Thursday, July 15, 2010

on my way...

by human being

illustrations by rhoda penmarq








on my way
i saw a woman
buried deep in the earth
up to her shoulders
with her face torn off
by the stones thrown at her
she was still alive
and her long hair
rippled in the breeze
was it love?, i asked
no, she moaned, it was a fight between my owners




what can i do for you?, i enquired
nothing, she responded in a fading voice, just take one of these stones and throw it in the running water
i sat there
combing her long hair
with my sad fingers
until she died
then i took one of the stones
- the bloodiest -
and continued on my way







on my way
i saw a man
fastened to a tree
with his hands cut off
blood was dripping down on the stones
he was still alive
and his long hair
rippled in the breeze
was it a fight between your owners?, i asked
no, he moaned, it was a war between hunger and me







what can i do for you?, i enquired
nothing, he responded in a fading voice, just take one of these stones and throw it in the running water
i stood there
combing his long hair
with my sad fingers
until he died
then i took one of the stones
- the bloodiest -
and continued on my way





on my way
i saw a couple
a boy and a girl
the boy was shot in the heart
lying on the ground
with blood gushing from his chest
the girl was hanged on the gallows
with blood streaming gently down her nailless fingers
joining the boy's blood on the stones
they were still alive
they both had very short hair






there was no breeze
a distant storm loomed in the horizon
was it a fight between your owners or a war between you and hunger?, i asked
no, they moaned, it was for truth and freedom
what can i do for you?, i enquired
nothing, they responded in a fading voice, just take one of these stones and throw it in the running water
i stayed there
caressing their faces
with my sad fingers
until they died
then i took one of the stones
- the bloodiest -
and continued on my way




i walked for days
and for years
but i couldn't find any running water









one day i took out the stones and held them in my hands
i was tired
and the stones were so heavy
i cried
i cried because i still remembered i should have done something
tears were running from my eyes





dripping on the stones
washing away the blood dried on them
the stones and my fingers were all wet and bloody
i threw them up in the air
they joined each other and turned into a crow
and the crow sat in a tree and started cawing:






it is all for love
it is all for love
it is all for love











you can still see the tree
you can still hear the crow
you can still touch a stone
what will you do with it?









monday, july 12, 2010


8 comments:

corfubob said...

The tears are blurring the screen - this is not poetry, its the material truth. Your presence, HB, in the posts and in the comments is overwhelming. The claim that you are a 'human being' is discouraging. Thank you anyway.

human being said...

.

on my way
i came across a greek man
he was walking gracefully along the path
holding a portrait in his hands

i stopped to watch
both the portrait
and the man

unworldly
and beautiful

- are you the painter of this portrait?, i asked curiously

- portrait? this is just a mirror

- a mirror? put it down please

the man leaned the mirror against a post
in front of me
the portrait was gone

nothing was there
except darkness

- ah...
this is your soul
souls
unlike mirrors
reflect the beauty within

.



crows have a very harsh voice... but selfishly love to be listened to...
and i'm wearing a crow mask
:)

namaste to you dear Bob

Francis Scudellari said...

This is extremely powerful hb, and it echoes something I've been feeling: it's the storytellers and artists who have the most power to transform a brutal reality, not the politicians or religious leaders.

human being said...

.


on my way
i came across a singing traveler

i stopped to listen

his language was so unfamiliar
yet all the songs he sang
were so familiar to me
same as the sun to a tree
or a tree to a bird
or a bird to the sky

- who are you?, i asked

- people call me poet

- and what do you call yourself?

- i'm nothing but an echo

- echo of what voice?

- the voice of your soul


i continued on my way
singing


.



Francis...

in my country poetry/art has always been a savior through the history... i know what you mean...

thanks for your appreciative words...

Akeith Walters said...

what a powerful and stunning piece of work.Great art!!

human being said...

Akeith...

i'm sitting here reading your words... and thinking to myself about the power of words... the world before and after each word uttered...
and i noticed i'm living in a quite different world after your comment...
:)

this holds true for any work of art... any expression...

and just imagine how much change i experienced when i first saw rhoda's visual response to this narrative...

all of you are gems!

thanks for reading and leaving your nice words here... thanks for the change...

littlebitofsonshine said...

So moving so touching in such a unrevengeful way from all the dieing in the moving words.Bless your words

human being said...

ah... thanks dear new friend... for this 'little bit of sunshine' which can melt a huge iceberg!

revenge doesn't change anything... but understanding does... no?
:)

thanks a lot for reading and leaving these encouraging words... they mean a lot!