Regaining Composure

speak softly violent winds,

forge not abundant sins,

broken bridges across hearts tied,

all words true, all meaning denied:

sleepless moon,

close the night

and go fetch the sun,

go fetch its shine to help melt

these frozen solitary hours,

go fetch shivering elephants

that know how to alter

the flow of rivers in order to

quieten wild forest fires,

go fetch the meaning of peace

from the lap of medieval nuns

and slap it across my face,

or else,

go fetch a long rope

made of honour and hang me

at the edge of your crescent:

......

now,

what do these words bring,

you and i, we often wonder,

not knowing that these words bring

first breathes to freshwater tadpoles

that have hatched out of their eggs

and wait for their tongues to

catch their first prey,

they bring phrases back to

the conscience of empty sonnets

that have left the hearts of

nocturnal pelicans in order to

bear palms across lunar eclipses

alongside a few prayers of clemency,

they bring sight back to what

my mother's visions once were

before i solemnly strayed away

from my pagelets of formulaic academia

into those of chillum hay and smoke rings,

they bring closure to the

agonies of my moonless nights

that had no sense of direction

as to where their mornings would rise:

......

rest assured,

the skewed notes at the end of

your worldy assumptions of me

are all mirages of what is true,

which is to say,

they are all pathethic attempts

of a nation trying to build itself up

upon a pageless constitution,

they are all outnumbered armies

held at the edge of swords and spears

trying to strategise victory huddles,

they are all blind tropical pigeons

trying to manoeuvre long distance

migration in hopes of catching

a glimpse of the northern lights:

rest assured,

i have at last healed,

i have at last learnt the beauty of my scars,

i have at last murdered my own history's creation,

i have at last retraced my path to my late redemption:

......