Adventures of a Kid

Listen you boy, don’t you wonder around!
Her chair rocked forwards and backwards,
And I winked at her little fat Miss Orange,
A naughty blind little cat that I used to mop
The floor and sometimes the windows, too,
But all of this is gone for I will embark on a
Journey where I will find a form of magic,
Something to bring my mom back to me,
I once read in a dusty book about a forest
That is not far from here, it must be here –
Oh you don’t know how much I miss her,
She was taken away when I was just a kid,
They sent her to marry some son of royal
Blood, and I was to live under the ceiling
Of my mentally demented wicked aunt,
No cousins, no husband, no pets but a cat,
And a bit of dust on the table and on the
Wooden floor, and on the windows and
On the chairs, on the boots, on the ceiling,
On the beds and all around this old house,
Clean the dust! Clean the dust! All I do is
Clean the dust, and so I will embark on a
Journey where I will find a form of magic,
The book mentioned a stone or two that
Can grant any person their wish, a bird or
Two with an orange feather that can bring
Two persons back together, and a leaf or
Two that will forever send a person away,
And I want all three of them: a stone, a
Feather, and a leaf, to give my mother
The stone, to bring me and her together,
And keep my revolting aunt forever away.

Welcome Refugees

Fry the mind in volcanic headlines
Or meet the descendants of Life,
A life lived on a journey where it ends –
Still alive! A demand for a graceful
Hug, from residents, from homes –
Secured with no security guards to
Secure the perimeter or overhead
Airstrikes producing an acidic rain
That purified our souls to annihilation,
Seeking refuge away from a man
Of inorganic culture cultivated from
Corrupted minds of many men,
Not women; they are our refuge,
Cheering organic cultivation at the
Train station – not a strike,
And then my heartbeat delivered a
Tearful. Joyful. Beautiful. Heart-full. Beat.
Beating the cultures of violence,
To violate my face with a smile,
Unusual face, unusual faces,
Men, now, giving me water, juice,
Sandwich – our last meal replaced
Our last, and last but not least:
Banners from residents, from homes –
“Refugees Are Welcomed”.

On the Verge of

Tell not the mind about the palpitating heart
As it surfs freely onto its emotional waves,
Keep the logic at bay to feel a heatstroke,
Just once, and maybe give it a sunburn, too,
Something that would bring joy after sunset,
Like an aromatic summer sun-kissed morning,
A breakfast to my longing lazy hazel eyes,
And as the world utters heart-full songs,
(An adventurous journey of many silences)
Mountains cry aloud many silences,
Waves crush wildly into many silences,
Thunderous lightening shocks many silences,
Until many silences shake the earths of our whispers,
A volcanic earthquake to erupt the
Palpitating heart while the mind is still at bay,
And then another heart-full song about
A hopeful journey of a dehydrating branch
Of a disillusioned tree that follows
The rotten stars into massive graveyards,
Tombstones carving elaborate false banners,
And as the morning cries many more silences:
Sacrificial ones, peaceful ones, hopeful ones,
Ones that would rehydrate that particular branch
Towards the heavens to soar over clouds of bliss.