Nth power-CONTINUED
I have lived a life of the nobility & grace
I existed for the sake of the chanting summons,
Dignity seeping through as lost dreams chase-
Inhaling a brief moment then letting go to amendments
Learned to drain the invalid sophisticated worries,
Have always tripped over the simple miscellaneous hopes-
None strings attached but still with a soul of the innocent (the most innocent I suppose)...
Then out of the dark, a daunting nudge signals a wince along every inch of the peaceful figures. “Wake up. It's another dream of yours, a faulty one...” a voice muffled but haunting.
“We sure surge, but have drenched in sorrows.”
“Ego-walls may hold little hate, but have scarred a lot.”
“The only novel is that of the untamed beasts.”
The realization hits hard, indomitable, and sudden.
We have been lured, pushed, twisted to a reality to be despised. Cries of the weak, voices muted-obliged. Whispers of the wise inconspicuous and wearily violated.
The pure spirits gather in the skies, reminded by the bitter mistakes again. The mud trails, the bleary past. Mistakes of their fellows of the same “human race”.
A condemned ball of judgments- none of actually a rational pace.
Floyd mutters, looking at the little elephant, “Why are you here- when you should be down grazing and having fun. Why'd you give up?”
Looks the elephant with piercing eyes, “My mama trusted humans- so they had our fate dumped inside a pineapple!”
Then the young girl walks by, waving a full-force hello with happy eyes, “I finally made it Floyd! I came along to live with the birds whom I've freed. I don't mind ending it there as it's so beautiful here... ”
The parrot and the pigeon hip hop around.
“Yeah girl, I can't be happier. Now I could breathe and get my senses reciprocated. An end to the stingy beasts down there. ”
They all sing-song the chant of belief- belief in mercy. Mercy and only mercy.
Back to reality I stagger struggling for a steady breath. I can't decide who's more dominant, the inner writer with ink smudge trails, or the humane force battling out of my nerves...
Yes, I just contradicted two polar opposites the world is raging over. Whether it's a pullover, hangover, or a damned bulldozer.
The call is one. The novel is one. Made of the same gene bases because it has always been one.
Despite the cuffs, the tough, the morbid huffs- it all initiated from love.
It's us and only us, we and just we, are caught red-handed on cold blood.
Tattered newspapers lie naked on parched pavements. All fantasies terribly reversed.
But that's why we are humans, ever since the Osiris mortifying myth. How Sett tore his brother apart and fed him to the mighty Nile.
But there's still Izis, who had faith despite the raging riles.
Well then, the novel of reality is no Disney motion picture. Though by far a nerve-racking venture.
All we need is us, no 'maybes' or 'thus'. A loner hand never claps, but two for sure are enough to soar to freedom like a vulture.
It's a lesson, a tough one. But maybe we're here because of the mysteries lying in the past forgone...