The curse of compassion,
you find feeling in all,
you embody empathy
so now you feel it all.
Now you feel their joy
and share their pain,
now you taste their laughter
and share their shame.
And it’s hard,
oh ‘tis so hard.
To love so deep
that one envy’s the sociopath.
And it’s hard,
oh ‘tis so hard.
To love so deeply
with a broken heart.
What misery awaits us,
were a life of sorrow
the reality of living;
could life be worth living,
we’re it not for wonder?
What glory escapes us,
were a life of bliss
right within our grip;
could it all be so different,
had we clung to our wonder?
For a moment it things were bliss.
For a moment I heard the birds.
For a moment my visions were coloured,
for just a moment, forever were a grasp away.
I were the lively one
and you were coy,
for a moment, if only a moment,
we felt peace and we experienced joy.
There your neighbour stands
and here you compare your hand
to your neighbours hand.
They followed the script,
your script was sabotaged,
yes they followed the script
but they’re still dissatisfied.
It’s just that your injustice
to you, is always more magnified.
And that’s life, I understand.
But they have life too.
They hope and dream,
just like you,
they over work and under sleep,
just like you;
harp on ‘what could have been’
just like you,
a happenstance separates them from despair
and any second, should something happen, they could be just like you.
Look at your neighbour,
see that they’re just like you.
You have fears, they have anxiety too,
they feel annexed from society too.
They feel the burden of working for about half of what they should be earning;
they lost a loved one too, you’re not the only person.
Your neighbours just like you,
and their neighbours just like them,
so they’re just like you.
Here’s to solidarity.
A chance at hope,
a new deal for the downtrodden.
A chance for the maligned and forgotten,
smell the air of change a brand new promise.
Broken homes, broken dreams for a nation on the edge,
pain and turbulence, suffering and chaos, by design not an act of nature.
Opportunity stripped our systems rotten,
if all is broken we must look to economics.
War in foreign lands,
war on drugs…
a nation divided,
we must cease all the violence
and tackle the climate.
Time to march,
time to occupy,
time to vote.
Cash in on due change,
today’s the time for hope.
If only for myself I write these thoughts, I’ll write yet more, to satisfy my own yearn for expression, my own desire to be heard, to matter, to be greater than the some of my parts. I know that my mirror reflects a man greater than it’s shown, a man with potential untapped and projections uncapped. I see a man of honour, I see a man of trust and wisdom. A man who’s allowed experience to guide him but knowledge to shape him. I see him stand, I see him speak, compassionate and firm, a glaring light.
Yet still most days I wonder. Most days I’m aware of who I am, who I was and who I would like to be – and I wonder, had my previous self been a little more free, free to think free to read, free to learn, free to be; and he had stood before that mirror would he see what I now see? And if that be true, then had time been wasted? Maybe. Or maybe it’s the experience that allows context to be applied to new knowledge. Maybe it’s the pain, maybe it’s the memories, maybe it’s the thoughts that only I can access, in the darkest corners of pneuma that even allow such a reflection to be possible.
These moments lead me to think that my vision isn’t in-spite of experience, but tethered to memory of all ilk. What I mean is that hope is a result of understanding ones experience and supplementing that with knowledge. I’m saying that growth in and of itself is doomed vanity hunt. For I could educate myself one thousand times over, make all the right decisions on paper and still not be a better Asya.
Hope is my wonder and I’ll be forever busy…
Written today, I’ll read it later,
penned September, remembered forever.
Better days both ahead and behind,
the beauty of life, thus the wonder of time. When I read this later I’ll know,
how things panned, not how they penned.
When I read this later I’ll understand,
who I am and how things went,
what will be when all is said
and who I’ve become once this ends.
What’s decided now, I’ll visit then,
for only time will bring understanding.
Only history can judge my steps;
for we are all but footnotes in the end,
Seen 24 summers and winters too.
Where it pours it shines,
where it’s cold there is warmth,
on this journey of mine
who knows what’s due.
So I’ll visit this all later, for now I’ll leave this to you.
Here’s to my 24th season.
Asya Valentine ✍🏾….
Engulfed by storms, when it rains it pours; no shelter for our dreams.
Despite the facts, all that we lacked,
in hope we stood,
with unreachable goals and the ignorance of innocence.
Time ticks, each of our canvas’ painted, they who were pure now bruised and tainted, sad and broken, alienated and dangerous.
So we leave dreams to sleep, if all loves attached to conditions just leave us be. From dreams to reality,
so many wide asleep, as we lay fast awake in our nightmares.
Open minds meet closed eyes.
Just pain and sorrow when we shut our eyes,
we hate this world but love our lives.
If only time could be renewed and history replayed.
I’d redraw the canvas, renegotiate our hate, redraft our deal, incubate the pain.
Provide us hope, ignite our dreams, engage our joys and redefine ‘we’.
But where imagination and reality cross, we fine tune our desire, give glory to struggle and speak truth to power.
I’ll remember the joyous days, the moments of wonder, the smile I wore, within your presence and so much more.
yet scarce – and wasted,
Yet, if given a thousand years;
I’d still remember our time together.
The spills, the laughs, the moments that made me wish a single moment could last forever…
The moments that visions are built on,
the moments that myths yield, I shall forever shield, for they are moments that I refuse to relinquish.
For if I had a thousand more Septembers;
no less of those moments will I remember.
You shaped my world,
revived my hope,
which made my world.
So if those moments must pass, then let that be, let moments fade to memories – just capture them.
If time is forever, then so to is our bond.
And if somehow… if somehow this may find you;
mérci, mon amie, mérci.
Still Busy In Wonder,