Son of the Land

A man can build himself with the work of his hands,
with the words of his mouth and the sweat of his brow.
He can maintain his pride and brush his mane for as long as he holds his head up high.
A man is built of steel, he knows whats good for him and will fight the evil that comes close to him.
His pride may not allow him to see the path that brought him to the highest cliff.
But his inexpressive heart is ever grateful to the soil that built his throne.
He looks not on the past with shame. He sees it as the staircase to the highest floor.
He looks forward not only with dreams but with the pieces that build these dreams in his eyes.
If his eyes close one day, he will go in peace, knowing at every moment that all that could be done is done.
If his eyes close at the hour when he is least prepared, his soul will be back to achieve his dreams in his sons.
And his sons will make him proud he hopes, they will complete him.
But lest they turn to be more of the opposite gender, he shan't expect as much.
As for his daughters, he hopes to live to see them married, to the sons of the highest of the clan.
To the real men of the land.
And he prays to the Gods of the earth and sky to give them children and good health.
For their prosperity is the prosperity of their kind.

If this man cannot live to receive all the titles of his land, but lives to be cursed among his men.
His bones are not thrust into the soil but left to rot above it.
For the poison of his flesh must not be left to contaminate the sons yet to be born of the land.
A man is not known by the works and titles of his father but the honour he earns for himself.
Why then must he suffer the shame of a son who knows no loyalty to his fatherland.
The downfall of a man begins when he allows an ego to step over every relationship he maintained.
And along with his downfall comes the fall of his kind, the sons of his brothers...
And the rise of the new religion, the new and Omniscient God, maker of their gods...
In the end, hanging on a rope might have been the only escape from what he saw as the end of his kind.
- Inspired by the book 'Things Fall Apart' by Chinua Achebe

Marked for life

Tattooed with numbers,
Counted as prisoners,
Ruled by a man, a disgrace to humanity,
and yet an example of power.
Stripped of their clothes and robbed of their belongings,
Separated from their loved ones and whipped of all dignity.
Lost among their own kind.
Witnessed the murder of one too many of their own.
With eyes wide open, made to watch bullets shot through their people.
The horror of their own sons working for the enemy.
The sons of the land, trained to love no more, to show no mercy.
Life was guaranteed only if your hand worked a trade.
Death was guaranteed if you lifted you head to the enemies glare.
Freedom was a dream and food was a luxury.
A meal consisted of bread and water.
A smile was seen only after the enemy went to sleep.
They sang to their hearts delight when sorrow was too much to handle
For they knew no way out.
What better way to make the best of the life, they knew, could be taken away from them the next day.
They made merry with nothing to call their own but the people who stood besides them.
Escape was not an option, it was as good as death.
Although, to many, death seemed a better option than life in the enemy's camp.
When a way out was finally drawn for them, it was too good to be true.
Some embraced it with open arms and kissed the soil they fell free on.
Others stood and looked at their arms.
Just a number, a tattoo that stood for captivity.
Marked for life.
- Inspired by the movie 'Escape from Sobibor'

Under the Influence

He looked up one evening as he saw the most amazing sight.
The sky was lit up in all its grandeur.
The stars danced for him
And formed the most beautiful show of lights.

Nothing could be more beautiful at that point.
And if this night could be given to him again and again.
He'd give all he has for it just to have it forever
And a packet of white... slipped back into his pocket.

This feeling is different, this life is new.
He's happier in this world where he sees what he wishes to see.
Where he can make people do what he want and he can relax with his glass.
While someones carrying him home, he's treated like those of the highest class.

Happiness is a sniff of it, happiness is a sip of it.
Bliss is just a poke away and even just a smoke away.
Climbing a mountain will not take him as high as a smack of this little pack.
Life's better, they say, under the influence.

But I beg to differ, I'm proud to disagree!
I'v learnt to feel the same but without the trouble of trading beneath the table.
I find solace in things that sustain life.
Unlike you who find it in Poison.