𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦?
𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧
𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥
𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘴,
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘦𝘶𝘷𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 – 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.
𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴,
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵
𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘰,
𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴,
𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.
𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯,
𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦,
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭,
𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴,
𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦… 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.
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?
Your dreams for mine,
swap your path for mine,
your heart for mine,
a life for a life.
Your breath for this,
your thoughts for mine,
trade places so briefly
and allow you more time.
Exist in memory,
relive those plenty,
when life gets lonely,
there’s comfort in memories.
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.
Look no further beyond yourself,
all matter is subjective,
if so then all subject is fatuous,
If we are to truly credit
the individualism of liberalism.
Faux outrage, more cynicism
gratifying the little picture,
sacrificing the bigger picture,
silently stare as society folds,
forgetting that we’re all in the picture.
Look far beyond,
beyond perceived notions of want,
beyond greed, beyond individual dreams.
Look to all that is lost,
as individualism grows and it’s no longer ‘we’.
Search outside yourself,
live for your brother, sister, friend, lover,
It takes thousands of souls to make a mark,
Yet change it starts within.
As peace was breached through sleepless nights, no cloud, no fall could dim your light;
ones grateful here yet needed time,
oh as dreams would have it, I needed mine.
Some thousand days of note,
our somber days a’ mote.
Where fury and fire once merged, from the ashes of pain, grew hope.
Oh as life would have it you made me grow.
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.
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.
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 ✍🏾….