Black Hand

Exhausted eyes fight the self-imposed night,
Losing a minute with every seeming second,
Thoughts cease, movements slow,
The off button is pushed; the on button breaks,
A sudden flash of something strange,
A grotesque limb never seen before;
A hand, skinny, black, with white cuts or scabs,
Reaches across the table where I sit, my arms resting,
And picks up a box of cigarettes that did not exist in real time,
Before vanishing, leaving behind a confused pair of eyes;
The hallucination ended as soon as it begun,
Yet it burned itself inside my lids, smoking,
A direct address is dismissed with a disturbing smile,
And a blatant lie,
A world of my own has just showed me signs of a smoke-out,
Now I just want to know where the fire extinguisher is.

(the incident that inspired this poem was bizarre and it happened literally as I describe it - I'd been out the night before and was nearly falling asleep in the seminar the next day when I saw a split second image of a black hand picking up a box of cigarettes, and I have no idea why I would see something like that).

Even Though

There are knives in the backs of all my friends,
I also see them in the backs of complete strangers,
All in the name of meeting ends,
We are all tossed into deceitful dangers.

Even though open eyes would have solved the problem.

Watch the queues increase by day,
Watch the strikes multiply in futility,
Watch the suicides’ dismay,
Watch people lose faith in government and divinity.

Even though such faith was always blind.

Pockets are picked in the name of the common good,
Yet such an interest would have been the prevention,
Denial blinded thoughts of could or would,
Now salvation is beyond divine intervention.

Even though that was never really possible.

Greed caused the underhands to swipe,
And everyone has been robbed of a future now based on chance,
Every report is met with a snipe,
And people spend days talking of a move to America or France.

Even though everywhere is the same.

You say you are trying to right the wrongs,
Yet you are just fixing a broken system with blunted tools,
Battering at the heads of the country’s throngs,
Taking each and everyone of them for fools.

Even though they know exactly what you have done.

Messages of unity flood from all outlets,
‘Together these times can be overcome,
There has been a cancellation of all bets’,
Yet we know these promises are false, we are done.

Even though the Tiger was a myth from the beginning.

Entrapment

A swallow flies backwards and sideways,
Over a wasteland that has not seen grass for five years,
And two young girls walk across it,
Dressed in uniform but ignoring their commitments,
Unaware of the desolation surrounding them,
As it is something they have grown accustomed to in years gone by,
But the swallow still flies backwards and sideways,
For fear of falling and dying on the lifeless ground…

And there is a boy sitting on a bus, and has been for two years straight,
A bus that everyday passes by the fenced enclosure of brown rubble,
Yet, only today, at the sight of the swallow, has he noticed it,
And he fingers the place on his jacket where buttons once resided,
And he brushes his hair nervously from his eyes with holey gloves,
And he suddenly feels too warm, yet knows the wind outside is fierce,
As that swallow is flying backwards and sideways,
Yet the two young girls seem oblivious to the elements and experiences around them…

So the bus passes away from the dead, bottle covered, rubbish strewn land,
So the bus ignores the disorientated swallow, hanging in the air,
While the girls talk of things like alcohol, and cigarettes,
And boys, and sex, and clothes, and town, and fake IDs,
And of everything they hold so dear in their lives, but would never admit it outwardly,
As this would be a sign of weakness their peers would not tolerate,
And all the while the boy is drifting away from the land cursed by those two girls,
And all the while the boy is forced away from the trapped swallow…

And is wondering how it will fly in a straight line again.

Astray

You put your hand in mine,
I hear explosions in the sky,
You have led me astray this stormy day,
On we walk, with hands held high.

And despite the rainy weather,
Our time is so sweetly spent,
But you have led me astray this cold day,
Towards temptation of borderline contempt.

For I took a vow of chastity only one day ago,
After careless words broke three hearts,
Now you have led me astray this dull day,
Barely before my vow of solidarity starts.

Fireworks rise above our heads,
Lighting up the drizzle falling slowly,
You have led me astray this wet day,
Shifting a position I never thought would be.

Dreaming dazes paint pictures of antics,
Words softly spoken bring me back home,
You have led me astray this cloudy day,
Now I wish I was all alone.

Fear of complicating something special grows,
Friends never lovers is better than ex-lovers divided,
You have led me astray this rainy day,
Now we need to decide what needs to be decided.

Eyes meet in a fleeting glance,
Cheeks turn a flustered red as we wait for the other,
You have led me astray this soaking day,
Yet I fret at recalling your feelings for another.

Well known to all who hold you dear,
A hundred day obsession with someone you cannot keep,
You have led me astray this drowning day,
But I know I cannot afford to fall too deep.

So I turn away from your telling eyes,
Look instead at the day becoming the night,
You have led me astray this ending day,
And your hand still grasps mine so tight.

The rain ceases as the stars come out.
The first star winks and I no longer have doubt.

Broken Bricks and Broken Glass

Eyes grow heavier and shut, taking me to a back garden never before seen,
Where people gather to tear apart a mound made of small bricks,
Only to replace them with bigger blocks, burying something unspoken;
Concrete grates and smashes, earth breaks and smoothes,
Hands cut and blister, backs ache with the constant bending and lifting,
As people who have never said a word to one another before now unite in this task,
To break and rebuild a monument for one man’s parents;
A tractor clumsily drives forward over the remains of the mound,
People stop through fatigue and cut corners, hoping to save time and effort,
Broken glass appears to the dismay of the man,
Who recognises them as the treasured heirlooms,
Buried beneath bricks in the hope of preserving a legacy hundreds of years old,
A legacy the man hoped to protect and reinforce with bigger blocks,
A legacy now survived by one clear glass box amidst shattered scratched shards;
Myself, my best friend and his ex-lover are there, breaking bricks and placing blocks,
Former classmates who have seen battles colossal, with myself at the periphery,
And they at the frontlines on opposing sides, jealousy and lies their weapons of destruction,
Peacekeeping mine;
Here, in this back garden of broken bricks and spirits, they are reunited,
Reigniting a relationship that has moved both heaven and hell for better and for worse,
Even though I know he has fallen for someone else and she has had a serious fling,
Both fell so hard and their feelings are still so strong that this situation does not make sense,
Nothing here makes sense;
And we work on this monument, smashing each brick to expose its foundations,
When she comes to me, one drink too many on her tongue,
Our eyes meeting, and a strange feeling of lust and longing erupts in our stomachs’ pits,
A feeling that has never materialised before now and has not materialised since,
A desire to take her here amongst the bricks, earth and glass,
Amongst the people and beside him, my best friend;
But we do not even kiss, because I could never betray him,
Yet that traitorous gaze and those traitorous thoughts were enough to break our friendship,
As she ran to him and told him about “the moment she wanted to happen but is glad it didn’t”,
And he screams “TRAITOR!” so loud that everyone stares,
Leaving me to explain that nothing had happened and that nothing ever would;
But he stops me and says “never again”, accepting my click but not returning it,
And I end up at my bedroom, acknowledging that this is all a dream,
Telling myself that this is a dream and that dreams are not real,
Getting into bed while hoping beyond hope that this is a dream,
That my eyes will open and none of this will have happened,
Logic reassures me, yet the horrible fear grips my stomach that this is all real,
I get into bed just wanting to wake up.