Grace Period

Complications are simple in genuine fealty,
Dangers are exciting as movie adventures.
It’s charming to see a part of you
On two darn legs.
Then you trust fate’s direction
As time furtively fleets to the very end.
No one ever tells you
It gets hard.
For a moment,
It’s okay to be blind
Before untamed promises run wild
Contrary to original intention;
The end of a grace period of perfection.

~Bardkobik #Blueprint ’14

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The Shadow

DeathYesterday, I bowed out of my hat,
I could hear the birds herald the day,
I could also see the glorious sun rays
Piercing the clouds
And around me were beautiful nectar flowers

At dusk, the sun was on the other side of the earth
Slowly walking down to sleep.
The lake was calm,
The breeze was warm and still,
And the cloak of darkness thickened.

It was very late in hour.
The weak light from the old moon betrayed the night
But in the peace of the night,
The sneaky stealthy shadow prowled.

Today, I bowed out of my hat
And I could hear only rain whispers
But the bird singers.
I could see rain drops from the face of the sky.
Because a beautiful nectar flower was gone.

Ergo, even at noon it was so cold
And the lake’s face looked pale
Still clinging to the chills of dawn.
And that was when I realized
The herald of woe; the shadow last night
In the quietness of the faded day
Came and lingered in the garden.

In Memory Of Lucky Dube (A Eulogy)

The weather was not favourable,

Nothing was adaptable;

The ground was too hot for any sole

And the blazing air was too hot for any flying soul

Because beasts among men had turned life cold

But he was just a lone cub – bold.

 

Even in harsh shoes

He grew to become a fine lion

As ghastly years blew honour

Rapidly into the vale of times

And abandoning MAMA

On the bare sands of a greedy and faithless world,

The whole edifice of MAMA’s pride

Was falling to the dirt;

And her dignity struggled

In the quicksands of sordid scorn,

But he fought gallantly and fearlessly.

 

Lucky fought gallantly

Till death on his usual furtive rounds

Did what he knew best

To break our hearts.

Love Hurts – The Dialogue

WILLIAMS: Grandpa, the hurt of love maims

Any progressive thought in my mind.

I believe love is an incurable disease

Every human must strive to avoid,

Don’t you think?

GRANDPA: hmmm… convince me…

WILLIAMS: Ok, just you imagine you have a friend

Who knows not of your love for her.

She is your friend and you try to please her as one.

But… your heart doesn’t want her as such.

You try to love her less

But your heart wants to love her not so meagre.

And though your mind reigns,

You are barely sane and so you are hardly quiet.

And she comes to chronicle to you

The joys of her great love –

These are laps on the clock you desire of her she gives him.

How racking and maddening… but if only you could steal the clock.

Like Dorian Gray you employ a beastly wise

To hide your true face,

But there is that other soul in you

That longs to be seen,

To be able to share gentleness, kisses and touches,

To show her to a world she never knew or had…

But even the two inside of you can’t brighten the gloom

In the depths of solitude by their drama;

Hence quiet you shall keep so she’ll enjoy

Her bliss and you’ll enjoy your misery because you love her.

GRANDPA: Williams my boy,

That must have hurt whoever you speak of real bad.

Does love really hurt?

(He holds his chin and rolls his eyes thoughtfully)

WILLIAMS: You agree then… (He says eagerly)

GRANDPA: You’re are one wise lad so I’ll telll you this;

Love never hurt me; love killed me, love made me cry

Till I had nothing to cry as tears,

Love made me hurt till I lost my sense of perception,

Love put me down till… I felt immortal.

In the shine of my youth,

When I walked into the inevitable path of love,

It was renewing, refreshing, soothing and thoroughly magical.

Where else, in whom could I have known such wonder?

But in his world and in him – love.

My eyes and ears and all wit were taken

And an addict I became,

Because love was so strong and demanding,

So sweet and but turned sour

Just at the turn of a corner,

Just in the tick of a second.

There were days when she and I just…

Just loved, held each other close,

Kissed each other long, and our hands,

Lips, bodies and our hearts comingled into one.

But in one step, maybe a toss of a coin,

Possibly the start of a new breath,

At the lips of a car she disappeared

In her slow spreading blood

And I have been bleeding ever since.

Such pleasure I’ve roved

Through my years and can’t fathom or find.

Williams, love could hurt,

Love hurt me real bad but…

WILLIAMS: You concede then that love isn’t that flawless bliss

That the movies, songs, stories and poems

Make it out to be? (He interrupts)

GRANDPA: No!!!

You see, a day that never learns to break

Never learns to shine,

A child that never learns to crawl never learns to run.

It is funny how at times death will reborn you,

And how other times

The pain moulds you.

Now listen and listen rapt –

Love is never compromising but sometimes risky,

But living life and never loved to death is worse,

Is worse than laying your heart

To be trampled on by loves feet.

Love is so antique, a wisdom very unpredictable,

A maker misconstrued as a destroyer

Because of the mischief of kismet.

This makes one wonder if love even loves us.

But which science can figure that out?

And that is what makes love a magical flawless bliss.

Love could be bitter,

It could hurt you beyond repair,

But once you’ve encountered it you’d see

That it is sweeter than it is bitter;

That the sobs from your cries if you observe better,

Will realize they are disguised mirths – even the hurt is sweet.

Williams, (He looks him soft and long in the eyes)

Lose your heart son,

Just so you can find it.

Never Gone

Tender caresses of pale sheets unseen, imagined

Scribe this poesy.

Scarce tears run down my counternance,

My heart is sparingly beating.

A funeral, tears;

A beautiful casket and wails in jagged unison.

The undertaker will inhume a source of joy,

I will be not at the inhumation,

I be not there at her piece of God’s acre,

I will be not present, wherefore;

If her orbs be lided,

Her teeth be liped

Or her visage be pale and tranquil,

I’d think it be wonted slumber,

And if her fingers be cold

I’d think it be chilly climes of the moment.

Thereunto, there shall be not the occassion

Of orisons for a retired soul then,

Nay not my tongue

As of the funeral priest

Or his mourning congregation dull clad.

I shall not descry or trust her exit;

That when I betake her abode

Her miseries and hopes will still be alive

And that she’ll answer the door when I knock

Or the phone when I call.

In the minds of the funeral attenders and kin

She is verily gone,

In the kernel of my pate

She is otherwhere I know not

But merely awhile.

This understanding is not

A nescient as the eld avow

But a dilcifier of dolour.

My doted aunt – Flourence

Is still alive.