The Poetry Marathon

You see,
the chair,
its broken now.
Got it for free,
when the old lady
down the hill passed away.
A nice chair it was,
pure mahogany.
Someone broke it.
No one knows,
no one saw,
how it happened.
My bet is on him,
that nasty little kid
who lives by the church.
I tried to fix it,
with these little screws,
and extra mahogany.
You see,
its a tricky thing to do,
very hard,
all these ancient craftsmanship!
It fell apart,
not my fault
and its broken now.

The throbbing pain,
the deafening noise,
and bright lights.
Its everywhere,
they are everywhere,
where to escape?
Whom to escape from?
Today’s far away land
and tomorrow’s hell,
it’s all the same.
Maybe its some game,
maybe this is life.
Chains and tiny cubicles,
torture and pain.
‘Big Brother’ is watching.

(‘Big Brother’-inspired from 1984 by George Orwell)

They came in,
one by one,
well dressed,
in colors and glitter
with music and hugs.
Dirges and laments flowed,
eulogies were said.
It was a merry goodbye.

And you went on talking
in a jargon I couldn’t understand,
about things I don’t care about.
You have read ‘important’ books,
which I clearly haven’t.
And when you talked about
those things that mattered to me,
I was wrong,
just an ignorant fool
and I believed you
until I realized
that the jargon you spoke
was of elite class,
and I’m unaware of it.

A tiny little bird
lived in a grandfather clock
in a shepherd’s home
in the valley
by the blue hill.
Years and years,
tried the little bird,
to escape the clock
and time within.
On a warm summer evening,
when the clock struck five,
came out the little bird,
like all the other hours,
and out she flew,
flapping her wings,
through the large window
into the blue sky
into the timeless land.
Here I am,
on a warm summer evening,
trying to break the wall,
of what’s called real,
to join the little bird.

A hungry infant cried somewhere,
a starving mother weeped,
alone she was,
with a world against her.
They ordered and she obeyed,
They wouldn’t last
another night.
Muffled voices of child was heard
as the pro-life humans
drank bright red wine
in victory of the prosecution they did.
Stories were told
of the heartless mother
why would she do that?
No one told,
story of a woman
who had no choice
as another cry was heard.

Once in a while,
I remember her,
the girl who was once me,
who loved watches and clocks,
fantasy and magic,
a nomad at heart,
a prisoner in life.
But we broke free,
with dreams and wings
So many of us,
and it’s just me now.
I blame them,
I believe it’s them,
who is the reason
that I’m alone
But sometimes I wonder,
if it was me,
who killed the nomad in me.

I want to make a kite,
as big as a house ,
paint it in colors,
bright and shiny,
and fly it from a hill
with a thread that never ends.
I want to fly it so high up
and maybe fly with it.
To the never ending sky
and see the world,
the little people, their little homes,
and their little affairs.
Throw candies from above
and never let them forget
about the mysterious candy rain
and all the conspiracies that follow.
That’s how I intend to live
after I die in forest cabin.

To the little girl
in yellow dress,
who stood in front of me
in busy red bus
on a rainy evening.
I am that faceless stranger
who has scarred you
and scared you.
I want to apologize
for groping you
and denying it
and blaming it
on your innocence.
I still remember it,
the fear in your eyes,
that haunts me till day.
I deserve it
and much more.
But I’m sorry little one,
even though it can do nothing.

When I’m sixty six,
how will I be?
Will I sit near
ivy covered window
knitting all day
small little sunflowers
on Christmas sweaters,
shouting at the kids
making a lot of noise?
Or will I sit
on the old oak bench,
reading a red hardback
near the pavement
with freshly baked cookies
for the people who pass by
wishing them a good day?
Or will I go for hikes
up the highest mountain
with fruits in my satchel
and sticks in my hand?
What should I be,
the grumpy, sweet or wild?
Maybe I’ll be none of these,
maybe I’ll be all of these,
or I’ll just be
the drunk old lady
who wished to be buried
with her favorite wine glass.