1818 – قوة تضامنية

philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

Raise your voice and speak.
Speak for those without speech, stand for those without feet,
cry for those who won’t weep,
fight for those you can’t see
and hope for those who don’t dream.

While you love your sons, remember the mothers, while you guide your daughters, don’t forget the brothers.
He whom love left, those abandoned by freedom.
She who’s bombarded with visions, disenfranchised by systems, enamoured by false wisdom, entrapped by mental prisons.

Never forget the voiceless.
For your voices power is reliant on its relationship to the lack there of for others. For the power in your word is plural and of universal consequence.
Never forget the voiceless.
For he who ignores oppression does so at his own peril, as all rights are merely privileges in the face of tyranny.

Busy in Wonder… #JC4PM

philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

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.

Busy in wonder: Who Knows, Maybe I’ll See The Glass Half full…

Insight, philosophy, thoughts, Uncategorized

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…

Coalition of The Broken

Insight, philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts, Uncategorized

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.

And, If Somehow This Finds You; Mérci, Mon Amie!

Poetry

I’ll remember the joyous days, the moments of wonder, the smile I wore, within your presence and so much more.

Times forever,

yet scarce – and wasted,

mortalities reason.

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,

Asya Valentine.

YESTERDAY

Insight, philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts, Uncategorized

‘Remember, remember’ no sooner forgotten,

The allure of wonder, yet another broken promise.

For it was written but it never went that way,

So we’re left with the promise of better days,

a tomorrow of love, a peaceful hereafter.

Hope turns to fear after another disaster; I carried your dreams before you could bare the burden,

I etched your memory in blood and soil.

I wished to clear the storms and seek new pastures,

but you watched as my hope just went away.

You watched me weep, oh if time could speak; you’d understand how lonely this life can be, how cold and damaged a broken heart becomes, when time fades and curtains close on better days. You will remember me and know that you should have loved me yesterday.

By Crook, By Design

Insight, philosophy, Poem, Poetry, thoughts

Split and destroy, divide and rule,

the ploy from a few to divide us all.

If it is the system that reaps rewards

and handles allocation; where nine tenths

have nothing because it’s captured and hoarded?

If the many must struggle for the gain of a few?

Then why not should one suggest, to take it from you?

Shame and pity for all of your flaws,

you have all you could want yet still want more.

‘Lies, damned lies and statistics‘

the story from the graph and the ground are so so different;

off with the platitudes,

time for solutions, the systems not broken – it’s working, we need a revolution.

𝒱𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒪𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒻𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓈𝑒𝒹

Insight, Poem, Poetry, thoughts, Uncategorized

The dreams of a young idealist, how brutal and cold this world can be.

How firm and resolute it’s grip may stay, with each passing day my ideals decay.

Since long I’ve denounced religion, yet my state remains, so in this state, I find I pray.

‘If an answer exists let it be revealed, if ignorance is bliss, then a burden it is. But, if happiness is this, I want no part.’

A young idealist, for years to come, I’ll walk my path, a lonely one.

I’ll keep this hope, if only that,

to speak truth to power and understand that actions are neither static nor binary.

Understand that without friction there is no change and during those times I pray;

‘Though my existence is not perfect, I live in peace, with shelter and hope, the chance to dream. And oh to the extent to which I am free, if my freedom is lynched to the infringement of that of others, then is it not our duty to speak for our Sisters and Brothers?’

For Who If Not For Yourself?

Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

If not for you, then for them

How many sigh?
How many fall?
I hear a cry.
A broken oath; so if not for yourself then for him, then for her, then for them.

If not for yourself, then for them.
Bare the cross and tread the fire.
How many times?
1000 + Love, for them,
not even a lifetimes enough.

Not even time shall interrupt.
Not even life can end that bond.
Until time is no more
and suffering has ceased, if not for yourself, then do for them.

Picture Perfect

Poem, Poetry, thoughts

There must be more to this.
I refuse to accept the premise of a life of labour and tragedy,
the promise of an eternity that never stands, a dream that’s never dreamt, a story so poorly planned.
A picture so bleak and bland.
Some say the pictures perfect if I say it is,
then I say it is, yet nay it is?
The truth is it’s only perfect whilst ones painting it, once it sits, the fade begins, the creaks appear, the canvas splits, the image shifts but we live with it.
It can’t ever be how we pictured it, yet, those cracks and smudges, rips and stains, the years of pain and joy that yield the page; that’s what makes life worth it.