Who are we?

The next time you try to pull a rabbit out of the hat, think hard about the illusion because sometimes tricks are not. We live in a world where governments are run by a man with a red nose to preach democracy in the name of capitalism. Our pursuits are of corporation aspirations, my company against yours, monopolize not to share or make a billion every year until each book of inheritance bears a son.

Who are we exactly? And I mean not what some hot shot therapist who was high on his yoga extensions told you. We are kept busy not to know ourselves. All we do is run the same toothpaste down the throat to pull a sock in the office to impress our bosses so that someday they might give us a corner office with a genuine leather “throne” chair to view the bloody city from a bigger angle of the glass.

Belong or be gone? The dust cloud behind our troubles in the sense of identity is artificial. I’ll tell you what we are not. We are not slaves but chained with addiction to what we can live without and we are not fools but married to silk curtains of pleasure over our faces.

We are a great nation of survivors, articulate people at mastery, sweet at heart, warm at an eye, caring at a touch, and lovely at a thought, passionate at a heartbeat and compassionate with hospitality

27-04-2010-RSA

The relic of our history into being goes beyond racial memories that entails years of imperialistic policies that exclude the economic and social opportunities for a group of people. We have to continue to do our best to set an environment conducive for less communal polarization even when the incitings are just mere coincidences. The consultation principle to portray distinctions with intent to justify history with political maneuvers to dance a tune with a prune articulation is only absurd and critical. Freedom is a critical will when you have it at your finger tips.

……….Tributes ………….Today

We die into memories of the living; life comes at an age like a friend to only call a fiend at the end. We ask why now when we know how. Losing somebody you love is truly a pain you can only not want to explain with the voluntaries of emotions that are promotional to a sad face. You sustain happiness at each day that prevails with the little hope of the unknown knowing you will never know. We rest our comfort in the peace to cherish a well lived life to what is a piece of our own hearts. Our eyes fill in the go away spirit to cry tears of hurt, we put aside dark and cherish the spark of what will never be sparkling in the scar convictions to celebrate or curse.

Most is lost in the cost of a day in a way that it will always forever be gone. I carry my heart each day with love to cherish and sadness to find peace. I ask how can something so careful and beautiful at a breath be done out by worth when all that is earth goes gloom? Precious at being timely, seconds are more; life is the most amazing thing. We spend our time on prescription everything-what to wear, eat, drink and love-we become ourselves when the nonsense manual written by hypocrites on how we should live our lives don’t matter.

We honor fools in a wagon and a horse to wag its tail with a flag and call it patriotism. Patriotism belongs to men and women who sleep on orthopedic beds and still have the courage to overcome their back pains in adversity to work for more than 35 years to be honored with nothing but executive oppression. Let’s love those we love now.

Giving You All Mine

Note the poet only to quote the words he doesn’t say in each day to play the way his sentiments pursue all away from his heart that part with such excitement to love. If I had a heart as powerful as an enchantment of the delight in your eyes it would fly like a butterfly only with your spirit. Pudding is pudding, fluffy, soft and smooth is the elegance of the cup. Women drive the crazy nuts out of us, we lose our boyhood attitude to push away pink flags and not share a toy only to fight other boys so that she gets the flower from the only shrub in the yard. My heart is heavy with caution and the proportion of what I feel is…the way she smiles in the morning beauty to cherish my temperamental trials in the kitchen or the touch of her hands across the technical explanations I can’t even start to tell. She sounds like no space would fit her face. She makes me sleep deep into the keen will to react. She is sweet at teen and completes streets with hopes. I can only cope when she giggles and I look into her eyes with anticipation. Whether it is the lucky guy who is carrying your heart with the thousand drops of delights down valleys and blue skies of sound the feeling can only be the comfort care beyond notions of credibility existent only to her. It’s a story of a young girl who paints in love and counts the stars with a smile to make you wait while you tail your heart to all that you think are emotions, women are just women. The day she became my friend I removed the fiend in clear honesty to convict intentions of commitments.