Myriad Musings

How’d you like to die?

I’m sure you’ve ruminated a great deal about life: pondering, planning, plotting how to make the most of it.

Have you ever thought about how you’d like to die?

Would you fancy a soldier’s death? You’d have won many a battle but lost the last one against the usurper of breath.

Or is it a sailor’s death that you fancy? You’d kick the bucket doing what you do best, pulled into the arms of the sea mother, you spent your entire life worshipping.

Would a famous person’s slow death be up your alley? Celebrated long after your physical absence, strangers will mourn you like their own, until trenching hoes of time bury the memory of you underground.

Or is it a rebel’s death that you prefer? A death charted out with cunning by those who unfairly wield power and hang justice, the last trace of your murder will be invisible. You’ll meet the maker, hoping at least he’ll mourn you.

Me? I favour an activist’s death, basking in the rapturous knowledge that I left the world more equal than I found it.

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Poetry

Masquerade: Poem

I met five men in a faraway land
during my stay at a decrepit cottage
We agreed to get acquainted
at eventide in the nearby diner

The vexing nature of sundown is that
man’s facades are unprotected by light
Hence a masquerade party, sure to ensue
to keep up pretences of the night

A good judge of character, I pride,
Resolved to unmask all they hide

The first called himself a Godman
but I saw a predator underneath
preying on weak minds that
mistake obscurity for hope

The second called himself a Radical
but I saw a bigot underneath
using twisted means to uproot some venom
prudently planting seeds for the rest

The third called himself a Marketer
but I saw a trickster underneath
whose bread and butter depends
solely on making others misbelieve

The fourth called himself an Intellectual
but I saw a hypocrite underneath
reserving his ideas for theory
a Yes-man selling his mind for money

The fifth called himself a Politician
but I saw a chameleon underneath
whose mind wavers faster than wind
a trader of peace for pelf and power

I mouthed that I was a Legislator
Underneath my mask
I was a ludicrous comedic
ridiculing linguistics and logic
I mumbled deep within that
I was no more than a
cutthroat cynic

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Poetry

Mirabilia: Poem

Liberty tasted every weekend
flinging the adult in you
as kids do, their school bags

Looking at yourself
through a toddler’s eyes
reflection of a superhero

Hugs and claps that last longer
like the extra chocolate chips
in desired ice cream cones

Laughter that’s unruly, hearty
like messy, cheery rain
knocking on eager windows

New look- weight-loss, haircut
feels fresh as the first page
of a much sought-after novel

A warm bath after workout sweat
soothing as scented candles and
lounging in the balcony easy-chair

Unearthing the inner child
freeing as flopping on beds
and pranks on childhood friends

Tasting a pet’s loyalty gratifies
like rare praise from your boss
and sparse A grades on report cards

Playing a song on repeat
addictive as rewatching TV series
until a new episode is released

Things going exactly as planned
thrills like knocking dominoes just right
watching everything fall into place

Learning novel skills exhilarates
as pedalling without support wheels
on muddy roads with balance

Unexpected compliments overwhelm
like the thoughtful, handmade gifts
at a surprise birthday party

Winning card games and board games
smells like the high of morning runs
and dancing at our favourite club

Being arm candy to a loved one
feels safe as snuggly blankets
on a punishing winter night

I wonder why they choose to call these
Little things and Sweet nothings
when these moments define
Miracles, Memory, Desire,
Past, Present and Future:
I’ve chosen to name them Goals.

 

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Poetry

Wordsmith Wonders- Poem

 

Image result for writer image

 

 

A wordsmith is countless careers
meshed deceptively into one

A wordsmith is an Art Therapist
giving voice to the collective unconscious
of a silently shared trauma

A wordsmith is a Headhunter
that finds the apt employees
to be his characters and caricatures

A wordsmith is a Railroad Conductor
managing conflicts in plot-lines
ensuring the destination is reached

A wordsmith is a Master Distiller
who swirls spirits and liqueurs
to soothe the anguished reader

A wordsmith is a Bike Courier
braving the muted traffic of the mind
to deliver the goods on time

A wordsmith is a Body Painter
spraying the colours of fiction
onto the sturdy body of reality

A wordsmith is an Elevator Mechanic
examining blueprints of feedback
to guarantee ascent to new heights

A wordsmith is an Acupuncturist
releasing the yin and yang
of the familiar and the exotic

A wordsmith is a Food Scientist
determined to feed the growing palate
of the ravenous masses

A wordsmith is a Funeral Service Manager
according respect and sensitivity
to new beliefs and old sentiments

A wordsmith is a Meteorologist
finding the right climate
to set the mood for tales and toons

A wordsmith is a Nurse Midwife
caring for the mother mind
helping birth new genres

A wordsmith is an Ocularist
offering eyes to the blind
and vision into alien worlds

A wordsmith is an Ethical Hacker
preventing misuse of
people’s most private secrets

A wordsmith is a Cosmetologist
adorning the commonplace
with stylistics of literary devices

A wordsmith is a Waterslide Tester
embarking on wishy-washy adventures
alone until they are market ready

A wordsmith is a Robotics Engineer
toying with special effects
for exploration and entertainment

A wordsmith is a CIA analyst
countering threatening discourses
collaborating with intelligentsia worldwide

So, the next time you’re tempted
to ask a wordsmith about his “real job”
remind yourself that

A wordsmith is countless careers
meshed deceptively into one

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Poetry

A Silhouette of Conscience- Poem

A vibrant form engulfs me
In times of sorrow and glee
It causes confusion to bend the knee
Its purple radiance sets me free

It strikes a harmonious chord
In dreary times of discord
It balms the incisions of indecision
Stomps on the indolence of apathy

Severs the immoral cord
Takes up the guardian sword
Sways you from the aches of mistakes
And reminds you what’s at stake

I like being this stranger’s ward
Worshipping the silhouette of the Conscience lord

 

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Poetry

I said, She said- Poem

She said I’m all good,
Meant Challenge my lie.
She said Of course not!
Meant Isn’t it obvious?
She said I got this,
Meant For the love of God, help me!
She said I’d like to be alone,
Meant Stay with me every second.
She said You’ve tons of friends,
Meant Screw them and save me!
She said You are my everything,
Meant I depend on you for all but nothing.
She said You’re an awesome success,
Meant I’m awfully jealous.
She said You’re the best at everything!
Meant Remind me I am good enough.
She said You give no shits about me,
Meant Reassure me, please?
She said You can’t do this and that,
Meant You can but don’t you dare!
She said A good person won’t this and that,
Meant Your free will will cost you.
She said, she said, she said- until
I said one day:
I said I’m done here,
Meant I’m done here.

 

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