I continue in service of memory,
My debt settled in honour,
For the light that pierced
Through horror.
For in the abyss, the
Concrete desert lived a nomad.
A fitting place for
The truly deserted.
A modest life,
One riddled with burden,
A soul littered in pain,
Yet it was love you worshiped.
In that shadow I lurk,
In your shadow I learnt,
Now in your honour I work
And your memory I serve.
Asya Valentine, Busy In Wonder
Mercy, itโs in our prayers
and itโs our biggest cancer,
societies poison, humanities pill,
itโs mercy, the sweet nectar of power
at mercies behest some plunder and steal.
Mercy, it both separates
and connects us to the animal kingdom.
The power of mercy
bestowed upon lords,
the bedrock of hierarchy
and so much more.
Mercy, the noose around the neck
of the 21st century serf,
the promise of subjugation
at birth,
the promise of death by a thousand cuts,
mercy, so misunderstood in a merciless world.
What is constant in a world of moments,production is in abundance yet so many are still hopeless?So what is always in a world of โneverโin a world of sometimes,whatโs forever?Dreamt a thousand dreams.Hoped forevermore,for brighter days for the pooror just a chance at it,a shot at a future, a slice of hope,because while at times it shines here,the rains been constantand the joy has always been brief,yet the pains so constant.
๐๐๐๐ถ ๐ฑ๐ถ๐๐๐๐๐พ๐๐, ๐ต๐๐๐ ๐ผ๐ ๐ฒโ๐๐น๐๐
No silver spoon,
I only know drug antidotes,
only thing to ease my mind
when the demons call.
Five years my junior,
but the reason I became a man.
On these words I stand…
your lifeโs my only plan.
Jungle made of concrete,
seen no easy years,
lifeโs so unfair…
can still feel your soul in the air.
Radicalised by pain,
sufficiently conditioned to reject
the meritocratic myths and
barely interested in conditional freedoms,
liberal bourgeoisie notions of self,
the sort of ideas that pave the good intentions to hell.
The sort of hell fashioned by the idea that our practices,
our ways of organising are anything more than ideas…
anything more than the brain children
of those who existed in a society prior
– the sort of society that they themselves once wished to redefine.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ด,
๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ช๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ด ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด
๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ท๐ถ๐ญ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข๐ฃ๐ช๐ญ๐ช๐ต๐บ ๐ช๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ค๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ;
๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ข๐จ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ
๐ด๐ต๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ข๐บ๐ด ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฏ.
๐๐ฉ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ข๐ญ ๐ด๐ต๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ด,
๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ถ๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ท๐ข๐ญ – ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ต๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ
๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ญ๐บ๐ณ๐ช๐ค๐ข๐ญ ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ด,
๐ต๐ฉ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ด๐ข๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฏ๐ข๐ณ๐ณ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ท๐ฆ ๐ช๐ด ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฏ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ
๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ณ๐ข๐ฅ๐ช๐ค๐ข๐ญ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ๐ต.
๐๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ฑ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ต ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ข๐ญ ๐ฑ๐ช๐ค๐ต๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด.
๐๐ช๐ค๐ต๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ช๐ค๐ฉ ๐ฑ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ต ๐ข ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ๐ด,
๐ช๐ง ๐ด๐ฐ ๐ด๐ข๐ช๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ต๐ฉ.
๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ตโ๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฏ,
๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ช๐ต ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ข๐จ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ.
I mostly remember you for the winter days,
The streets would freeze as you lit my soul,
If the heart could speak then I’d let you know.
You got me through the winter days.
The snow falls, the wind blows and
Our streets are filled with muddied slush.
Even when I was alone on my way to school,
Iโd hear your voice say, โdonโt runโ.
Donโt worry, I were always sure to walk,
Even when you left,
I never felt alone, I felt your step
and for all those journeys in my mind we would talk.
I mostly remember you for my winter days,
But I love you for the days I donโt remember.
That Tuesday morning, you remember right?
September 5th, 1995.
The day you became my goddess and you gave me life.
The day I stole your heart and you gave me mine,
you gave me the most precious gift… time.
Yet I must live without you every single day.
Reminiscing of the early years,
loving you for the latter.
Missing you hereafter,
But mostly…
mostly, I remember you for the winter days.
It can happen in an instant,
One moment youโre cruising,
The next your sinking.
Those final moments can be so fitting;
life and death, forever besides never,
if deaths eternal then what is living?
I remember the way they saw me,
If only they knew I could see them now,
I flutter in and out of consciousness as they scream and shout.
โFight it… fight itโ
But Iโm done fighting,
Iโm fully resigned to leaving now.
They donโt love me really, not even now.
They worry for their loss as they forget about mine.
Iโll be gone forever but theyโll forget that in time.
They should have loved me while I was here;
Before the pink left my lips and my dreams disappeared,
before time took my mind, before age took my frame,
back when we had more time, more memories to make.
They never loved me while I was here.
But as Iโm leaving they love me again?
Funny how things change.
