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 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.
Upon setting my paw outside into the unknown, I was horrified at what lay in front of me. I, until a few weeks ago, remembered this place as the river which slipped twinkling over golden grains of sand, gazed down by trees that showered pink, blue and purple. They were garnished adoringly by leaves fanning out from the branches which majestically displayed its splendour. Of course, I told Pippa and Ayia underground, who had yet to come of age, of the blue black smoke that wafted elegantly covering the small sparkling Gods. They seemed to worship the Lune which instead bathed the brown blades. It was until only a few weeks that my home appeared to be the beacon of love, life and laughter but now it seemed Death had held it captive, adding it to its vast collection.
The scene now around me shattered, scattered, the little remorse I had for these human beings. Mumma had murmured tales of history – surrender of the moles and then, the starvation. She said it was occurring again and that I mustn’t venture out. Yet I did. I pity my decision for my eyes now rested on the harmless blue-green bellies protruding from the surfaces of the coalmine-like river; thousands set in ordered rows in all directions. These were the last efforts made by creatures who had tried all they could just to live on for another day.
I scrounged forward disregarding the ramblings of harm caused by smell or touch that I had been warned of. Surely this was the act of those who purposely wished to asphyxiate us, fear monger us and banish our hopes. For I am one to not stand idle, however I am one that will stand for my own, my family, not for greed nor pleasure – but for what is right and what we truly deserve. As I scrambled forward, the pure horror became visible. Trees had slumped forward dead, it’s now dark locks matted by the sticky substance. The pure magnificence even in death dazzled me. The branches twisted and curled around its bark as if to protect itself, yet it could not. They had been deserted by its leaves; pieces of brown hovered until finally resting at the feet as if they were sacrifices given to satiate the vengeful Gods. All life had been corrupted by this darkness, poisoned by the blackness, only instigated by arrogance and yet the Lune stared silently. She just watched and stared.
I nosed my way closer, willing my paw to enter the sea. What would Mumma say if she saw me now? What would Papa? I’ll show them though. By bringing some back, and getting dear Pippa to analyse it, we’ll surely find a way to fight back. I dipped my paw cautiously into the water. Nothing happened. I edged a bit further. Nothing happened. Maybe our race was protected by the Lune? As I contemplated the possibilities, the wind slapped me and I fell hurling into the rageful wrath of the sea. Clumps of slime entered my mouth and yet no matter the amount if times I coughed and choked, it remained lodged, draining my lifeforce. I tried to swash through the barriers preventing me of returning yet I failed. I, covered in rot, could not move my fully formed legs or arms. Failed with hopelessness, my last moments were to ask the Lune why she had forsaken me. Misted by the oncoming conquerings of Death, I was regretfully beckoned by the future – the husband I would never have, the children. Hatred spurted out of me.
The serene atmosphere around me had been invaded by the impending threat, and I too was going to be its prey, for no one was exempt from the deeds of the humans. I, too, was going to be the prey of the black poison.
The irony is that Vladamir Putin has been nominated for the Nobel Prize Peace Award.
Tears. My tears of pain, of hurt..of anger splatter down yet you still forsaken me.
You forsaken so many of us.
Everyday I gaze up at the night sky, wondering if you’re really there. There’s a domain in my heart enshrouded with fear, with doubt…do I believe in you or do I want to?
It hurts you know? To be thrashed. Mentally and physically…every single second of your life – even in my sleep, I am not at peace. To be called a whore, worthless, a mistake…countless other things…am I? But I guess I did prove her wrong in one respect; I didn’t get pregnant at the age of 14. But then she goes on to tell me that she must have done something wrong to have a child like me in this life…do I cause her suffering? Am I the reason why my family are unhappy?
Everyday I dread coming home. It starts from the minute I enter the house and stops from the minute I leave it.
I live in a cage.
I live in a prison.
It starts with the shouting, goes on to the throwing of objects at me, breaking my things and ends with the kicks and punches to my head, my stomach, my face. Everyday. I don’t know why but I swear I hear happiness radiating in his voice while he riles her up even further to take it out on me.
There is no such thing as family – it is all a pretence.
Sometimes I wonder if this is a test…a test from you. But why give me this test when others don’t…why me? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to leave…or do you want me to persevere through, determined, strong? Because I don’t think my strength will last any longer.
Everyday, that bottle of pills, sitting idly there, torment me. They sit there, tempting me, asking me to reach out. Will today be another day where I cower, where do I waver?
The thumps of the footsteps are resounding louder now , louder and louder.
There is no time to prepare.
These seventeen years. These seventeen long years I have tried. Maybe it is the easy way out. But to me, it’s the only.