Scribbles

Their faces covered in shame and helplessness, Bodies attired in dirt and hopelessness, Call for attention than we recognize, Cry out for our intervention than we will ever admit to. They are like a different specie of life, aliens left to die out on the city streets, We look yet not long enough to see their plight as it is, deep. We hear them groan, we see them beg, pleading that we contribute to their next meal,yet coldly we ignore them, We hear them moan at the painful thrust of the night's cold sword, but it seems their groans aren't loud enough to startle our sleeping empathy awake. Their cracked skin and sore feet, aim to forecast their worn out spirits, Their dry,cut lips and chilli smeared eyes spell the state of their souls, bruised, But unfortunately for them, to all this we are as newly born babies, oblivious, We are as blind and deaf to them as lying corpse in a morgue. To cries of the street, we are stone dead.             ...

Let us dance to the beating of our hearts, Let us hold hands under the smiling sky, Let us cage our dreams as we have our shadows. For we are masters, masters with whips, On horses in our minds, let us ride, from earth to the lonesome sky, We are to bury our sorrows in burning,  sand Exposing our bold strength to the unknown we often fear, To live unhaunted, to live freely.

Days come and days go, All unique, all with their own beauty, Some come in dull colored clothes, While others dress in eye catching brightness, Some come as rain, a relief that life shall continue, While others avail themselves as words of death, a termination of life, Some are full of warmth, with prophecies of bright tomorrows, But others seem to be with long cold fingers after our necks to choke us, As if to make sure that we never see the next day break, But there is always some good in every day, There is always a shadow of luck in every day. Days come and days go, All unique, all with their own beauty.

Skies, now it seems, paint pictures of your smile, Winds speak your name, they sing with your voice songs from deep within, The Sun illuminates as does your glowing face, it sparkles just like your milky teeth do, Dreams I dream nowadays are about you, and just a few of me, When I awake, thoughts are of you, About how much I can't explain what this feeling for you is, About your looks, your choice of words and your amazing thought pattern, So is this how love begins? Could these be love's flying banners? And am I in love, in love with you?

Are they scorched souls of men, Are they the evil part of every breathing man, Shadows, what are they? Are they demons loosed from hell beneath to haunt us, Are they angels in dark skins to walk with us, Shadows, what are you? Are they guides, sent to us, from our fallen ancestors, Are they spirits of the dead, or the unborn looking for bodies to posses, Shadows, what are they? Shadows, Either small or huge, Teach us always in light to walk, And show us that selflessness is a lane possible to walk in. They are nothing than truest friends, Shadows, our own.