I came to tell you something,
a certain exactitude.
There are those with walls in their minds.
Divisions in their brain
separate them from the sane.
But that’s not too bad.
For, they’re unaware, oblivious
to what we accept as normal,
incurious to what ought to be,
acquainted only with the geometry
of their personal maze.
But walls of man’s own volition,
in travesty to nature’s ways,
lying heavy on their foundation;
unacceptable, unscalable, deranged walls
that immure rational men:
these are the walls that gauge insanity
and drive men into delirium,
the walls we build ourselves
brick by bloody brick.
THE WALL
All that we call wrong
Has finally come to call
Plaster, brick, mortar rot
Imploding on us all
From Lilith's fight
To Eve's first bite
Eden's banished, fall
From meat and bone
From sling and stone
To glass and steel tall
We've earned the right
To spread our blight
To hear the trumpet's call
If it must end
A sorry, send
To Heaven
Hell, we'll crawl
On hands and knees
The gates, we'll plead
Oh yes, we have the gall
Please let us in
Forgive our sins
Why, Heavens built a wall
Do you know who I am?
We see each other daily
Your face looking at me
Often wonder what do you see in my reflection?
Do you see only my outer and my inner?
Hope, Fulfill and Determined seems to come out
Being Accomplished, Established and Committed assured
Successful runs through your heart
More than a reflection
Seeing the creation
Up front introduction
Revealing spirit
Open discussion
Own presentation
Mirror Mirror that knows all
You told me and didn’t stall
Mirror Mirror, thank you after all.
The wall always wins
Between bricks we will falter
Let us build a bridge
A young girl, aged no more than ten,
recently orphaned in an unjust war,
on tiptoe, reaching up to a crevice
to tuck in her crumbled prayer.
She had been taught that God by any name,
Allah or Elohim, would answer all prayers.
Hoping that God’s heavenly scales
would favour her unselfish plea
against those that may wish her kind ill,
she reached the crevice and tucked in her prayer.
No one noticed her hijab slip or heard the wall wail.
“How'd you die?” the therapist asked.
“I don't know," I said.
“Was it a car crash?”
“No, I don't own a car.”
“Was it self-inflicted doom?”
“No, I don't like heights or knives.”
“Was it one of your friends?”
“No, I don't have friends.”
“Was it your parents?”
“No, they're both in jail.”
“Was it your sister?”
“No, she left me, frail”
“Was it the old man you smiled at every morning?”
“No, he passed away with the jury deciding his hearing.”
“Was it-”
“How are you today?” I cut in, smiling,
But no answer came.
For the dry wall before me was never a therapist to acclaim.
If I were free, I wouldn't be.
I wouldn't be who—what I am right now.
I wouldn't be the miscreation I myself despised once
I wouldn't be the stain upon creation I am right now.
If I were free, I'd be six feet under the dirt.
The very dirt I once spurned would spurn me then.
For,I'd be their trespasser.
I once was a tree near Hadrian's wall
That for a hundred years stood proud and tall
Then one day I was brutally cut down
Leaving broken hearts scattered all around.
My sycamore was a much treasured tree
For passers by ‘twas a precious must see
The felling was to all a dreadful shock
To the world it is a terrible loss.
As it's said, where there is life there is hope
Fortunately there is now new regrowth
One day my tree will stand there proud and tall
To honour the tree that came to a fall.
Self ego ~ feeling pride in one's superiority to others ~ is a wall. You can make it littler or bigger or even zero.
Break the wall -
question all,
resist fear,
but be clear.
Watch a wild flower -
with little power,
blooms all day,
making its way,
with its little big might,
it puts up a good fight
casting every doubt
out!
forging on.
The sun it gazes upon -
without a helping hand
it emerges so grand
beyond the wall,
abiding by its call
pursuing its vision
finishing its mission!
Copyright © 2020 by Crystal David John
Published in my book titled 'Trails of Thought,' which is available on Amazon
Mithila,
I see you
beneath the shadow of a fractured moon;
the turbulence of waters
surging like a pregnant river,
yet also
the long shoreline of repose.
Today,
I am a dormant volcano,
the hollow chamber
of memories
still burning in their own fierce fire.
Tonight,
the full moon has wandered
to the spine-broken bend
of the River Wye.
I remain imprisoned
inside a glass chamber of nightmares,
having extinguished
the lamp of waiting
with my own hands.
You are nowhere.
Beyond the river's silence,
you have become
a body of shadow
buried deep within my veins.
Yet you remain
the blossoming blue pollen
of all I was never meant to possess.
Once, you were...
a fragment of yellow sunlight
in winter's lingering damp;
the last Wish-Tree,
standing steadfast
against every disbelief
I had ever known.
Now you are nowhere...
embraced
by the silent kiss
of a faded wall of time.
Further and further
Such thoughts do crawl,
Slowly, ever driven
Right up the wall
The craziest things
Are they real or fake,
When words are spoken
Or a picture, take
These days, these days
How can one tell,
Who is not on your side
Who is wishing you well
Who is behind there
Or what, if the case,
Be hiding from sight
Of a familiar face
This drives me mad
And this eats me away,
Too many questions
We must ask today...
Painting on the Wall
I stand upon the roof of the world,
Rakaposhi breathes soft clouds of light,
Hunza lies below, a painted wall.
Spring drapes the valley in pink and white,
Cherry blooms wake to morning’s light,
Peaks shift their shades with the turning hour.
Black cliffs hold lakes of glassy blue,
Attabad cuts deep with veins of light,
Turquoise water splits the stone in two.
Rakaposhi rises tall and proud,
Mist spreads wings across the height,
Clouds float low like lilies on a shroud.
Autumn comes in fire and gold,
Trees burn bright in amber light,
Valley wears its richest shawl of old.
Thin air shows how nature works true,
Stars fall soft into the night,
Silence speaks where mountains guard the view.
Wind moves slow through orchard rows,
Apricot branches hum with light,
Each breath I take, the valley knows.
Sunset spills gold across the crest,
Pink fire burns on canvas bright,
I’m lost in heaven, held by the night.
I’ve always felt different.
Always feeling as if I need to act to fit in or compensate.
Always trying not to be seen.
When in doubt, a wallflower, quiet and easy to not see.
Never talking with the group, just listening.
Never dancing in public, worried too many eyes would be watching, thinking the worst.
Always missing the opportunities and experiences just to stay in her safe space.
I tried in earnest to tame the wild cat
To get my house rid of the nasty rat
But what it did was scratch me all over and bite
Gave up as it was like making shadows turn from light
The nail bites deep in the wood as per plan,
The carpenter does what he thinks he can:
No plan can counteract the destined fate
Of an amber tree crashing on a gate.
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