My visions.. In my words.

March 21, 2017

Bitter medicine

Filed under: Poetry — SR @ 4:38 am

On this bank I stand
bitter medicine in one hand
a little sugar in the other
The river rushes by
On the other bank she waits
my child, my joy
Drink up says the boatman
‘Tis the price of passage
The river’s deep and wide
might as well be the sea
Why me? I ask
Have I not been a good son?
This is it, he says
all you have is desire
and a choice
It is raining now and
the river’s in a spate,
Why me? I ask
Don’t I deserve to be a father?
This is it, he says
all you have is faith
and a choice
The river’s hungry
the boat battered
What if? I ask
Am I ready to drown?
This is all there is, he says
this moment
and it is now gone
All you have is one moment
to make your dream
come true



March 20, 2017

Life’s a party

Filed under: Uncategorized — SR @ 4:47 am
Night’s middle-aged
Her bosom sags 
But she was once pretty and
threw a party
Everyone came and played hard
Now she waits alone
For Dawn 
To pick her up and drive her home

I took the high road
Walking firm, certain; I couldn't care less
I caught the rickshaw to knowledge
The bus to work
The rare train to achievement
Once, a plane to success
I was good, happy and poor
I met Money and we hung out with Fame
I found love
We threw a party
Teenage Sloth came
Five year old Anger too
I drank and sang 
Out of tune- I could care less
I was fine, merry and rich
Radiant Doubt entered and loved me
Fame, she left miffed, I didn't care
I was high
Doubt and I are married with kids
The party’s going on 
I am great, bitter and done

March 18, 2017

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Filed under: Very Short Stories — SR @ 6:12 pm

This chicken always wanted to cross the road.

Every morning, she would walk out of the abandoned farm to the edge of the road. It would stand there wondering about what lay on the other side of the road. It would look at the traffic rushing past and shake its head. It thought, ‘I am so weak. I will surely be crushed beneath all those wheels.’

Sometimes, a large truck would speed past it and the rush of air would knock back the poor chicken. The chicken would scramble up squawking and rush back to the safety of the farm.

One morning a fox entered the farm looking for food. Spotting the chicken, he made a grab for it. The chicken ran for her life. She ran out of the farm, past the edge of the road and straight into the middle of oncoming traffic. Cars swerved this way and that to avoid hitting the chicken. Motorbikes braked and flew over and above the chicken. A roadside hawker laughed at the sight of the chicken running in panic.

But the chicken did not care. She did not stop. She did not freeze. She did not turn back. She ran straight across the road and paused breathless when it reached the other side.

In the newspaper released that evening, the headline screamed, “Chicken crossing road piles up cars on National Highway 4.”

Living between the moments

Filed under: Poetry — SR @ 5:29 pm

My head is heavy and bowed
The light is merciless so
I turn down the brightness
And wallow in the dark; A loner
Sitting in a corner
Of my room
‘Tis calm and uncomfortable
A steady breeze from the standing fan and
Two walls keep me company
I write to save my life
From its mad ambition to live on
Night falls and I wonder
I am nothing
I am something
I am this, I am that and the other
Tomorrow’s hope
Yesterday a memory
Today’s everything

Rage is
An orange chair
With white legs
Waiting, handy
To be flung at
her dissenting voice
Love buckles under
Her own weight
Sayonara, Ego said
My work here is done

The yellow night light stared
At an empty bed
In an empty room
In an empty house
The village stared
at empty tombstones
In the winter of life
Faith took the young
Ego more
War took them all
It is peaceful
In zombie country

Behind that white door
Said the bee
Is my hive; let me through
Right, just a sec said the bear
I’ll escort you
The hunter waiting
shot the bear and said
you’re unwelcome
He burned the hive and said
I’ll take the honey and the hide
Sorry mates, concrete jungle and all that
Earth quaked and trembled
Air turned sour
Buildings fell
Sorry mate, said she
Climate Change and all that

To write is
To catch life when she isn’t
Looking good and
Hiding a secret
In her bosom
And wrinkles on her ass
And call her a beautiful thing
She just might let you live
another day

So what if I am black
Said the Coffee table
You don’t like stains anyway
wiping either


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