The Blanket of Irony

As the moon emits an effervescent glow and the clock strikes twelve,
an uneasy chill persists, seeps in through every crack- the tangible cold that dwells.
The bones of ice, held together by sinewy cartilage- cannot be thawed,
for the dragon's breath, is the sunshine that is flawed.
See the lustrous heat, shimmers in waves and drifts in flakes,
as the frosted soul of life shivers and quakes.
A cocoon of comfort, the warmth of a blanket is why a baby sleeps,
as the infant makes an indistinct noise, dreams but does not weep.
There are many ironies, that is what I know,
but who can keep warm under a blanket of snow?

The Echo of the Anemone

To build a wall, one does not need to be a bricklayer,
to play a game, one does not need to be a trick player.
There are ways to achieve without taking the worn path,
even equations won't explain this complicated math.
The betrayal of soliders on the blood of the motherland,
bounded by the same oceans but staining different sands.
Inside, pumping blood to the beat of the drummer,
the vessels break, these pipes ain't fixed by the plumber.
Each drop that falls, another victory against the casualty,
casually a casualty, but what happened actually?
Unable to forget, this ain't USB memory,
the memory an entity, an endless anemone.
The anemone poisons, its a life long enemy,
and each victim looks up and says "why you ain't telling me?"

The past, present and future echo in our echo,
when our pleas go unheard, we hear the echo, "let go".
Mind over matter is why these atrocities are committed,
while the truth is omitted, the soldiers are acquitted.
The voices from the past linger but not permitted,
transmitted intel,  but nothings admitted.
Reports are submitted, yet the lies are knitted,
the defected piece of the puzzle- it ain't ready to be fitted.

The tears have made wet, the dry riverbeds,
the valleys are full of our liver and heads.
When the plundering starts, our livelihood is gone,
even the invaluable heirlooms that once stood and shone.
When the raping starts, its the song of screams,
and now the dress is ripping right at the seams.
When the murdering starts, there is no pity or care,
bodies, tears and a lot of blood to share.
Genocidal values or the indifference of the being,
that's what being a human being is truly meaning.

Lorelléi

     There was once a fair maiden named Lorelléi who lived in the town of Solon. She was extremely beautiful, that even poetry could not do her justice. She had eyes of green that matched the leaves of the Solon forest, where she loved to frolick about. Her long, black hair always smelled of pine and everywhere she went, she would spread joy.

     Lorelléi had simple pleasures and often she would descend into the heart of Solon forest and sing a song so melodic that even the wolves would stop howling to listen. She was loved by all the animals and it was said that even the trees grew from the sustenance her voice provided.

     Lorelléi's beauty and kind heart gave her many admirers but she did not care for them for she was in love with a man named Jorge. While Jorge was not gifted with an appealing exterior, his hard-working, kind hearted self was enough for Lorelléi. It was said that they loved each other so much that often they would gaze into each others eyes and it would be days before they realized that days had passed since they set eyes on each other.

     Lorelléi's beauty and kind heart did attract one man who felt he deserved her. To be sure, Roge was a handsome fellow and very wealthy but he had a heart of stone. It was said that if he had been stabbed in the heart with a knife, the knife would've shattered- such was his condition. He lusted for Lorelléi and truthfully he was better suited for her for his livelihood would make her life easier. Yet his heart of stone would make her miserable- the happiness she sought lay with Jorge.

     Roge approached Lorelléi thrice. The first time he brought her a rose of such whiteness that it may as well have been made of snow. He asked for her hand in marriage but she spurned his advances. He knew of her love for Jorge -the whole town did- but that did not sway him on his quest to have Lorelléi. He wanted her and so in his mind she belonged to him. Even though she had not accepted his proposal, he was far from ready to give up.

     The second time, he brought her a rose of such redness, that it may as well have been made of blood. Again she spurned his advances, scorning him. He was starting to get angry. He was better in every way than any man in town and yet she chose to waste her time with Jorge. Jorge was a simpleton and it made Roge angry that Lorelléi seemed to be lost to him, because a man of no status had beguiled her with some charm that was hidden to him.

     For the third and last time he approached her, determined to make her his. He found her singing in the heart of Solon forest, as a nearby tree seemed to sway to her voice. "Lorelléi, I have sought you out twice before and each time you have turned me down. You are mine and you will always be mine. Forget Jorge and come with me. I am worthy of you."

     "You are not a good man. Your heart is of stone. Please leave me alone. I love Jorge as he loves me. It is his heart that has won me over and he is in every way a better man than you'll ever be," responded Loréllei with contempt oozing in her voice.

     In a sudden fit of anger, Roge picked up a nearby rock and smashed it into her head, killing her instantly. He threw a rose of such blackness, that it may as well have been made out of death and darkness, on her and said "so be it,". He walked out of the forest, never looking back- unrepentant of what he had just done.

     Within hours, the townspeople noticed Lorelléi was missing but after weeks of searching they knew one thing: Lorelléi was gone forever. The forest that once was home to many animals and that lived off Lorelléi's lilting lullabies, slowly wasted away. The trees began to die and animals began to disappear- it was a sorrowful time. Hunters found that prey was not as bountiful as before and soon had to seek other means to provide for their families.

     One evening a hunter went into Solon forest, hoping for game. He went deep into the forest before he heard a rustling sound and soon a young doe bounded forward. He chased the doe with his bow but he could not quite catch it. The doe was a welcome sight in this forest and as the sun slowly set, the hunter gave up chase and headed back towards town. He vowed to himself that he would kill this doe someday.

     Word soon spread about the beautiful doe that could run and leap like no other could. Hunters from all over flocked towards Solon forest attempting to kill the doe but to no avail. The doe was simply too quick and smart; she could not be caught.

     As the doe was seen more often, the forest slowly revived back to a pleasant place and once more it was filled with greenery and the sounds of animals trekking through it. Yet strange stories started to float around Solon about the doe. It was said that when the sun set in the sky, anyone who dared walk through Solon forest was set upon by a woman with a gash in her head. A man who swore he had encountered this woman said that the doe transformed into Lorelléi when darkness washed over the forest and that she would kill any man who entered her forest after dark. Moments after he uttered his words about Lorelléi, he passed away, her latest victim.

     The rumours swirled about in whispers as more and more men disappeared after dark in Solon forest. Their bodies were never recovered. The whispers eventually reached Jorge, who had been in a deep depression ever since Lorelléi disappeared. One night he entered Solon forest, seeking to be reunited with Lorelléi. Yet in the darkness, Lorelléi could not tell that Jorge was Jorge, she only saw that he was a man and killed him. It was afterwards that she realized what she had done and let loose a cry of such grief, that no one who heard it could've kept in their tears- such was the sadness.

     Over the next few weeks, hunters who went into Solon forest reported seeing the doe and a stag which had never been there before. The doe appeared to be chasing the stag but the stag would always stay ahead of her as she stayed ahead of the hunters. The doe would let loose a cry that sounded like an echo for forgiveness but the stag would not respond.

     Roge was curious about the stag and doe. He knew their pelts would catch a fair price at the market and that if he were to bring them down, the praise he would receive would know no ends. He armed himself with a sturdy, wooden bow and arrows tipped with silver before entering the forest in daylight in search of the elusive stag and doe.

     Roge never returned from his quest but his bow was found on the outskirts of the forest and near it his footprints as if he had left the forest and made it out before darkness fell. After this the stag and doe were never seen again. Many were curious as to where they had gone but were relieved that it was safe to travel after the sun set now. It was twenty years later when another hunter found the body of Roge in the heart of Solon forest. The body was fresh as if he had just been killed. An arrow tipped with silver stuck out of his chest. Around him there were hoof marks- that of stag and that of a doe.

Under the Rocks by the Lake

I knew it was going to rain, when I saw the expression,
spiralling out of control she was in a depression.
This is the underworld, but it wasn't Hade's place,
it was ruled by the shadows of the gangster face.
To strive alive, she strove hard to survive,
as they sought to deprive her of all and connive.
She was shown no mercy, it was all so live,
she was exploited by the bees for the honey in her hive.
She was an object of desire by no choice of her own,
on fire, perspire, her work made her moan.
In this darkness she waited, afraid and alone,
but she held out hope for a time to go home.
She was missed by no one, it was as if she never were,
in silence she took it in, but she screamed for sure.
It was by chance that I stumbled upon her story,
and immediately I was drawn to her with a worry.
I was in the area, but I was not here for the honey,
she came over to give, in exchange for my money.
Yet she soon realized, I wasn't there for her meat,
so she got in my car, and she sat in my seat.
We started to meet often, I think I was in love,
she told me stories, that gave my reality a shove.
In the dead of the night, we would sit on the rocks,
she preferred the lake, for our moonlight talks.
She told me of a story of a woman taken away,
hidden in the world where the light doesn't stray.
She said it was her friend that disappeared one day,
5 years ago, she was taken to play.
It was of this story she often talked the most,
it was only later I realized that she was a ghost.
5 years ago, she vanished as if into air,
but she was an escort, so who really cared?
Under the rocks by the lake, her killers hurried,
where we sat and talk, is where she was buried.
She searched far and wide for someone to care,
about where she had gone and how she had fared.
Under the rocks by the lake, I came to listen,
but today I was here on a different mission.
I found the remains that were ravaged by time,
but the clock was the rapist only after the crime.
I was her rock and she's buried with me,
she gave me her sorrow, she told me her plea.
Under the rocks by the lake, while the moon is still bright,
she has faded away, she is no longer in sight.