i feel like im fading
The world is now in shadowy existence
I am not real
At least not as real as the dead cigarettes on the table
Today is the 15th day of this horror
There will be a murder
Someone is knocking
I wonder who it is
As i wall to the day
I realize my legs have started falling off
As i turn the door knob
The winds rushes at my face
And behold she is there
The murderer. And i the murderee is looking at her..
This is the murder.
It had happened already..
This is just the story of how it did..
i looked into his hungry eyes
and saw the curse.
the curse his grand parents passed down to his parents
and his parents to him
i saw his dusty swarthy skin,
and his scarred finger weaving straws beside his sleeping sister
i fought the urge to question him,
to ask where his mother was
was she thinking about them?
i looked into his eyes
and saw his world,
how primal and scarred it was.
i will never forget his feeble voice
when he asked what i wanted.
how his hands were
when i gave him the money.
how desperately happy he was
that he has sold a bottle of coke
to a stranger..
i wept for the moping owl
that had blood dripping form her eyes
then at midnight she’ll always cry
“your demons are out why don’t you follow suit”
I’ve always known this night-bird
for the darkness she and i shared
my shows had also known her
together darkness was our only scar
i loved the dark scribbling of poe
that demons may come and demons may go
on the illusive road of Eldorado
like blood melted in December’s snow
no one is ever there youosee
behind the garment of your lovely fear
whatever you think is whatever will be
Goodbye Owl, for dawn is near.
as i walk through the pages of the revolutionary past,
i ponder on the nature of man and his world
i think of his desire to be freedom
i think of the violence created in his worldly mind,
i think of his rationality to this creation.
as i read through the darkness of night
losing sense of time and the the world outside the walls of my room
i am being drawn into a trance where the words i read are soaked in meaning.
i am numb like the dead to the pricks of life.
i am not myself
i have allowed myself to be something else..
and on they walked
with thoughts floating about in their heads
with resolutions tied closely to their flesh
and their mortality soaked in anticipation of the unknown.
they follow the drumbeat of time
and slowly they are hypnotized by the monotony of the world
the silent melancholy of their yesterdays plays across their heart
the recognized the tune
cos it had played before
but somehow they think its different
how could it be?
they aren’t any new demons to fight
just the old one in a different attire.
and on they walked..
on the same path they did yesterday
with the same thoughts that was on their mind yesterday..
i am the western culture,
i am misunderstood
cos i am different
i am an alien
the one that gets to be looked at twice
i have become their fears
i am the stranger
i am the western culture
i must be misunderstood.