A Sense of Yearning

I live and breathe like a misplaced dream In this labyrinthine construct of time; Like a flower that blooms in the wrong garden; Like a kite that soars in the wrong sky. I try to find my place in this maze; Where the horizon is a cerulean haze; Where children are taught how to lie; Where a flightless swallow dreams to fly; Where tears burn the eyes like a pyre; Where simplicity gets butchered by satire; Where justice is just like a starless night; Where compassion is always a lost fight; Where deaths can kindle an endless debate; Where love is defeated by war and hate; Where colours of humans put seasons to shame; Where despair is the prize for the agonizing game. I watch, I cry, and I wish to be born In the distant future; For one day there’ll be A world that cares, a world that dreams; And I will find the right sky for my kite.

I happen to know a common pallbearer Who mourns all deaths around him; His eyes have the wisdom you’d expect But the light in them is quite dim.  He carries corpses; he carries them everyday, And never does he ask for the name of the dead. ‘Cause someday it will be someone he knows And the name shall never escape his head. Said he once, ‘Today I carried a little girl’ ‘Seven she was, I heard them say… My daughter would be seven by now, yes, Had it not been such a bad day.’ He still believes the little girl heard His whisper, in her box so small; ‘Sleep well little girl, whoever you are, For this sleep eventually comes to us all.’ ‘Had you lived a little more, child, You would have known how the world looks. But don’t be sad, for it’s not as beautiful As they lie in your colourful books.’ The pallbearer sees an obscure face, The face of his daughter behind a veil, And a smile; The smile that pulls out tears; And the smile that

"Once upon a time", began the blind old man "There was a sea as endless as time; and It reeked of stories of survival and death, But none could wait to watch the waves break. A sailor lived once, I don't remember his name, Whose skills did put the others' to shame; He'd conquer the sea, they would all shout And the sky would rumble at the scream so loud; That day, and the ones that had shone brighter Will be drawn by a kid and poetised by a writer- A hundred years from now, just a hundred wee years." "One fateful night, the storm wanted to play With the one little boat that struggled to stay Afloat; and the sailor heard his name loud and clear Shooting back from the hungry waves far and near. He kissed his oar, for the last time he could see, And closed his eyes to embrace the open sea. He was found a day later, on a plank, alive, But the rest of the boat was gone, like life. The sailor searched for her, from daybreak till night

Today, it is someone else. Through the thick curtain Timothy watches His mother, building his future. The man should slow down, he thinks Maybe a little less rough, like the night, But he goes on; And Timothy looks away. He should act asleep, he knows But the silhouettes dance like demons Over the young eyes full of questions. The lantern flickers its flame, but Fails to hide the dark. Timothy picks up a crayon, and thinks How to colour the demon on his sheet; 'Will I put a smile?' he thinks, and then Comes another muffled scream from behind The curtains; Yes, a smile is needed, he decides. The sheet is soiled, but he does not mind. The man moans, sighs, and stands up While Timothy wonders What this final sigh is about; The man walks out; Yes, a smile is needed. Timothy draws a broad one on the face Of his demon, and looks at his sheet 'Shouldn't there be many heads?' he thinks When his mother comes and sits by his side; Her lips bleeding,