Gaudium

We're no heroes, noble martyrs
Which some virtuous womb gave birth
We're no victors. Just survivors
Craving warmth upon a hearth.
Maybe drifters sailing eastwards
In a westwards flowing stream;
Weary wanderers seeking Shelter
In the Hovels of a dream.
Seems in vain this search for fortune,
When our limbs are strained and sore
From the effort of the digging
In our search for something more.
Such is Joy; we fiercely quest it
Hoping that before we die,
We find some to light a sparkle
In the dullness of our eyes.

Yet sometimes, we find with wonder
That same thing for which we wander.
The result is a reaction
That oft gives me cause to ponder.
That when lies within our grasp
That same thing we sought to keep,
We don't wear it in our hearts
Nor we clasp it in our grip.
We will neither love or cherish
Such a wondrous thing it is.
We shall sing no songs of praise
Genuflected on our knees.
We've the greatest boon on earth
And what do we with this hoard?
We bury it and we hide it,
Even throw it overboard,
In some place so out of reach
(In some place so out of touch)
That whatever use it has,
There, amounts to little much.
Such is Joy; we dread to have it
So we choke it till it dies
Till no remnants of a glitter
Spark the dullness of our eyes...

September 2007

The cosmic Joke

A fig upon this situation
Of which I seem ever in yoke
Damn those Gods that saw me fit
As their private cosmic joke.
For it seems the Drama Queen
Saw my life as fitting King
Ceasing seldom to provoke
Yet new pains for me to choke.
Like a puppet on a string
I am dragged across the stage
Quoting lines of silly play,
Of whose outcome I have weaned.
I feel victim of a gag,
Which dispenses mirth and Humour
For who's wont of a punchline
When they have a punching bag?
Might as well just spread the rumour:
"Come and see the gods' own freak
Turn him round and have your kicks
No remorse on his behind;
Try it, test him, you will find,
Sad he may be, but not weak.
Come and see the Gods' own freak!"

You, kind reader, will forgive
All the venom I keep spurting
But what else to do?, Mayhaps grieve,
Bitch and moan, and loose my cool?
No. 'Tis better, I believe
To use sarcasm as the tool
Upon which I find reprieve
Of the lot of being Gods' Fool.

Again, sometime in 2005

To a Friend

Why is there such soothing beauty
in the glimmer of your eye?
No plain answer to such query
Lack they do the tones saphiric
Found within both seas and sky
( Some tradition would mandate
That all beauty rests on blue
Those who hold such creed as true
Have yet much to contemplate)
Their alure's from different source:
Not from cold beauty stagnate,
But from deeper inner force.

Their shape's that of a canvas
Where your characters play their roles
Here, a mask of sultry temptress,
So beguiling, in control
There, a saddened clown comes next
Heart in hand, in sleeve her soul
(of her business, none the jest!).
The namesake's that of a sorceress
Fitting bane of every man
Those that cross her path may find
A new shape that suits them best
And more fitting of their kind
To the features of a swine
Their forms turn at her request.

Yet upon the play's conclusion,
When all exited stage left
When of actors playing dramas
Is your Podium bereft
The remainder's far from hollow;
When your guard allows intrusion
Shows a different wealth to find:
Hints of weary disillusion
Shades of deep and sullen sorrow
They're the phanthoms in your opera
Taking hold on closing time.
Such ghosts could well be my friends,
For the way they mimic mine.

Wrote this poem to a friend, a year or so ago. Found it by chance, and was quite surprised at how much I am proud of it, considering I have a hard time loving anything I write. So, i decided to share it with you. Since it is dedicated to a specific person, there are some items that may remain unexplained. But that's ok, not everything bears examination.

Ouroboros

See this Vessel cold and shrivelled,
With deep lines its features ciselled,
And whose tenrdils dry and withered
Are mere draping for the bones

Gaze upon it: Be deceived
By its rotting frailty
-Far more than the eye can see
Lies within this ghastly Crone.

For even such decrepitude
Can spawn from within its sinews
Yet some new promise of life.

Such is nature's fortitude
Each demise births something new
To perpetuate its strife

Again, sometime in 2005

The Taint

The sky's looking grim, The stormclouds subsiding,
Yet I pray of the wind: " sail me far from this shore,
And show me a land whereto no man was guided,
Show me where lie those Edens of yore.

The haven that hides that spirit primordial,
Well fed by the bosom of sweet savagery
Where the laws of the wild that rule every mortal
Still vigour and shine in all purity

So lend my sails haste
I wish to depart
That old world behind me
Says naught to my heart
Its gleam of fools gold
Tricks those blind to see,
That its spark hides a taint
-That no matter how faint
Is yet to fool me-"

Such were then my pleas sung with feverish zeal
Which caught some capricious deity's ear
For no sooner they're spoken, I began to feel
Such powerful presence that quelled me with fear

Thus spoke:

"In vain you escape, for naught do you flee
those dreamy chimeras you so ardently preach
May indeed exist beyond the vast sea,
And yet they'll be ever away from your reach.

For even if you sail the uncharted oceans
And stumble on shores still free of the Taint,
What good will it be? The Taint lives in humans
And tell me ( I beg you, without scowl or plaint),

What else but a Human will you ever be?"
And with that was it gone, my fate thus decided;
Resigned, i sailed back 'cross the length of the sea
Back into my home, neath storm clouds subsided.

Written sometime in 2005