In a wave like motion, we began moving across the leaf.
We had travelled here together, hundreds in the belief,
That our lives would be safer after ten days of pupation.
We won’t be so tasty to birds once we go through transmutation.
Now we must each build a chrysalis, is our deed.
My six eyes focused on the leaf, for a while my last feed.
This will be the last time I molt my skin before I transform.
Inside my chrysalis I will change from a caterpillar to a higher form.
Finally the day of awakening our metamorphoses has related it essence.
I am free shorn of my ego-prison. I taste the deep air of omnipresence
The thraldom of being trapped in a caterpillar’s form
Emerging a beautiful butterfly, see my wings perform.
To realise I am an adult butterfly I feel quite torn.
An amazing transmutation I feel that I am reborn
I'm in a cruel and mysterious world,
Where pains and affliction are served cold,
In the farthest edge of the nights,
Leaving fathomless depths of suffering to tear me apart.
As if smitten by a sudden spasm,
I'm awaiting my summons to the eternal silence.
Fettered by poverty and toil,
The frosty thraldom of winter is all over me.
My hurrying thoughts clamore for utterances,
As my whole frame seemed collapsed and shrinking.
In this breathless chase of life and survival,
Nature seemed to revel in unwonted contrasts.
Palpitating with numbness and wounded sensibility,
I'm wrapped in a veil of lassitude,
Again, stamped with unutterable and solemn woe,
But the paraphernalia of power and prosperity won't die in me.
A stifling calm hung over the enlivened eve,
Across the gulf of years and time,
Ambitions and aspirations shivered into solids and dust,
I must have existed here before now.
It's hard to cry, complain and die soon,
I'm familiar with the earthly pain and joy,
Doubts didn't beset my lonely and daring soul,
Amid the direful calamities of existence.
But if the truth be told,
I wish to be reincarnated in the air you breath,
So as to always be with you
Until your dying day.
But now the truth is sold,
I'm now like a thorn in the flesh,
With words entwining you in thraldom,
Because I've murdered the fear of death,
Since my only fear is coming back reincarnated.
He is the Lion of the tribe of his home;
his arrival makes everyone run and roam...
Tantrum and torments are the daily bread
with which he feed his family as the wicked head.
To his wailing wife, he is a bad bed-sinner;
his children dread him as the belt-winner.
Daddy's palour-seat is the throne of thraldom...
and his presence is the beginning of boredom.
Making financial request earns a death sentence...
everyone preen in the pomp of pure pretence.
Ask and he shall grumble, knock and get a slap...
even mom dare not take a quick afternnon nap.
Daddy is the commander in chief of the harm-forces;
the children's wrongs attract grave choices...
If you escape being detained for days;
you may have to feast on nothing but hays.
Horrible husbands have a spare tyre outside
who often feel they are better than his bride.
A tiger cannot change his soul and skin!
The fire of wickedness burns without within.
The weakness of the weak
is not the strength of the strong...
and those who must get to the peak
must do something right or wrong.
The poverty of the poor...
is not the wealth of the wealthy
and those who sit on the floor
might be hale, hearty and healthy.
The trouble of the distressed
is not the peace of those at ease...
and those who are truly blessed
will make pride and prejudice cease.
Declear it from the rooftop
let it be clear to the darkest cloud...
Make the heart of men flip-flop,
let us rid our world of the proud.
I am the voice of righteousness
resounding the wispers of wisdom.
I am the hills of holiness
rescuing men from thorns of thraldom.
THE RISKS OF LOVE
It was a hostile land in those days, singing
Of our dream of a house, clinging
To something we could believe in,
Rooted in the soft rocks so that even
The breath of the earth itself was muffled.
Precarious, tenacious, cliff-edged -
Dwelling there for three score years of nights
And never a pause taking from its delights;
Never choosing to deny the thrill of waking,
Or surrendering our siren-held souls, or shaking
Off our thraldom. 'Twas the perfect foil
To the ever-present harshness and soil
Of the reality on solid ground.
Our prosperity lies not in the dead we celebrate
but in the lives we liberate and educate.
Our poverty lies not in the funds we lack
but in the giants who are slow and slack.
I see the stars sinking in the ocean of death
and fishes flying in the skies without breath...
Priority is imprisoned, confusion reigns,
the future is left in the pit of past pains.
Virtues vacated the villa of our vocabulary
dignity is denied a space in our dictionary.
Committees commune to commit crimes,
the common man faces terrible times...
Our terrains have been sold to terrorists,
our borders voraciously vomit tourists.
Western pests with logs in their eyes
are now the ones who seem to be wise...
Stealing of public funds is not corruption;
our best legacy is now road construction.
Those we call fools do not lack wisdom,
the wise among us rules in thraldom.
The poverty of a prosperous nation thrives...
When friuts do not allow seeds to survive.
Shall we stop fueling the greedy minority
and start feeding the needy majority.
THE RISK OF LOVE
It was a hostile land in those days, singing
Of our dream of a house, clinging
To something we could believe in,
Rooted in the soft rocks so that even
The breath of the earth itself was muffled.
Precarious, tenacious, cliff-edged -
Dwelling there for three score years of nights
And never a pause taking from its delights;
Never choosing to deny the thrill of waking,
Or surrendering our siren-held souls, or shaking
Off our thraldom. 'Twas the perfect foil
To the ever-present harshness and soil
Of the reality on solid ground.
...............................................................................
Written 11 th August 2014
For Shadow Hamilton's Contest...chosen theme is "Taking Risks"
You do not need the gods to be great,
feast not on the seeds of false fate.
Soar to the skies, sit at the shore of destiny,
tomorrow belongs to hope and harmony:
harmony of faith in the field of fears
and trust in the terrain of terrible tears.
Let us woo wisdom in a world of worries,
tommorow is a mansion of mysteries.
You do not need the gods to be great,
treasure each moment, tomorrow will wait.
Sit not on life's throne of thraldom,
we are slaves sold to the fold of freedom.
Bitter is the root of reality, taste the truth;
life will bow down to a dogged youth.
We do not need the gods to be great,
cowards are people without a common plate.
Where love is lost, life is imprisoned;
wars of woes will get salted and seasoned.
Look not behind, it is the hall of history,
before you lies the mountain of mystery.
Look not around, it is decked with distraction;
look within and plunge into the pool of passion.
The gods are dead,
they know not what lies ahead.
Ask not for rain when there are no seeds,
feed not your fate with dead deeds.
Competition to me is a waste of time,
the clock and the calendar commit no crime.
Look into my eyes, I am the sparkling sun
looming up above to share the fluid of fun.
We are immortal spirits, immortal spirits.
Stand and stare, look here I am the moon,
the twilight bow; I am thy celestial boon.
Hear the splatter my dear, I am the rain.
Pouring down to drain the heat of your pain.
We are immortal spirits, immortal spirits.
I am the star swirling in swift brightness,
I shine the light for the one who lives in darkness;
And even if they come to pull me down,
A thousand more will take the courteous crown.
We are immortal spirits, immortal spirits.
Speak the truth; I will not bow to thraldom,
I sing aloud of the ancestors’ wisdom,
And even if they try to put me out
A million more will clear their doubt.
We are immortal spirits, immortal spirits.
She used to mean a world to me:
my soil, my sky, my sea,
she was my stay in trying times;
we did commit cool crimes.
Loving and learning what is right
and sometimes fighting all the night,
in freaky blast, our love did last;
she's now gone.
She used to mean a world to me:
the Sun and moon I always see,
she's always there all night and day,
we preen and play and pray.
Nothing compares to such a love,
daring and decent like a dove;
delightful dame in gainless game,
she's now gone.
She used to mean a world to me,
a friend faithful and free,
for her all words are not enough;
so tender, true and tough.
Describing her was a huge task,
but now I have questions to ask.
Is she a Doe, is she a Sow?
She's now gone.
She used to mean a world to me:
my butterfly, my bee;
her glow brightens my tomorrows,
her sting brought me sorrows.
The waves of wishes and wisdom
saved me from this thorny thraldom,
she suprised me, O I am free!
She's now gone.
The rugged race is not to
the swift
nor the bitter battle to
the strong,
within us lies a leverage,
a lift--
towering above the
thraldom of throngs.
Godliness plus
contentment breeds gain;
Laziness plus gluttony
concieves penury.
We are who we are, I
cannot explain
why the haughty forget
this in a hurry.
You cannot win the war
without a sword,
of what value is a spade
to a fisherman?
You cannot woo a
dame...without a word;
spoken or inscribed, you
realy need a plan.
Today is the future you
were expecting,
O, you are caught
unawares, I guess.
It will soon be a past you
will be reflecting...
worries cannot put ripe
Grapes in winepress.
Appreciation is an
application for more--
demand less, command
more O Oliver Twist!
Golden grains are stored
in this Lore...
sow those small seeds in
your tight fist.
You are who you are, O
skillful player,
good at winning the big
blame game.
Attitude cannot be
swapped for prayers,
shall we stop soiling the
great God's name!
The rugged race is not to
the swift
nor the bitter battle to
the strong,
within us lies a leverage,
a lift--
towering above the
thraldom of throngs.
Godliness plus
contentment breeds gain;
Laziness plus gluttony
concieves penury.
We are who we are, I
cannot explain
why the haughty forget
this in a hurry.
You cannot win the war
without a sword,
of what value is a spade
to a fisherman?
You cannot woo a
dame...without a word;
spoken or inscribed, you
realy need a plan.
Today is the future you
were expecting,
O, you are caught
unawares, I guess.
It will soon be a past you
will be reflecting...
worries cannot put ripe
Grapes in winepress.
Appreciation is an
application for more--
demand less, command
more O Oliver Twist!
Golden grains are stored
in this Lore...
sow those small seeds in
your tight fist.
You are who you are, O
skillful player,
good at winning the big
blame game.
Attitude cannot be
swapped for prayers,
shall we stop soiling the
Holy God's name?
Words flutters her firm
feathers and
flies to freedom,
she whirls in the wind of
wonders,
wielding wisdom,
her spirit swirls and soars
steadfastly to stardom,
without thrills, her theme,
thrust will be thrown into
thorns and thraldom.