journey through

Jabez What do you know of peace when all you speak of is war? What do you know about living when all you do is hanging of hoops and sharpening of knives? What do you know of harmony when all your time is spent in the forges preparing thy tongue? You are not a warrior for peace. You are a messenger of impunity. You are not an object of love. You are one of sorrow and sadness. I saw your mother, and she was weeping, oh Jabez, you were born with pain, and your name was that of anguish. You have suffered, and you have borne a heavy load. Oh Jabez, she weeps that you broke her heart, and your conception tore her in two. Thou art cursed, and your life shall be like that of a runaway bitch. You shall be kicked and insulted. You shall be the child of the dark, born and bathed in bile and sterile ash. You were born of hips that refused to yield you. While others were born among feathers, you were delivered on the cold and crowded floor. Oh Jabez, thy name means grief. Oh Jabez, the hunter of...

Death of the Inmate When they took you from your house, you saw the crowd and raised your voice, but they drowned it with their conspirator’s whispers. You heard them lay accusations on your head, and they heaped coal on you. You felt their words bite deep into your flesh, as they lead you up the mountain, to make the last feast of you. Even though many were against you that day, you were believed by a few, those who were keen to understand than to judge, those who were keen to listen than speak. Just know that you were, and thy death was not vain. Before you even closed your eyes, your case had been solved, and many of those that were pointing fingers had long withdrawn, and they unhanged you from where you were suspended, swinging in the evening wind, and the post creaking with your weight. I heard your dying song, and it made me weep, almost leave my seat. I heard the last of whispers and saw the last of your kicks, but your eyes were wide open even as you left, begging to be beli...

Tonight I die next to you Together we have had a life that we’ve loved, of good and of bad, of kisses and of slaps, of pillows and stones. Together we have walked the long road through life, and we have drunk of its bitter cup, and have seen the sweet nectars of life. We have been through it all, and never let go of each other, so pray for me, in the hour of my death, as I did in yours, for tonight, I die next to you. What would life be if love long left our sight, and we have nothing else to love? What would it be if all you leave behind is darkness and strife? I have tried to grope through, but I grab at nothing but darkness, I find nothing but nightmares, if they told me to take immortality, I would gladly refuse. If they said to hand the world to me on a silver platter, I would refuse. I am afraid of darkness on that other side, and the emptiness, and the loneliness, but I had better fight darkness with you there than have all the light in the world alone. Oh this barrenness, an...

A life without friends means death without company  Basque proverb

Prayer of desperation Your child was weeping, father, lamenting about her life, about what she had and what she did not. She wanted you to come into her life, to erase her shame, and allow her a little glory. To wipe the tears off her face, and give her a little cheer. Oh father, she craved a child, but when you gave her a womb, you took away her life. When you gave her the farm to cultivate, you took away the rain. Oh thy hand has been too strong, and your blow too tough. You have attacked us, with hands of stone, and thy rod and staff has long ceased to comfort us. Oh why have we wept for bread, only to be handed scorpions? Why have we prayed for fish and you give us snakes? We shall sing a song for you father, not one of praise but one soaked with lamentations. We shall sing a song, a loud and lewd song, full of provocation, a song of anger, and ire. Oh we shall sing. We shall sing a song, but shall we sing for the child unborn of the woman dead? Father, we are at crossroads, and ...

When I become a hero If the men come for me today, again, I shall let them toss me around just as they did yesterday, like the wind does to a stray paper. I shall let them drag me down, and across the fields with their horses. I shall let them call me names, and I shall let them, hold vigils for me. I shall be content to watch them, drag my name through the mud. I shall not flinch when their whips hit me on the back, nor will I be shaken when they chastise me with their scorpions, for I know that it is just but for a time. I know that there are many blank pages that I have to fill, and there is so hard a road that I have to walk, but I know that someday, I shall become a hero. I shall play a victim for some time, and like a bitter pill I will let their torture go down my throat, and I shall not weep or lament, because I know that someday when I become a hero, I shall look down at them, and they shall bow in supplication. They will kiss my feet, and they will write my name on their arm...

I saw a stranger. He was roaming in the rain, and I made a cloud on my window, so he could not see me inside. I saw another, shivering out in the cold, and I doused my flame, lest he asked to come in, and partake of my warmth. I saw a beggar, with his bowl in the street, and I took mine out too, and my worst of rags, so he could not ask for some alms. I had food in plenty, and when I saw the hungry man, I sucked in my stomach, and walked past him. I locked my door, when I saw a poor child knocking on my neighbours’. I unleashed my dogs, when I heard the cane of the blind man tapping outside on the sidewalk, and he ran into the empty street. I laughed when I saw a man fall into a puddle, but I had forgotten that where I came from there was rain too. It made me happy, when my enemy was struck by a streak of bad luck, and the sound of lightning gave me comfort when the man I hated was wandering outside. I saw a man that had my debt of a few coins, and I rushed to the door, a club in ...