I often start to write things that I most likely never complete; prose, poetry, short stories, etc. but well, may be it’s not too bad to share them. May be the pressure will force me to complete them or ditch them altogether.
Teach me how not to feel when feeling batters
The failing joys and truths of existence.
Teach me to pride in half-truths high on lies
And when the wailing rides on breaths of wind,
Chorusing into distinct sufferings,
teach me of the frivolity of life.
There I shall in awed wonder plunder
Under the hopes of the population.
And as the dust settles, light cutting through,
I shall whip up for the beat consciences
Fairytales of wars long since waned and won
Of how the tunes of peace fed at my breast,
Of how only my mind’s eye bleeds vision,
The rest but ailing delusions of men-
the spittle-patter of improbables.
Teach me how to make slaves of those born free.