they laughed and said they'll meet him their
the mood was silent,dogs barked,mothers wailed
another incidence in the misty shanty
the boy was tied like a gift bag
yet they call themselves men
time passed and people were thirsty
thirsty for blood they named him a gangster
they baptized him with diesel and chained him with a tire
the matchbox was ready in wait
women covered their eyes
men held their breath
suddenly gunshots filled the air
people took to their heels
as o land rover grand to a halt
people in blue uniforms dashed out in haste
that's the humane spirit
gently they carried the boy to the vehicle
in high speed they left the place
in the midst of curses and jeers from the angry mob
on reaching the hospital the news was obvious
internal bleeding and broken limbs
made the poor boy visit Hades
so young yet so easily
a life had been lost on peoples hand
yet we call our selves humans
unable to pay the mortuary dues
another cross-less grave awaits the boys body
deep 6 feet under his soul shall rest
his family shall weep forever
having lost the only son
unemployment being the course
many boys will die
crime rates will be at their peak
yet no one tries to stop the situation
and we call ourselves humans
timo was his name
the only son of mama Amina
he died three years go
500shillings was enough
to give him a death warrant
and a free ticket to hell
he wasn't the first victim
many died before him
at the mercy of their fellow mankind
yet we call ourselves humans
the chief finished his eulogy amidst tears
the whole of ghetto inhabitants cursed their act
anger had been the course
yet the government was to blame
for the high rates of unemployment
Timo died a hero,a hero!
We buried her in that grave in the ground;
it was her final, resting place--poor Mom!
Shaken, I wept but my siblings were calm;
only I appeared distraught and unsound,
overwhelmed at the sudden loss I found
too great to bear; it was like a huge bomb
had exploded in our lives,--like napalm!
There I sat...my grieving tears were profound;
it had been an upsetting funeral:
we buried her on a cold, wintry morn...
all there knew their places on arrival;
among them I wept, so tearful and torn
during the service and the burial.
In the end, I felt so dead and stillborn...
Therein amongst the subtle fall of rain
That drips rhythmically upon leafy green
I hath now a dead love, woefully lain
Like deadened steps on the grave stones serene.
Though mold casts shadows, haunting and subdued—
As rain's sleek menace cracked youth's lofty tomb—
Black boughs laden with black apathy, nude,
Line this grave yard as would a mother's womb.
These roses are not perfumed in anguish,
Yet, in hesitation, with them I lie
A solitude prepared for relinquish
That with salted derision, hopes to die.
And the meek mourn with ugly, failing grace
As the rain gradually quickens its pace.
The Burial, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : L’Enterrement
I know nothing as gay as a burial !
The grave-digger who sings with his pickaxe in bright thrill
The church bells from afar reverberating with their svelte trille
The priest in a white surplice whose joyous prayers hardly in denial
The chorus boy with his voice fresh as a girl’s,
And when at the bottom of the hole, all warm and snug,
The coffin nestles in with the tumbling in soft tug
Of earth making the corpse’s eiderdown, the lucky devil’s
All this looks to me quite charming forsooth !
And then, all those, stuffed plump in tail coats’ sheath,
Mourners whose noses redden while receiving tips
And then, the proper concise speeches stuffed with advice rare
And then, with bulging hearts and glorious foreheads glistening
Hail ! The sparkling heirs !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Millenniums have I traversed through mists and thunder
Hovering above volcanoes, stretching through sea-caves
My passionate trips surfaced along the meander
Of mountain ridges, swaying like a marooned slave
My autumnal greenness suffered a parch
In the days of searing summer pretty much
During winter the swirling wind laid me astray
Summer again to turn me green from grey
Suffering from others’ pains I writhed
The days of intense agony were built
The confounding rays of sun made me swoon
Was I born again? Was it nature’s boon?
Today I look up at the distant Sun
Covertly content; I have made my run
Show me a clear midsummer’s day, and I
Shall reveal the coldness lurking beneath
For which the mortals heave a knowing sigh
In kind, the winter bares her savage teeth
Yet we, who know better than to implore
Play games with Time that are cruelly coy
Always to have less than ever before
And thus is the fickle manner of joy
To depart tenfold as quick as it came
Seeking first the ones who try to hold fast
For all who dare speak that elusive name
Breathe tender eulogies of summers past
Fear not, for the blush of this earth entombed
Shall run our blood until we are exhumed