Harder, hit me harder oh ye falling stones. Comfort me
Ooh lonely road, sting my feet oh ye sweet thorns of lust and infidelity.
Remind me how alive I am and remind me of how sad my life has become. Fill my
mouth, oh bitter fruit of derelict reap. Let your juices flow down and stick at
my throat. Let me choke and gag and drop to the ground with a thud. I want to
burn and grind to dust. I mourn thee, like a young lioness abandoned by its
mother, like a young bird whose mother was stoned mid flight. I have called and
shouted my voice hoarse. I have sung, I have roared but all that answer me are
the echoes of the night. My pride is wounded and my glory shattered. I am lost,
just let me mourn. Try not to take this shroud off me, try not to pry me away
from the cold and barren ash, for I know that with enough hope a fire shall be
kindled from that. And even though I mourn and cry, I still can’t stop hoping
that my tears fall not on barren ground and my faith is not a mustard seed under
a rock. I have loved the beast in you, why shouldn’t I love the woman when she
comes out? Why is it, tell me, that I am kneeling at your feet, you so mighty
and me just a tiny ant. Tell me why it is that my back is bended and my knees
sagging, is it the weight of expectations that will never be met? Tell me why
it is that I am falling while you are there rising. I am drunk, intoxicated and
foolish, to hope and pray, to watch and wait for I know I shall never get to
have you. What is the end to this road? Where is the summit of this mountain?
How can I test the depth of your rivers when I know very well I shall drown in
it? You are the only woman I have loved, but how funny that you are the
predator and I am the prey. How sad that I am the river and you are the sky? Is
it fate that has it that we shall see but not touch? That we shall dream but
never wake? What am I without you? Nothing but a wisp of clouds on a sunny day.
I am nothing but a drop of rain in a flood, as insignificant as a tiny rock on
a mighty mountain. Forgive me my heart, for trying to fly without wings, and
submerging without gills. Take your handkerchief off my eyes, you tiny hands,
for thou shall never cry again.
If we must die If we must die, let it not be like cows in the slaughter, walking willingly into the bloodbaths, too meek to resist and too trusting to argue. Let us die like buffaloes in a lion chase or ants in a midday march. Let us die like termites in search of freedom in a hostile world. If we must die, let it not be like birds caught in storm or a deer by a hunter’s spear. Let it not be like foxes caught in traps or flies landing on fire. If we must die, let our death not be told to those with faint hearts and loud wails. Let it not be known by those women who know not to keep their mouth shut. Let it not be told to those frail and on the brink lest they tilt over. If we must die, let the news be hushed and kept silent. Let everyone be told that we refused to be vanquished, that the flame refused to be extinguished. Let them be told that it is not graves but a mound full of seeds and flowers. Lord, if we must die, let us waft out into your presence like sacred incense. Send a ch
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