#51 The Spaces Where Drama Exists. Part II

 courtesy: Wordpress Blog Random_Michelle

Feelings.

We don't want to harm them

so we

bounce around

never quite nearing

the place where they live,

the place we aren't sure

we would get forgiveness

if

feelings

are hurt.

Feelings.

Who can understand them?

Especially when

they lie

undefined;

you are repulsed, attracted to,

hateful, mesmerized

an instant lover

or trapped in schadenfreude

without even knowing why

that's the reason,

 I guess,

some people say its

better to trust the mind.

But the mind itself

is filled with

inconsistencies

that can become thwarted

by what the eyes choose to see

and at times

the perfect balance you need

relies on those

feelings

that alert

you to what

your mind would never perceive.

Feelings are

airy and light

at times heavy and wide

floating around our corners

of fearful images

or our wholesome delights,

they are tormentingly

bright,

when feeding on lies

at times convicted

under truths

we ought never deny

sometimes they are

what we hide from

or what we shamelessly run behind...

Balance,

however is key...

for all that we feel

should not be believed.

As, similarly

feelings can reciprocate

the mind

and become

a battlefield...

that induces strife

against one's self

eventually bursting;

through these feelings

and all the fragile

bubbles that held them...

My Inspiration: The Human Condition & Photo Prompt by Random Michelle

 

© KohylahPiper 2015

#48 The Spaces Where Drama Exists Part I

courtesy Local Guy

Your sentences

were laid straight

their letters erect in design

they formed

a concise response

and never left

the logic

to which they were confined.

Yet,

after leaving

the realms of thought

from which

neuronal movements were lit

they bounced  off your tongue

into a sealed wall

that deflected

the deciphering

of their value

to the one

who held in their grasp

the power of the

interpretative gift.

Not to be outdone,

you tried once again

this time,

you arranged your thought

structured, worded soldiers

and formed a new approach

another design.

There had to be a way

to get past this intrusive barrier

and with tactical calculations done

before one tenth of a millisecond

airy turbines spun off your tongue,

this jet of sentences was to be released

and you prepared your lips to carry her.

Reasonably guided to fly over an

unexplored terrain

you took an offensive position

faced in a

refreshingly different direction,

and with careful calm took aim.

But…alas

‘twas not to be

for another wall appeared

electrified steel,

latticed by thick wires

rebounding your hopeful intentions

just as you had feared.

And your words…

they disintegrated

into spiked teardrops of heat,

your letters dissipated before they

fell,

and mere nothingness was left

at your feet.

Learning to withstand this awkward hell

prompted

your silence to casually thrive

thus becoming an observer

in this battle between the

necessity to be relieved

of pride’s torture

and the compulsive need to be right.

In becoming mute

you found your voice,

as you discerned that it was not yourself

who was lost in a treacherous cage,

who was wounded by

some repressed shrapnel;

and though,

the bombs dropped indignantly overhead

and the missiles

continued to rage

you knew you couldn’t do a thing

and this epiphany was

frustratingly relaxing

even though it had come a bit late…

for it wasn’t your tone

or your words

it wasn’t your intent

or your gestures

it was all about defences

that had been engaged for so long

that its attacks

were its only means of

communication

and this was no fault of yours

but had everything to do with

decaying layers

of trust that held on

their insides iced

pockets of despair and anger,

rising tall from within

the mind

stacked high,

exasperation overflowing

till all that was left

were these steely, sealed walls

that formed

the space

of misunderstanding.

My Inspiration: The Human Condition

 

© KohylahPiper 2015

#37 The Old Man and Wadadli

courtesy: Wordpress Blog Random_Michelle

You are troubled old man.

I can tell,

from looking at those dark eyes

that must have seen multiple

generations born, grow

and then insolently pass you by.

To them,

you’re just an unworthy relic

a nuisance of old beliefs

but old man

did you know

when I look at you

I see the embodiment

of the wealth of my history?

You are careful not to speak

because you’ve realized

your words are bothersome

to those who refuse to draw

near to your knowledge

and try to understand

how they can learn from what

you’ve seen and experienced

in ages that to me…

seem so foreign.

Even your language has been shunned

by the culturally ignorant

who see it as uneducated, filthy

lower class…

You must be troubled by what

we’ve become.

Your words are a sacred version

of intelligent adaptability

and the birth of unity

among the segregated tongues

that led to possibilities

of uprising and rebellion.

Your dialect

is the closest to the original

that reveals  that this

newer version

I think I speak

only is filled with lack of

authenticity,

and its conformity to being

everything else

except what my own heritage

my.own.heritage

had formed me to be.

But even that is lost, you see.

Your accent is a sound

that is curious to my ears

it’s lofty lilts

makes my soul long for

what it will never fully know.

You are troubled old man,

I can feel the worrisome energy

of your dismay

since our progress is now

defined by our inaction

and the empty speeches we say.

Your hands have held the earth

where our new buildings now are built

but you built them long before they were

by believing one day we’d be able to do it.

But now becoming a self-sufficient people

seems to belong to just the dreamers…

Old man,

I know why you are troubled.

It’s because we are now slaves to the highest bidder.

My Inspiration: The generational gap & Photo Prompt by Random_Michelle 

 

© KohylahPiper 2015