Familiar Strangers V2
Friday, November 30, 2018
Rashid Pelpuo writes
WE HAVE COME THIS FAR
I
We have come this far
Beating back our fears
Against our failings
In triumphant postulate
It was a struggle to take back our souls
Lost in the tongues of our adversaries
And those who never were our heroes
But sought to steal our gains
From our innocence
The stakes went high
The ambience of state power
Coiled around our sweaty bodies
Attempting to break our spines
In the familiar world of our longings
And push us into ignominious ditches
II
It is good reason to conjure a cure
For the many who seek comfort in misery
To rise and join the brave urge
To the common chorus
That we will never live in unresolved misery
We recount in those journeys to liberty
In the sacred woods of vast opinions
We planted the seeds of unity
And vied to win vacillating ideas
And we won the glory of the crown
We repossessed our minds and hopes
From the passion greed
Of men who sold their essence
And walked in empty shells
In naked self-destruction
III
Knowing where we come from
We have traveled far
We have cured the times
We have beaten off all the dews
We have made the paths passable
We have engineered a reinvented self
We have reclaimed our minds
We have found a new genotype of hope,
And we have ground our fears away in furnaces
To build a new nation and a prosperous people
In the logic of space conjoined time
We are touching the flame of change
As yesterday’s brave men now watch
In compelling acquiescence
To irreversible tides sloughing a new world
Let’s cure ourselves
Of haughty minds
Who see no wrong
In hailing devious haggards
To wrought foul our glorious gains
Let’s redefine success in the cauldrons
Of boiling ideas in superior attitudes
Let’s create a conscious world
Where we can be sure
When the sun rises and sets
Let the truth be told that
This urge to win is no vain venture
It smothers avarice mercilessly
It severs every gaping hunger and squalor
It blossoms in enduring law and order
-- Jia Sung
I
We have come this far
Beating back our fears
Against our failings
In triumphant postulate
It was a struggle to take back our souls
Lost in the tongues of our adversaries
And those who never were our heroes
But sought to steal our gains
From our innocence
The stakes went high
The ambience of state power
Coiled around our sweaty bodies
Attempting to break our spines
In the familiar world of our longings
And push us into ignominious ditches
II
It is good reason to conjure a cure
For the many who seek comfort in misery
To rise and join the brave urge
To the common chorus
That we will never live in unresolved misery
We recount in those journeys to liberty
In the sacred woods of vast opinions
We planted the seeds of unity
And vied to win vacillating ideas
And we won the glory of the crown
We repossessed our minds and hopes
From the passion greed
Of men who sold their essence
And walked in empty shells
In naked self-destruction
III
Knowing where we come from
We have traveled far
We have cured the times
We have beaten off all the dews
We have made the paths passable
We have engineered a reinvented self
We have reclaimed our minds
We have found a new genotype of hope,
And we have ground our fears away in furnaces
To build a new nation and a prosperous people
In the logic of space conjoined time
We are touching the flame of change
As yesterday’s brave men now watch
In compelling acquiescence
To irreversible tides sloughing a new world
Let’s cure ourselves
Of haughty minds
Who see no wrong
In hailing devious haggards
To wrought foul our glorious gains
Let’s redefine success in the cauldrons
Of boiling ideas in superior attitudes
Let’s create a conscious world
Where we can be sure
When the sun rises and sets
Let the truth be told that
This urge to win is no vain venture
It smothers avarice mercilessly
It severs every gaping hunger and squalor
It blossoms in enduring law and order
-- Jia Sung
Donal Mahoney writes
Budget Cuts and Bill’s Regrets
Bill’s been seeing
a therapist for years
trying to get his life on track
but all he talks about is
his many regrets in a life
not wisely lived.
His therapist suggests
he put his regrets on a boat
and let it float away.
Bill heads for the pier and
loads the boat but it sinks.
Too heavy are Bill's regrets.
The next day hundreds of trout
are floating dead on the surface.
Taxpayers argue on shore
about the reason the lake
has become a floating wake.
The Nightly News reports
climate change killed the fish
and noted experts say
the latest budget cuts mean
more dead fish to come.
The only good news is
Bill has a new regret.
Oceans Are Like Mountains Turned Upside Down -- Jaelah Kuehmichel
Lily Swarn writes
You Read My Eyes
You read my eyes as if they were an unpronounceable word in the thesaurus
Searching for answers to vague questions
Answers that you already knew in your heart
That heart which was lush with a nameless love
My eyes looked down from the image you had placed strategically on the wall opposite your study table
As if it's placement in your bosom wasn't enough
The chill permeated through your royal, high collared coat
And snowed around your weary shoulders
Tired with the constant gazing into my irises
Sometimes they hummed a long forgotten ghazal
Or cooed like the grey dove in your back yard
They were garrulous eyes like taunting women folk sitting around the village tandoor
The mysterious aura in the almond eyes was not because of the dark Kajal that crooned love ditties
It was the stony silence of tradition
It ricocheted and boomeranged around your steadily dimming reading glasses
Till you fell into a dream filled stupor
Your chin resting on your yearning chest
Self-Portrait -- Michaela Chorn
You read my eyes as if they were an unpronounceable word in the thesaurus
Searching for answers to vague questions
Answers that you already knew in your heart
That heart which was lush with a nameless love
My eyes looked down from the image you had placed strategically on the wall opposite your study table
As if it's placement in your bosom wasn't enough
The chill permeated through your royal, high collared coat
And snowed around your weary shoulders
Tired with the constant gazing into my irises
Sometimes they hummed a long forgotten ghazal
Or cooed like the grey dove in your back yard
They were garrulous eyes like taunting women folk sitting around the village tandoor
The mysterious aura in the almond eyes was not because of the dark Kajal that crooned love ditties
It was the stony silence of tradition
It ricocheted and boomeranged around your steadily dimming reading glasses
Till you fell into a dream filled stupor
Your chin resting on your yearning chest
Self-Portrait -- Michaela Chorn
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