#27 Absent

courtesy: Wordpress Blog Random_Michelle

She had found protection

in concealing her true nature

behind leather bindings of

Christie’s, Eyre’s and

Hemingway’s chatter,

for their world

though pained

and mysteriously truthful

was easier than

the surroundings

life forced her to be

committed to.

She loathed being an

unadjusted prototype

of the monotonous mass

of black and white or grey

coloured folks

who were content to pass

by this changing world

indifferent to the lack

of spiritual resources

that had been emptying

faster

than the destruction

wreaking havoc on its

human culture.

It was ironic…

she had often felt,

how her world fed

so hungrily

on its own death;

seemingly unknowing

yet purposefully

creating dearth

wherever it went.

Hate was abundant

whenever love

was buried alive

and lies infiltrated homes

darkening the ideals

of housed souls

where truth

once vivaciously

carried the light

that reduced

many energy bills

to more than twice

their content

wiping away the smut

of dirty carbon footprints

that were left in places of her

own being

though she had tried

to reduce the overloading

of her programmed mind.

But.

Enough.

And she shifted her focus

back to Hemingway's chatter

that had filled the lived in

silences of her loss of laughter

in this empty world

that sacrificed trust and hope

for suspicion and fear

since everyone,

like her

in this nearly absent world

had disappeared.

# SELAHSATURDAYS

My Inspiration:  World News & Photo Prompt by Random_Michelle

 

© KohylahPiper 2015

#21 The Hidden Ones

                                                          courtesy: Beatriz Martin Vidal

We vanished into the night

walking among threats

held by the daylight

on feet that had become sore

from the pain of survival.

Grasping to sweet memories, long past

so to conquer the induced fast

exacted by hatred’s womb

then birthed by the chill of indifference…

Voluntarily, we locked ourselves in

from fear of our own kin

who deemed us unfit to live

in our shared lands

though we bled, loved and dreamed

just as they did;

assuming out of arrogance

that this world was their own

they fought and killed to govern alone

forgetting that at the end of it all

there has been only one ruler that ever stood.

Darkness became our friend

In the small spaces and tight corners 

that were lent 

to us by those who gave us hope

that the goodness in humanity 

had not at long last 

faded.

We shriveled into

unrecognizable creatures of despair

and desperately thirsted 

for fresh ,open air

that once, 

taken for granted

had now become to us 

an unreachable luxury.

How many times did we cry?

till our tears evolved into

wells, refusing to be dried

then became floods of outrage

that mingled with the mockery of our own silence?

How many times did we ask

for this oppression to pass?

and sought answers to reasons why

it had been deemed fit to begin and continue at all?

Our children will die

without even understanding the reason why

their life was hailed as meaningless

before crowds whose faces resembled our own...

Why was it 

the blood in their veins

though one and the same

with others who reveled in

their destruction

without shame

was considered less human

to even let the round drops solidify

into guttural cries that were fit to be heard?

Our world sinks deeper each day

in this universal story of hate 
that has surpassed boundaries,

colours and tribes...

indecently repeated by the history

we quote, honour, promote

the same we have learnt

absolutely nothing from.

Cycles can only be stopped

if just one has valour to stand still

and fairly admit that in the domino effect

of our lukewarm ill will

we share the blame

and bear guilt towards our own kind,

.humans...

Whom through our insatiable need

for superiority 

have been by us divided

simplified, and categorized…

Stratified into sectors and numbers

to make our evil more tastefully applied

to polluted borders

already shattered 

by our  foul, reprobate minds.

Protecting what has never been ours to keep

selfishly rejecting before 

wondering...

What if they were me?

When the answer stares 

back at us steadily

from beneath our landmines

and empty shelled camaraderie.

Our meaningless pride

and the impending defeat

of power, wealth

and injudicious conceit 

has trampled

the spirit of brotherly love

leaving us 
the hidden ones...

in the advent of our own plight

and trapped in the pits of our own deceit.

                           #HistoryRepeats

                #Whenwillwelearn

My Inspiration: The refugee Crisis

 

© KohylahPiper 2015

The Hidden Ones 2013 2nd revision