I often wonder, why are we born, go to school, and then chase money the rest of our lives, shouldn't we be about something better than that by now being that the first coin form of currency was minted 5 Millennium ago, currency... an ancient concept of self induced slavery that we all willingly fall in line with still to this day and beyond.
They opened their eyes to the red hot sun but never to the blue sky. Yodeling vehemently the black music passed down to their illiterate tongues: "Let us break bread together on our knees; Let us break bread together on our knees; When I fall down on my knees With my face to the rising sun O Lord have mercy on me." The air sang too finding lyrics between experienced, young, new born and adult voices. Their lost bodies and innocent minds, eyes fogged with perspiration and bloody atrocities, harvested in corn and indigo fileds.
Do you know why they looked up? They searched for the embryo of freedom feticide by white folks. They talked to birds hovering above. If they would share their wings Or take them on a flight ? Far far away... Had unanswered questions to the humanity... Their coloured skin were no less than of packed animals, as inside it dwelt the bruises and burnt souls. Hollowed too. For they had no dreamscape. But to go home. Find home. Meet their sold wives. Meet their escaped husbands. Embrace their brought kids. Kiss the wrinkled foreheads of their old and weak mothers. Present few yellow flowers to the headstone of their fathers and ancestors all gone. Whose blood is mixed with theirs as they worked on the same dark soil of plantation. Unknown to tomorrow or yesterday. They knew today was the same caged daylight. Orphans, of their own country. With rivers of pain running on their flesh. Their breathe held in chains. In their sleep of few hours, they longed for a secret death, resting in peace with few yellow flowers.
No more the children of god were they. Bought and sold. Sold and bought again. Fluctuated prices: low and high, traveled them from Virginia to Kentucky. Fist fighting with survival. They loved each others scars. For they were the trophies of their hard work, unpaid endless works. As if they were inanimate. Born to serve the privileged race. The four letter words be it love or life were meaningless to them. The sweat on their face sprinted to catch up the marathon of out cries hidden in their eyes. Indeed they woke up to the sun but never to sky. Indeed they forever slept on the fields but never rested in peace. -Samiksha
You're the last smile of the terrible winter of December and that smile is now stowed away inside the womb of red berries of naked yew tree and an innocent lizard tried to lick the red balls and found dead on the awning of green grasses. But the shimmering smile adheres on the tongue of that dead lizard and desultory death chuckles. //the love that remains between death and smile//
You're the page number ninety seven stained by the death of gorgeous beauty Cleopatra, the exalted queen of Egypt, when committed suicide by allowing the cobra to bite her arms and the flimsy vines of yore scribble about the scath'd past. But the love from the litters of history book always murmurs for the aurelia leading light. //the love that remains between suicide and chronicle//
You're the torn and buttonless shirt of a boy from the slum which was dreaming to become a suit of finance minister one day but the municipality dustbin waits for the raggy shirt with some melodramatic hopes and naked strengths to sew it with golden threads of fate. Still the shirt hopes for a miracle and irate destiny plays a fiddle near the unnoticed morgue. //the love that remains between ragged shirt and snazzy suit//
You're the lost love ; now hiding behind the cashmere of heartbreaks and the silhouette of Susquehanna camouflages an emollient shawl upon the erstwhile melancholies and wishes for a ripple of wonders to happen. The chatoyant snowflake wear a veil like a new bride to conceal her face from sunshine yet they find out her and she melts inside the beams of morn. //the love that remains between lost love and overbearing heartbreak//
*Term credit: I've borrowed the term "gin blossom" from the American rock group bearing that name. This caption is already long enough, so I'll leave it up to you to Google the actual meaning; although for the purposes of this piece, I've used it in a different manner.
*Title credit: I've borrowed the words "Much Ado About Nothing" from the Shakespearean play which bears that title. All credit for those words go solely to William Shakespeare. The rest of the piece is entirely of my own creation. Thank you for respecting that.
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