Cruelty mirrors the times we live in
from the homeless family
to the hungry children
the vibrant disrespect of others
spewed from the lips of loathing
and the dark heart of the self-righteous
as they wallow in a stench of emptiness
where they loudly cry out their contempt
dirtied by the spiritual weakness of their heart
where they lay burning in the flames of hate
me too, Paul Robeson,
me too
"That ol' man river,
he must know something
But he don't say nothing"
I'm there too
in the shallows:
the blue mud of deep
southern clay
where I find green jasper
and dreams
rank from wet earth
We are all 'passing'
for something
my German is dirtied
by Danish
and lesser shades
of slushy heritage,
unwon races,
and uneaten leftovers
My avocado was ripe
for you yesterday
My showboat, she just
keeps "rolling along"
Now, Ava Gardner:
step out of the scene
Step out, Ava Gardner,
you will be remembered
by greater women
than me
I
Had long
Lost my wings
And abandoned
The heavens above,
Living within the earth
To be tread upon until
My bones, my eyes, my heart, wore down -
Forgotten amongst the soil once more.
My discontentment drowns within the mud
And leaves only a gouging longing.
Tell me a story where I can
Open my dirtied wings wide
And take that final leap;
There's no need for graves
Or tombstones when
I already
Dug the
Hole.
OLD DIRTY MUSICAL NOTES
FROM THE GROUND
Listen to a song nobody wants to listen to,
The beautiful notes thrown to the ground,
Torn and spat upon as worthless,
Stricken and rejected as useless.
The stone which the builders rejected has just become the chief cornerstone.
A bruised reed,
Made into a cheap flute,
A diminishing wick swiftly dying.
A symphony that everyone has counted as worthless,
Just like the words of the ancient prophets.
I took the old, dirtied musical notes from the muddy ground,
Made them into a dirge
That predicts the end.
The smoldering wick was trimmed and forced
To give light into a dark world.
my life laid lifeless in your hands,
you decided to be the one to bring me back.
to be the only one i held faith in.
to be the only one to deserve me.
i never asked to get attached to these scars.
it got uglier with every line you drew.
with every cut you made, i healed perfectly.
why would you give me
these beautifully flawed tattoos?
you never answer me.
this mirror is no longer my reflection,
i’m missing.
this body is no more than a reminder.
the eyes i looked at you with.
the tongue that dirtied your name.
the face that you longed to see.
what use am i now?
i can’t handle this alone,
this soul meant to hold two.
Prose of self imprisonment, in lieu to my self-risen-ment
Errected un-hourly to squark at my un-symmetry
And squander the squalor of dirtied mind
Cleansed to find the finest within the polluted rites
The squalor of impunitive squander hath dirtied the fishing rites
And awakened my soul at the fisherman's hour
T'wave thee 'Tally Ho!'
F'the dirtied mind enacted me, the foe
Now I, the fittest t'await and ponder
Shall await fished imprisonment and feed the sonder rays that dare awaken thee.
F'the dirtied mind has collected the tide,
To pollute mine own body.
When I was coal you mined my soul
and treasure there you found:
a heart, stone cold, but solid gold,
was buried underground.
So long I hoped and blindly groped
for rescue by the brave;
from skulking fears and sour tears
that haunted my dark cave.
The sifters left my heart bereft
of airy thoughts and dreams;
in all their toil, neglected soil,
but splashed in barren streams.
The dirtied face of my disgrace
you polished with your sleeve;
your zeal above mere heartfelt love
in silken arms we'll weave.
My luster bright in dawning light
forever shall I owe,
to she who dug beneath my shrug
and found the golden glow.
12 when I wrote this, from the perspective of a mushroom.
My gills grasping at air, but the grass is not too far;
My scales glimmering stupidly to shine through watered tar.
And in the gaseous tarmac world, I shine here far too bright,
And oh, the air, too stale if for my gills to get it right.
I long to build a house and make a living off of sticks,
Press flowers to make bookmarks. Feather ink dips.
And for one day, to hear ... a knocking or a rattle
Of rats and pigeons at my door. To me, should they grapple
I wished to fly away with birds, claws ripping flesh and all
To find my new roots in the sky: frail, delicate, tall.
I wished to burrow in the ground when I must collapse.
I wish to hide me from the world. I wish for a relapse.
A tingle down my stem, my gills no longer pulchrify
My dirtied shine, my residue: I tell you, "eye for eye."
This vivid tarmac world around me, perfectly reflecting
How little you appreciated when we were worth defending.
5/4/2024, Vaishali, Bihar
In a society where I live,
Pride is a class identity,
And pain is a class identity again.
The color of people is cast
Into white, brown, and black,
All shades of the same soil.
People born as kings, servants, or watchdogs.
I live in a village of divided lands—
Bhumihar fields, Mallah shores, Nunia, Teli, Sonar,
Brahman, Rajput, split like crops on the farm.
I belong to the Nai—
A class of servants, kings, and watchdogs, all in one.
The air hums with stories of the Nanda Dynasty,
Pride wrapped around our class like armor.
Yet, sorrow lingers in the gaze of those
Whose eyes are heavy with dirtied dreams.
I live in a society where identity is seen
In color, cloth, and words—
Old roots buried deep like the broken tree
By Abhishek Pushkarini,
Which falls, like us, at the feet of the upper class.
My tearful words often seem lost,
As each passing day etches more pain into hearts.
But these small hands carry the strength to resist
The cruel stares of a classed society.
In a society where I live,
Pride is a class identity.
Cooking with garlic and oil
Chopping peppers and chives
Crinkling aluminum foil
Running water over dirtied knives
Cutting boards strawberry stained
Slicing apples and poaching pears
Steamy facials from pasta drained
Sizzling pops like lightning flares
Piping a French buttercream rosette
Cracking eggs with no loose shell
Waiting for lime jello to set
But nothing beats the most delicious smell
The scent of vanilla
I once had a buddy named Bob
He was an unbearable slob
I pressed him a suit
And dressed him up cute
He dirtied it quickly, the knob.
Overlap of melancholy breezes,lips mumble
In maze of complex routes, body bumble
Dark souls shaking head in wonderment
behind hedge
Frivously pushing themselves over
the edge
Joy instants sprouted from tiny buds
Pure shrouds dirtied in drizzling muds
Outpouring emotions from wearily wrecked
root
Full moon bride shied at owls
hoot
Of all the metaphors that assisted a
rhyme
Some scream about a star, too bright to
shine
eulogised as magnimonious warrior
flawless
First sun ray at dawn after night
undress
Evocative syllables for the enticing
sagacity
Trove of rare gem stones and his remark of
audicity
There once was a girl,
Her life in a whirl,
As she questioned her life,
And all she could do was ask herself why,
Why did she deserves such strife,
For love and for security,
Her purity became dirtied,
And wished she could end it with a sharp bladed knife.
Good bye, love
Good bye, sadness,
Good bye everything she was once handed,
Good bye stress, I must confess you are the last one I shall miss
What is a world without beauty,
What is life without some security,
A roof over my head and food in my belly,
Is now a luxury instead of a need,
So I get on my knotted steed and jump into the heavens,
I take my last breath,
My dear home wreckers,
Was it worth it in the end?
Filaments of white creep imperceptibly across an innocently blue sky, like hopeful mycelial tendrils feeling tentatively into their embracing surroundings.
Petite tufts of lightly dirtied cotton wool float affably by, unnoticing.
The movement of passing birds is seemingly transformed in this sun, from the previous days of grey.
Small flocks of good mood frolic on the wind as the sunlight briefly catches on their speckled iridescence. While more modest individuals flit their cheerful glow across the world in equal lustre.
Song and chatter dance in the air like sweet butterflies of sound.
And ripening autumn leaves whisper their delight in an occasional mild atmosphereal caress.
All my life I have lived in solitude,
Either shielded from the world in shame,
Or publicly displayed
But only ever acknowledged when I’m to be used.
My sole purpose on this dirtied earth
Is the bring back the worth
Of the seas and the birds,
But my time on this planet
Has taught me the fact that
People only care
If it’s them that in affects, in fact,
I’m meant to be used,
It’s my purpose, my worth,
Yet the greed of humans
Overrides their need to hurt me.
It only affects me.
Either I or our home,
Its one or the other,
Either me or the globe.
If you had to pick one,
Please use me for your waste.
The state of our planet
Is a well disguised disgrace.
So please.
Use me, abuse me, do what you must,
I look upon this world in disgust
At the actions of humanity.
If you must be selfish,
Make sure it only affects us.
Do not let the future generations suffer
Due to your mistaken trust in the efforts of others.
I may only be a bin,
But my purpose is much purer.
So don’t throw away your chance
At a better and brighter future.
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