Living in the Background

The wet fragment keeps spinning
like a droll television rerun
playing in the background
behind a closed-door
with muffled audio seeping
through the cracks

a shabby mirror sleeps within my chest
squeezing the gelatinous organs
as if they were gummy clay furniture
till shallow breaths and faint beats
become each step into tomorrow

another faded billboard sign
to see on the side of the road
passes by with frayed edges
and half the message folded over
that the waves at the rolling vehicles
but the minimum speed limit pushes them on

doves land upon ant hills to snack
amid dandelions casting white parachutes
into the wind that's just passing through
as blooming yellow offspring
crack driveway while chemical pumps
keep spraying out the toxins

some edible flowers
were never meant to live long lives
amid the levity in blowing its plumage
across manicured lawns and barbeques
that build scrapbooks with etched dates
inscribed upon the moment captured

Cities were born to harvest as the sickies
mow down heads and heads
while the processed wheat is packed
into tacky cubed boxes
and the chaff pilled to the sides
but the wet fragment keeps spinning.

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I cannot say I remember

image credit: pinterest Then suddenly they showed the faces The change had found where they lived The names were replaced too quickly They found where they were hid Circled in wagon filled tragedies No one rides off to the west Attention now asks for a holiday While famila is held to the test I cannot say I remember Reading in foreign tongues How I wish it were yesterday And this world today was still young.

Grief |Poem|

Grief /Poem Image credit: https//www. image search.com This is how I have dealt With grief most of my life sharing it on paper instead of humans It feels safe that way, words don't feign sympathy and paper doesn't stutter It makes the grief feel projected As if happening to another person, Not me, never me, never now As if I am a mere character in a distant story As if the grief will end after the full stop, after the end As if fiction will drown reality And reality seem fictitious But of late, of late the fiction seems to be a maze A maze I have spent too long in A period longer than forever And now, it is too late to get out of and for human touch. If you like this poem or have anything to share, comment below or write at briambredeemson700@gmail.com

YEARNING |POEM|

Picture source:www.IndiaToday.com Many gorgeous solid surface hath passed by; Where all the graceful flowers are blowing, Where all the wings are glorifying the skies, where all the dragon-flies are hopping with the river, When all the lands are praying for him. The season had succeeded to change I can't put the picture of what's that..? I'm speechless as a stone. As I filled the foreign land, I see the film was forming into night and thundering; Clothes were torn as dirty As I stood there by the bed; Under the foreign skies In winter hail and summer tempest. Besides this country; Sing thy ole school sweet. O, I remember thy mother repast luscious; The smile of dear on thy eyes The gentle cry of boys on my thine ears The memories of the thy brothers and sisters are precious; Yet unduty for my homeland, We put on hold, your dream-your-lives. Thou left thy mothers and thy fathers Thee left behind thy brothers and...

Thabaan Kabin

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