Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Poetic Ammo
I have a friend called Michelle. I have to admit, her poems are off the hook. I don't in any way come close to a poet but am sure as hell someone who appreciates a good poem when I read one. Now, if it's one good poem that I've read, I'd just read it for myself and move on. But if it's a blog full of wonderful poems, then I definitely have to share the joy with others. And it's so sad that the blogs that we're addicted to and always want to read, are hardly updated on time. This women hardly blogs. But, when she does, she keeps me rooted to my chair. Below is an extract from her blog. When you're done reading it and you're hooked and want more, then it's time to read all, here.
For the Love of You
Here I stand before you, without a shield-
Like a child left in an open field.
To drop my defences, down by my clothes,
I bare you my soul, with my skin exposed.
My skin is flawed with the marks you leave.
And in these scars, are my reasons to live.
With every tender touch, and every soft kiss,
You imprint on me, a state of bliss.
And on my heart, you leave an engraving,
Of your name, like the one inside my ring.
In taking that blind leap of faith, with no safety net,
I would plunge over and over with no regret.
'Cause I'd rather feel the heartache through and through,
Than to never feel what it's like to be loved by you.
Labels: Michelle, Poem
Praba
- 10:28 PM
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Sunday, November 26, 2006
The Black Poem
Today I received an email which went like this:
"Hey I just blogged. A poem from some email. Do read it. You will like it."
When I see emails like this, I usually head over to the blog to take a look at it. I didn't just like the poem. I loved it. And the poem, written by an African kid, goes like this:
When I born, I Black.
When I grow up, I Black.
When I go in Sun, I Black.
When I scared, I Black.
When I sick, I Black.
And when I die, I still black.
And you White fella,
When you born, you Pink.
When you grow up, you White.
When you go in Sun, you Red.
When you cold, you Blue.
When you scared, you Yellow.
When you sick, you Green.
And when you die, you Gray.
And you call me coloured.
It's not everyday that I see a post that makes me say "Ponna jack la mike". But this one really deserves the nod of approval. Labels: Poem
Praba
- 2:40 AM
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Monday, November 06, 2006
Who's With Me Now?
Perhaps, I was blind to the facts.
Stabbed in the back.
I couldn't trust my own armies,
Just a bunch of dirty rats.
Will I,
Succeed?
Paranoid from my unworthy deed.
Though hocus pocus, I tried to focus but I don't see.
And in my mind, I'm a blind man wastin' time.
Looking to my future.
Cause my past,
Is all behind.
Is it a crime to fight for what is mine?
Everybody's dyin. When am I next in line?
I've been trapped since birth. Cautious. Cause I'm cursed.
And fantasies of my family,
Is blessed.
But getting worse.
And they say it's the yellow man I should fear.
But it's my own kind doin' all the killin' here.
I can't lie.
There ain't no love for the other side.
Jealousy inside, makes me wish I died.
Oh my god, tell me what I'm livin for.
Everybody's droppin.
I'm knockin on heaven's door.
Labels: Poem
Praba
- 4:13 PM
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Friday, April 21, 2006
Until I'm Ready To Die......
You know I've heard that it's said there's a beauty in distortion
By some people who're still tryin' to find their proportion
And they say that there's no humor or joke in contortion
And so, I wonder if they'll laugh when I am dead
Why am I fighting to live
If I'm just living to fight
Why am I trying to see
If there ain't nothing in sight
Why am I trying to give
When no one gives me a try
Why am I dying to live
If I'm just living to die
You know some people say that values are subjective
But they're just speaking thrash from their perspective
Or from that someone else who has been prospective
And so they live and fight to kill with no objective
Sometimes it's hard to tell if they're just protective
I used to weave in diffusion
Words deceived into confusion
And so I hope you'll understand me
When I'm through, about my conclusion
I used to live my life as an illusion
But hopefully reality will make my dream an extrusion
So I'll keep fighting to live
Till there's no reason to fight
And I'll keep trying to see
Until the end is in sight
You know I'm trying to give
So come on, give me a try
You know I'm dying to live
Until I'm ready to die......
Labels: Poem
Praba
- 5:21 PM
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