Organised Chaos

My timbers echo in the silent night;

the full moon glows with an eerie scowl.

The whistle in your hair carrying these ruffles

are broken, silent, crumbles of my howl.

My hollow soul yearns for a twin;

Who else basks in the sun?

Do you ever sit back and wonder?

Away from the rush, away from the run.

Away from our concrete slumber.

Who else basks in the sun?

I hear in my head, a voice that sounds like me.

She exists for me as a litany.

She fights everyday, prayer and soul twin,

with an imposter who loudly sings.

She says I rode in the rain

to a village on a volcano

“But was it all that rainy?” the imposter sings

and whispers “they know.”

She says I won that really big thing,

and prays I believe I deserved it.

The imposter peeps and bares her teeth,

“If you were the judge, you wouldn’t give that win?"

She says I have authority, expertise on this skill,

years of experience, dedication and a well known will.

“Huff” scoffs the imposter,

“How great must you be

if the whole world doesn’t know your worth?”

They sound good, these people I met.

Wonderful was their work.

The imposter mouths the sly doubts,

“They are great I am sure, but you are

the absolute worse.”

They fight in my head, every moment;

assuming one prevails.

She thinks her litanies,

carve a niche my way.

They fight in my mind, every moment;

assuming one prevails.

The imposter knows her hurts

always find a way.

Some sunsets see them triumph,

some twilights see them wither.

Some days they both win,

but I always end up bitter.

I try to cut the noise out, keep myself sane,

but the imposter always sneaks in,

says my rhymes are lame.

I end up doubtful, I end in self loathing.

a lot goes behind the creation of such decomposing.

We debate, we encourage,

and courage we foster.

My experience in East Africa

One sunny day I went to earn my wages,

It was land of vales and water,

greens, dirt and freshest air,

like a scene from a child’s pages.

The people were most gentle,

Kinder but oft treated with bias.

Very humble, but abundance of heart,

Served me rice and kennel.

I rode past the meadow

Up to the village,

They peeped from bamboo huts

with embellished pots to show.

They had very little and were given fewer,

But gave us, they did, a lot of love.

They ate together, prayed together,

Had what most have lost

and I was a meek viewer.

As the day wrapped I took it all in

Thank the lord that even with darkness

He gave me skills to come up this hill

Meet these people, feel their beautiful starkness.

I feel a light hum in my heart

A beam of hope that all is not lost

Yes, life has been hard and has a cost

Dark and unending,

cascades of swamps descending,

Echoing with the screams of my many silent deaths.

I hate it when you look at me.

Anyone of you. No. Dont look at me.

RUNAWAY! I can not bear witness to my isolation

Relefted in your kind compassion.

Yes, I see it.

I see myself multiplying my own misery

Wanting to end this pain

unlike anything I have ever felt before.

Treacherous trickery!

Lies that seek absolution

I have nothing to give you anymore.

I am bound eternally

to stay cataonic in my astral self

As you suck whatever life is left in me

To feed your heartless shell.

I know I got myself here

No dont look at me.

I know I got myself here.

Image artist unknown

May be these stories mean to give a sliver of hope but it takes more to get to the light. I don’t know what the more is.

Art by Ner-Tamin