Today, we are faced with nightly film of refugees fleeing to Europe from war, terror, persecution, poverty, famine, drought and environmental degradation. Nobody can be in any doubt of desperation of these people. But compassion has deserted us.
We have learned the valuable lesson that foreign military intervention is not a zero-cost means of salving our consciences. We have not learned that the only practical answer is to offer refugees shelter and comfort, even if we risk acquiring a reputation for being a ‘soft touch’.
There is still a clamour that ‘something must be done’ but the ‘something,’ it seems, is to ‘deal with’ the people traffickers, as though the terrible conditions that drive refugees to seek a new life would then become more tolerable.‘
The first time I tried, I felt so free. Hooked on, don’t wait for me.
I’m so tired of living in the dark…can somebody open the door, forever leave their mark?
Shattered edges cut my bleeding heart – an empty void, pour yourself in.
Your touch I yearn for, your caress I burn for.
A twinkling light in this shrouded fog,
Come hither. Come forever more.
The world seems to look away and ignore the fact that more than 125 people have taken part in self-immolation protests within Tibet; an act of sacrifice where Tibetans have chosen to set themselves alight.
The Chinese authorities try to brush off these acts by blaming them on the Damai Lama. It’s funny how just they overlook the faults because the world wants the power of China.
The involved parties don’t just involve men, women, teachers but nuns, monks and even children have decided to take part in this act of non-violence.
Just think about the sheer amount of discipline and focus it must have taken to not flinch, scream, or show any pain as his body turns to ash.
I’m a little lost at sea,
Cruising the waves, waiting for thee.
Free your mind and join me,
Break through your dams.
I won’t be found,
Until your tide sails me home.
Let me live that fantasy.
My Mask. I wear for all to see.
A glove for my head,
Now, worn to my shape.
Hardened lines scribed onto
Its carefully wrought surface, Show the world a woman I know. They show her eyes and ears,
Her mouth and brow.
The mask is as old as my mind,
As young as I dare;
It is creased and weathered,
Scared and lined,
Swept by the wind.
I wear a mask
The whole world can see.
The visor for my helmet,
A shade from the light.
Would I could peel the mask away, And draw upon its surface
By my own hand.
Alas, this shall never be.
For the mask I wear,
It is made of my skin,
And it seems to reach
Down to the bone.
Is life some sort of test that I must persevere in? Must I battle on, ensuring I hold on to determination and hope? To come out victorious, is that what I should do? If so, kill me now, for I do care about getting the pride to my name.
I see this now, God. I really do. What you fling to me time and time again. But my foundations are slowing slipping, slowly wavering – on the brink of collapse.
I will be able to stand no longer if you keep thrashing me with these all. For I know, I shall become an empty vessel cascading down this current of black sands.
These currents push down on me as I try to claw myself out. For a moment or two, the world mourns for the fact that I am drowning.
Another test, God?
I do not want persevere this time.
I try wading out, I try pushing back against this current but all I do is further plunder deeper and deeper.
My essence is leaving me.
I have awaited eagerly for this day for the time when an external sleep washes over me…an abode where none can awaken me.
My glistening tears glow through the silver specks of glitter that waft through this hazy night. At times, they clutter and huddle together and even the trees reach out for one another. Yet, I have never felt the enclosed warmth that they are enwrapped in.
I am alone.
Why Truth has forsaken me, I do not know. Everyday I push on just to capture a mere handful of it, alas, for the last twelve years of my life…I have failed. Not to say that I haven’t tried. Oh I have! I have searched the deepest of crannies, walked to the furthest edges but everytime I have gained sight of it, I run to find Corruption seeping through.
Even those that have overlooked us have fallen.
There is none left to turn to.
I trudge back through the gates to find a boy, a mere boy, praying to the Luna. The beginning where it all started. Maybe we should start with the places, the people, closest to us to find the answers we seek for.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there still is some Truth left in the world.
Truth is the first casualty of war.