Out the window my dream go
Escaped from the clutches of self
Wandering the streets beggarly
A holigan besmeared in slime and guts
Where is my dream? Where is the world I hoped to see myself?
Why is my world gray? Of what hope is me without my dream?
So I wake by dawn.
Armed with my knife and my gun.
Out in search of my dream
In pursuit of wandering hope
I crouch
I crawl
I kneel
I bawl
I wait for time to search for me
I plead with the winds to take me to my dream
I plead to the heavens to see me
10 years old at heart, clutching at his heart.
Alone in the midst of a graduating crowd.
The Best ignored swallowed by the greedy despair
That night, at Midnight, my dream ran
Out the window. Leaped like a monkey
Wandering around the streets beggarly
Unkempt, besmeared in slime and guts
And so I search
High above and down below
For the day I reunite with my dream
But until then, I waste away.
THE REBEL ARTIST Why do you paint pictures of silent days?, Lonely roads, lonely streets; of beggars groping their way, holding hands to each other, making beggarly music to awake crushed passions. Is this your country? Once flowing with milk and honey! Now a beggar, begging from those he once fed! Independence Day? In those days, we trekked far from hinterlands to freedom square, expectations high against odds to receive golden salutes from heroes past...Those days of innocence, when civilization slapped us in the face...when euphoria of this treacherous sovereignty beclouded us not to see this end that comes... Why, Rebellious Artist, why do you paint pictures of baby-strapped women saddled with loads, why images of riotous youths, corpse-Iittered streets. Paint pictures of these green-white flowers, adorning our great country. Paint him, our man, the president. Oh! It was beauty last night glistening all over the Aerodrome as he beaded farewell to his countrymen, boarding the air to Saudi Arabia!
Emi’lokan, the lyrics from a loon,
the vituperation born from the womb of greed,
the menace of recycled gangsters.
Emi’lokan, the beggarly shame of old vermin,
the intrusion of mafias and thuggish urchins,
Emi’lokan, The insanity accepted as norm,
Emi’lokan the dystopia of dementia, great grandfathers
suspending relevance of their poisoned docile Youths,
Emi’lokan, The cornucopia of fraud.
Emi’lokan the senseless Politics of bribery, of rice, tomatoes and grains.
the desperation of old thieves at the precipice of the grave.
Emi’lokan, where election is a lie,
Emi’lokan the lom of no reputation,
Emi’lokan though devoid of dignity,
Emi’lokan robbers without conscience,
Emi’lokan injustices without consequence,
Emi’lokan of diabetes and paralysis cloaked in deceptive "Babariga"
Emi’lokan where profligates bands hover over us.
Emi’lokan in the country of rogues.
They were wavy heart told,
there was a silver star-shaped pot of gold
at the end of the hellstorm rainbow
This was the time-honored
private talk
to the latest crop
of pawn fodder privates
Battlefield grunts on the frontline
A pact of brothers
of diverse colors
in the Death Metal Band
Human shield runts in the chain-of-command
The General consensus was,
the grieving families would annuity understand
But the living remnant,
the broken pieces of bloodied memories
They reaped the iron-copper riches of the sword,
the carnage cursed misfortune of war
The hailed heroes were uniformly told,
there was a halo-shaped pot of gold
at the end of the cluster explosion glow
What was left unsaid:
Was how to live
with shrapnel in the soul —
Faceless collateral
on the stained coins
of valorous tears
Buried inside the chest
Tainted treasure of splattered images
Regrettably,
so beggarly numb to forget
10-15-21
Too deep to call a parody
Flice compels like someone smells
Not a funny sight to see
One declines in boxes dwells
A plaque of cardboard sells her plight
Despite the last intentions standing
Out from hiding in the night
Such urgency “please feed me”
So why one thousand passing by
Won’t manage find a single dime?
So fitful forced examined souls
All frozen fear the fast approach
What trepidation all exhume
Just look away we will not play
Relief the traffic will resume
Zoom you soon along your day
No humor from the one you see
Along the road beguiled
The inner part of you and me
Stands starving like an unkempt child
The beggarly so far from sight
Like darkness all our inner plight
Relinquish all this world to night
Take up your placard at first light
Brown nose,
head bowed low
Sniffing submissively so
Wag the sniveling tongue,
show the power privileged ones
much servile love
Catch the prime scraps
tossed from your master’s table
Give a howl of gratitude,
back bent ... eyes to the floor
Do a lot of begging for a little more
Disgruntled windbag gas,
from the top cat sphincter mouth crack,
wafts in an odious fashion
Pet brown noses love that unappetizing smell
Obsequious odor
is their collared passion
Pungent leftover scent passed over
bottom end face down —
Complete compliance drool dripping
grovel to the ground
Beggarly you beagle bark
for an extra morsel
Missy gives you a moonshine treat
out the backdoor
Brown nose do as you’re told,
and your belly
will always stay belch full
Sleepy eyes resting by the Uncle Tom cabin fire,
the odor of rotten servitude pleases you
So in lap tongue love with your desired
bowel oppression fate
As you dog-eared wait
for an anticipated olfactory taste
of the next tummy toilet pull
there is nothing
it's only you
on this earth
beggarly I wander
here and there
everywhere
but find nothing
that greenery field,
that green leaves,
that chirping of birds,
that flowing river,
that sun rising and setting down,
that moonlit night,
that tranquil dark with a suave breeze,
greet me to show your beauty
really I'm nothing here
O Love
without you
-May 06, 2019, Chattogram
M and M ...
bitter chocolate Exodus groaning
Desert vile hope
melting in the fetter-free hands
Wilderness wandering lust ... Egyptian longing
Some wanting to shortly shackle return
to the chains of long captivity
Be slave pawns in Pharaoh’s wicked plans,
such a reprobate pity
M and M
death yearnings —
The Living God,
those err tomb walkers chose to withstand
Murmuring ...
desiring evil, carnal things
Muttering ...
hatred for the daily, manna offering
M and M
Brash Luciferin arm unatoned,
vocal stones
hidden hand thrown
Cast angrily without any godly fear,
the fiery serpent
bit the deaf complainers in the ear
M and M ...
dark chocolate moaning
Godless cries drowning
in the desert sea
The Rock turned the dry land
into miry sand
Quickly
putting the sinking souls
in the smoldering place
they beggarly wanted to be
Long prior - I took to the wheel
On a day, fairly, surreal
Amid one of my visits back home
I went to see, tailgating, all alone
My boyhood city. A city on its knees
I began patrolling, unemotionally
Among, the hollowed, disintegrated, arteries
I've gone into a run-down, stepping ground
Of relinquished houses, torched down
Cess-pool of spoiled industries, shook
Dismal, diminishing, to tears look
A catastrophe of block, smoke, and gook
Miles and miles of wrongdoing, invaded places
The most exceedingly awful, that humankind embraces
Free, with the blazing fury
Of youthful, spontaneity
I started to take pictures, ardently
Of drifters, hobos, winos, and the beggarly
Wearing, worn out, robe of strands
And vagrants with solidified hands
Crouched around, enormous, hot drum cans
Without modesty, I eagle-eyed
The crestfallen, with nowhere to hide
That permeates, everywhere, I spied
Offering itself for examination
A photo of urban immolation
I was alone in a no man's homey
And in a no man's city
I was in a hurry!
My son was standing in cold with his mother.
I slowed down my scooter, but did not stop.
My mind's eyes in a flash searched all my pockets,
Could not but find a ten rupee note.
I did smile and smile and nod my head
At the bubbly gujjar-boy
Who was followed by his beggarly mother.
While resting my soul
on the banks of a lush pond teeming with life,
I saw the spiritual superimposed on nature divine
My soul was lifted to an elevated state of mind
Upon hearing the buzzing of a bee,
this thought entered my heart and stung me:
Frogs love flies,
and flies love dung
I know the foul flickering
of an amphibious tongue
As a putrid smell of the ointment
is caused by dead flies
So is the bed of truth corrupted
by a soiled sheet of lies
Evildoers will get froggy on you,
if you give them a righteous rebuke
Hate will come croaking from their throats,
unclean words
that should never be uttered or heard
Amphibian desires of voracious liars,
possessing reptilian appetites
Snakes love mice,
and mice love moldy cheese
Those poisonous lies paralyze
the mice hearts of men, who beggarly plead
Pierced by an amphibious tongue flickering ...
savoring every darting lie, after lie, after lie
And I grieved in my spirit,
when I saw how some life in the pond died
I am not brilliant
Or heroic
Or frightfully quick
Or connected.
Just beggarly
And bled for
And brothered
By Betlehem's King.
He came to us
And blessed by the Lake
Hounded and hung
And risen
For my puny sake.
Its a good thing
I now walk in
With Him.
Beyond imposing gates there lies the place
Where charming children of the leisure class
Live out their carefree days at tranquil pace
And play patrician games on greener grass.
Across the street stands shyly a small boy
In beggarly attire all wet by rain:
He watches bound by grief and craves the joy
Which he is never destined to attain.
The view before him puzzles and defies
His dream of justice on this cheerless day.
He shakes his head, draws closer still and sighs,
But then he bites his lip, turns back and walks away.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
In what haunt hath hope,
he who in solitude,
weeps into soiled palms;
calloused by that labor
desolate of redemption.
Leathered and wrinkled
by ever so recent a passage
of too many yesterdays.
In what haunt hath hope
those tears shed in anguish
amidst gales unrelenting
which snatch at birth
and toss into oblivion.
Unmarked is the course
across age weary cheeks
drooping under the weight
of too many yesterdays.
O miserly fates
how hollow thy prize
no less, at so great a cost.
Greatness is lonely,
my soul for a kingdom
bartered so unwisely
from dust to ash
and the shimmering
to rust by the reckoning
of too many yesterdays.
In what haunt hath hope
such beggarly ilk
adorned in finery
beyond dreamscape lux.
Hidden under lavish raiment,
decay of the forsaken
lost even to themselves
in a calmly rippled wake
of too many yesterdays.
07/03/15
The inevitable envy we feel
When we see our neighbour’s wealth
The eternal Ferris wheel
Up now, then down
The wheel turns
To be up
And to be down
Yet the greatest of us
Rise to the challenge
Of when being up
And seeing far
Not to look down
On those below
Not to spit
And not to drop
Popcorn snow
On those below
For who knows when
A turn – and then
Those above
Will fall from love
And become in a cycle
The bottom few
On the poor man’s pew
Hat in hand
To beggarly stand
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