power to the people, right on.
i am just any other ordinary fat boy.
with no money but only words to offer,
being regularly broke and life’s getting tougher.
its a norm when my family financially suffer.
i may live in a slum.
but im not your typical lowly scum,
that people presume .
im educated .
i tell you,
the face shows no indication that you’re dumb.
my parents send me off to a decent school,
because education is valued.
and i strife to be the best in every single test
all theses even though my family’s budget is just a tidy sum
i turn around ,
i see these hatred and racial tension.
is there no solution?
i see discrimination.
in the narrow-minded’s perception.
just take a look at their reaction.
due to the colour of your skin,
people will start giving dirty looks and turn mean.
why oh why?
can someone please tell me why.
is being born a different colour from the masses a sin?
what happen to our father’s freelove generation?
where once love and peace was the primary theme
has it become non existent?
i reckon this is the best solution
minus the excess hedonism.
let’s kickstart back the revolution
it’s named the bohemia revolution
i dream of the day
when our mind and hearts will be free
together, kick out rascism out of modern day reality.
you might call me crazy
or you might call me cheesy
but at the end of the day,
remember
i am just any other ordinary fat boy.
cheers.
awareness
knowledge
is power.
spanish evening
Spanish Evening
A nice bar, tried to look like
a Spanish bodega,
it had a guitar player who also sang
romantic ballads;
together with “Tapa” and
red wine we enjoyed ourselves,
but as we drank we spoke more
and louder,
drowning the music;
the guitarist got up and
smashed his instrument against
the bar… silence,
then we applauded.
the beautifool ones
lovefool..
to someone close to me,
this post is dedicated to you.
sister sister.
What’s past is past,
i tell you,
the boys don’t last,
relationship’s is built on trust,
not solely based on puppy crush,
you are still young,
don’t get blinded by this fuzzy rush,
it’s simple as such.
sister sister.
caught in the realm of fantasy,
hearts aflutter till you can’t see,
how mean, narrow minded and sinister love can be,
gave your heart and love
only to be trampled and played on for free,
it’s always the same story,
they will break your heart and flee.
please sister, wake up to reality.
sister sister.
this is my advice to you,
because we love and care for you,
you are a beautifull and sweet girl,
life’s not fair and can be cruel,
sticks and stones can break your bones,
but word may hurt you emotionally deep,
so fuck em and pay no heed,
to others’ bad deed,
upon peoples’ pain and sorrow they feed.
sister sister.
i don’t want to see you falling
to wasted youth.
so come on to me and family.
on my part,
i’ll be there for you
whenever you need me.
this i promise you.
sister sister.
p/s its amaturish as this is my first ever poem i’ve wrote in my life. hope you guys like it
cheers and love.
hidzir tawin.
Awaiting the Storm
Every second I’m awake I dream
I can’t get her past my mind
Soon she’ll have my heart
What will I do then?
Does she know my name?
Will she feel my pain?
Is she my prayer?
I’ll find myself yet again
Time is the only answer
This much I know
But I do hope that,
This is only the calm before the storm
woodwork
Woodwork
Made mother a wooden spoon, didn’t hollow it out much
she said it was an economical spoon and giggled, I also
gave her a bread-board, with a pattern on, it had warped
and was quite useless, feeling futile it quietly left and
wasn’t missed. Mother used to laugh a lot when she was
young, once I gave her a painting I had made, called it
“night” except for a few stars there was nothing to see,
this caused great hilarity, she promised to hang it up in
the hall, never did, it ended up behind the wardrobe in
her bedroom. My masterpiece was a carved horse, only
its hind legs were to thin, one broke, the teacher glued it
together, it had black painted hooves, was fond of that
steed, never took it home to mother though; I mean, do
I look like a comedian?
Wrecker
as I walk along the street
dust clouds crowd around my feet
shadows wither and then die
in the sun that burns my eyes
all shies away from this place
no sun shines on my cold face
I am the acid in the rain
that dissolves the stone
I am the sand in the wind
that buries the deads’ bones
I am the poison in the water
that destroys those who dare
to enter my, the Wrecker’s, lair
I change the world; the world changes me
I am, i was, and I always will be-
happy childhood
Happy Childhood
Since a boy I had been looking for fabled,
“happy childhood,” the one in books with
rich, sober parents, big garden and a pony.
Looked everywhere, was blinded by spindrift,
and white seas, climbed foggy mountains;
smoked a lot and fell into roadside ditches.
Trekked through Australia, crocodiles, and
people who called me “mate” they didn’t have
clue, nor did anyone in 42nd street New York.
Years passed desperate, asked a rich couple
to adopt me, they were friendly, but felt
an adoptee ought to be one not as old as me.
Settled in a green vale, adopted myself, I’m
my father now, he spoils me rotten and, at
last, 97 next year, I enjoy a happy childhood.
sonnet to peace
Sonnet To Peace.
Fog has descended, made the world hushed and tiny,
I’m bumping into Afghan opium peddlers, now in
politics, Palestine street fighters, survivors of various
genocides, and a wise cracking New York Jew who
tells joke against his own people, a goy couldn’t risk
doing that. Dampness has rusted all guns, tanks have
broken tracks and cluster bombs are full of confetti.
The survivors tell their stories, but refrain from making
capital out of it. The Palestinian understand Israel’s
fear and the Haifa dweller accept the Arab’s right to
a homeland; the drug peddler promise to grow potatoes
in his field. The New York comedian laughs. The men
agree to emancipation of women, but only if they will
stop pushing. The mist dispels and the world is as before.
Milkwhite Sheets.
dance me to the end of love
looking for. . . .magnetic north
songs from the labyrinth
secret garden -
half the perfect world
chameleon
in the shadow of the night
the silent corner &
the empty stage, in camera
straws in the wind
too close - yours to keep
under the skin
fire on the bright sky
the truth doesn’t matter
closer, passing stranger
dead meadow
give me your love
through the green fuse
l’enfant assassin
sonnet to water
Sonnet to Water.
It has been raining for days the cistern is
slowly filling up, this is splendid for
the tiny fishes that swim there; their leader
a big lad - the size of a small sardine- is
the king; swims near the surface and has
seen my face twice, claims he represents
me and can read my thoughts, the other are
in awe, except for a few sceptical ones that
skulk in dark corners and gurgle sedition.
Rainwater is free, good for your hair too, it
makes you feel smug, and thrifty, helping
to save the planet; best of all you can make
love under the shower and not worry about
the water bill and leaking pipes.
