Its Snowing Now
It's snowing now -
what a wonderful sight.
Everywhere I look is covered by a blanket of white
so generously.
Just like the sun that shines on the
just and the unjust
brilliantly.
There's a time coming to burn or freeze
at the extreme.
Kids make angels and really seem to be
with wings indented on the white.
I hear the crunch crunch under my boots
and tread cautiously and sensitively
as if hoping for something ethereal to happen.
Nothing does... except the constant wind blows
the soft flakes upon my cheek
to melt instantly.
Snow over all, just like the blood over all.
The one covers and the other cleanses
with a like generosity of spirit.
But the snow will melt and expose whats under.
There's nothing left when the blood is done.
Red over white or brown is so stark.
I see beauty all around, up in the sky or
down on the ground.
Angelic beings are flitting about.
Who can see them or understand what is to come.
The great battle of the mind has already started
through the ownership of your soul.
By what you hold dear to your heart.
The subtle one is hissing and slithering along happily
and in 'victory' - which is man's pain
for now as is appointed.
Open your eyes!
Fight back... or lose.
That's what is real.
It's snowing now.
Jason Dhanapalan
06H11 est.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Cock Crows
The Cock Crows
Is like the crunch time -
there's desolation.
Judas would've stayed, his loyalty true,
but the same song was not being sung;
so no harmony.
Strength to go on after the cock crows -
where shall it come from?
Only the blood flowing and the spittle oozing and the water
running down the side may be the only way.
The thorns and the hammered nails pumps adrenalin.
But its not enough.
There's the need to know and accept that someone precious,
is waiting and awaiting great possibilities.
The cock is dead, a meal in the pot.
There's no more warnings and prophecies of doom.
Its purpose for life ended with tongue sticking out.
The smell of spices linger in the air -
from the pot and through the shroud.
Who can I lean on here?
I was invited as a brother but the shoulder is weak.
The earth tilts at an angle by design and winter follows fall.
The hungry unsated mouth is ever open,
to eat and eat and eat.
Even that precious and rare gem is ...
running away.
Solitude.
Who will come back?
The hurt, the pain the turmoil,
lingers.
Is like the crunch time -
there's desolation.
Judas would've stayed, his loyalty true,
but the same song was not being sung;
so no harmony.
Strength to go on after the cock crows -
where shall it come from?
Only the blood flowing and the spittle oozing and the water
running down the side may be the only way.
The thorns and the hammered nails pumps adrenalin.
But its not enough.
There's the need to know and accept that someone precious,
is waiting and awaiting great possibilities.
The cock is dead, a meal in the pot.
There's no more warnings and prophecies of doom.
Its purpose for life ended with tongue sticking out.
The smell of spices linger in the air -
from the pot and through the shroud.
Who can I lean on here?
I was invited as a brother but the shoulder is weak.
The earth tilts at an angle by design and winter follows fall.
The hungry unsated mouth is ever open,
to eat and eat and eat.
Even that precious and rare gem is ...
running away.
Solitude.
Who will come back?
The hurt, the pain the turmoil,
lingers.
Monday, November 15, 2010
For Zahra and the babies
FOR ZAHRA
The life of a fighter snuffed out,
like a candle half-burned.
The radiant smile like a 'Mexican Wave'
plucked at my heart and echoed a tune,
that endeared me to you.
Children are the heritage yet so hated,
'twill leave us all with nothing,
for tomorrow.
Women too, with fruit - have appointments
to slice and dice and pay.
But, whose choice?
The scales, the judgement - GUILTY!
A life lived in pain; hair loss, leg lost.
But greatest pain was 'Et tu?'
reaching up to silence the vibrance
with mens rea convinced.
Animal, beast - you're the fittest...
for now, and time will come when the shoe...
is on the other foot.
Your soul's lost as judgement's sealed,
for murder of the innocents.
Mom, dad... Why?
My bones are rolling in the gravel
and uniting with the dust.
My blood is crying out from the soil.
Whose choice? Whose choice?
My voice speaks out, louder than ever...
from beyond the grave.
Can anyone hear me singing, gurgling happily?
They once closed their minds and
battened their ears like hatches.
My laughter echoes through the walls.
Hands now cannot be washed,
ever.
Jason Dhanapalan
03H20 EST
11/15/10
The life of a fighter snuffed out,
like a candle half-burned.
The radiant smile like a 'Mexican Wave'
plucked at my heart and echoed a tune,
that endeared me to you.
Children are the heritage yet so hated,
'twill leave us all with nothing,
for tomorrow.
Women too, with fruit - have appointments
to slice and dice and pay.
But, whose choice?
The scales, the judgement - GUILTY!
A life lived in pain; hair loss, leg lost.
But greatest pain was 'Et tu?'
reaching up to silence the vibrance
with mens rea convinced.
Animal, beast - you're the fittest...
for now, and time will come when the shoe...
is on the other foot.
Your soul's lost as judgement's sealed,
for murder of the innocents.
Mom, dad... Why?
My bones are rolling in the gravel
and uniting with the dust.
My blood is crying out from the soil.
Whose choice? Whose choice?
My voice speaks out, louder than ever...
from beyond the grave.
Can anyone hear me singing, gurgling happily?
They once closed their minds and
battened their ears like hatches.
My laughter echoes through the walls.
Hands now cannot be washed,
ever.
Jason Dhanapalan
03H20 EST
11/15/10
Monday, November 1, 2010
Abused Woman
Abused Woman
Abused woman, seems an euphemism -
She runs up the stairs fraught with terror,
from the husband who's quick as a gazelle
and thinks he's as young -
the father of two sons, an airforce pilot and an engineer.
He's been having entrees on the side when the opportunity
presented - there's ever and always 'wins' like the lottery;
which is never but for one or two.
The sated lion now roars and goes in for the kill,
only not knowing what to do but show demented rage
on his face.
No words spoken as time passes in a blur.
The paralysing fear that overcomes her as she hears,
the pounding heart and the rushing blood in her ears.
Her face is red and clammy, like after a good work-out
but this was exertion beyond her age and it wore on her
like a New Yorkers' winter coat.
Instinctively, she picks up a gun - knowing...
its unloaded and points it in defense, hoping
his terror of dying would make him go away.
Somehow he knew that it was not - being the
'dot your i's and cross your t's person.'
He grabbed it and rammed her jaw with the butt as
down to the floor she crumpled in a heap.
Consciousness gained, she was 'read' her rights.
"I beat her in self-defence, as I feared for my life,"
was his defence as off to prison and a life of misery for her,
that awaited.
Who could stand up for her,
but the poet?
In his writings is a tribute to the one needing most love,
but unloved.
Who can love her, this 'poor, pathetic victim?'
Her inner strength is her refuge now.
Coward! Retribution is coming.
She did everything right but in your eyes,
EVERYTHING was WRONG.
For him, a new mistress 'younger' and 'willing',
promising but a life of uncertainty.
Jason Dhanapalan
9:41 EST
For Abused and hurting women all around the world for I have heard one story too many.
Abused woman, seems an euphemism -
She runs up the stairs fraught with terror,
from the husband who's quick as a gazelle
and thinks he's as young -
the father of two sons, an airforce pilot and an engineer.
He's been having entrees on the side when the opportunity
presented - there's ever and always 'wins' like the lottery;
which is never but for one or two.
The sated lion now roars and goes in for the kill,
only not knowing what to do but show demented rage
on his face.
No words spoken as time passes in a blur.
The paralysing fear that overcomes her as she hears,
the pounding heart and the rushing blood in her ears.
Her face is red and clammy, like after a good work-out
but this was exertion beyond her age and it wore on her
like a New Yorkers' winter coat.
Instinctively, she picks up a gun - knowing...
its unloaded and points it in defense, hoping
his terror of dying would make him go away.
Somehow he knew that it was not - being the
'dot your i's and cross your t's person.'
He grabbed it and rammed her jaw with the butt as
down to the floor she crumpled in a heap.
Consciousness gained, she was 'read' her rights.
"I beat her in self-defence, as I feared for my life,"
was his defence as off to prison and a life of misery for her,
that awaited.
Who could stand up for her,
but the poet?
In his writings is a tribute to the one needing most love,
but unloved.
Who can love her, this 'poor, pathetic victim?'
Her inner strength is her refuge now.
Coward! Retribution is coming.
She did everything right but in your eyes,
EVERYTHING was WRONG.
For him, a new mistress 'younger' and 'willing',
promising but a life of uncertainty.
Jason Dhanapalan
9:41 EST
For Abused and hurting women all around the world for I have heard one story too many.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Raca
Raca
I've heard tell that 'raca' is a bad word.
Fools are those who live, knowing that;
the starving are dying,
the empty of soul are withering,
the millstoned necks are drooping -
and doing nothing.
Didn't Cornelius the 'scapegoat' of society,
gain His notice through open hands.
Reaching out is sharing not dreaming;
and living real.
Fools are those who live to hurt, insult and annoy
people whose hearts beat like them.
Nobody likes a steady beep...
There's only one chance,
to live well.
'Ubuntu' says 'I'm OK only if you're OK',
that makes a big difference,
but not here!
Everybody's too busy; but is anyone asking,
what's the whole point?
They've lost the ability to think and reason;
everything is done for them.
Pursuit of the green.
Where does it lead and where will it end?
Raca, raca, raca!
BE NOT!!!
Jason Dhanapalan
20H32 EST
I've heard tell that 'raca' is a bad word.
Fools are those who live, knowing that;
the starving are dying,
the empty of soul are withering,
the millstoned necks are drooping -
and doing nothing.
Didn't Cornelius the 'scapegoat' of society,
gain His notice through open hands.
Reaching out is sharing not dreaming;
and living real.
Fools are those who live to hurt, insult and annoy
people whose hearts beat like them.
Nobody likes a steady beep...
There's only one chance,
to live well.
'Ubuntu' says 'I'm OK only if you're OK',
that makes a big difference,
but not here!
Everybody's too busy; but is anyone asking,
what's the whole point?
They've lost the ability to think and reason;
everything is done for them.
Pursuit of the green.
Where does it lead and where will it end?
Raca, raca, raca!
BE NOT!!!
Jason Dhanapalan
20H32 EST
Saturday, October 23, 2010
They're Doing their Best
They're Doing their Best
Money cannot make people happy, but some.
I think...
Oprah's doing her best.
Houses cannot buy safety,
think about Kat.
Beds cannot buy rest, even with
memory foam. What is that?
I go to bed but stay awake, why?
Thoughts never sleep nor slumber.
I think I am beloved; am I not?
I watch in vain and lay waste to the
restless spirit.
Trust. Trust. Trust.
Habitat cannot house everyone;
they're doing their best.
Gates cannot cure all polio or malaria,
he's doing his best.
Clothes makes them pretty,
so they think.
Naomi is a shadow... now.
A new fashion will usurp.
Obsolete and frumpy!
A new thing is His best, was ever.
Trust. Trust. Trust.
They're doing their best!
What are you doing?
What, what, what, hey?
The food bank???
Let me not go there!!!
They're doing their best.
And the Tsunami, you can't surf it!!
Jason Dhanapalan
06H30 EST
Money cannot make people happy, but some.
I think...
Oprah's doing her best.
Houses cannot buy safety,
think about Kat.
Beds cannot buy rest, even with
memory foam. What is that?
I go to bed but stay awake, why?
Thoughts never sleep nor slumber.
I think I am beloved; am I not?
I watch in vain and lay waste to the
restless spirit.
Trust. Trust. Trust.
Habitat cannot house everyone;
they're doing their best.
Gates cannot cure all polio or malaria,
he's doing his best.
Clothes makes them pretty,
so they think.
Naomi is a shadow... now.
A new fashion will usurp.
Obsolete and frumpy!
A new thing is His best, was ever.
Trust. Trust. Trust.
They're doing their best!
What are you doing?
What, what, what, hey?
The food bank???
Let me not go there!!!
They're doing their best.
And the Tsunami, you can't surf it!!
Jason Dhanapalan
06H30 EST
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Poverty and Lies
Poverty and Lies
'The truth shall set you free', is the saying.
'Freedom isn't free' is a saying.
Give me freedom which isn't free, but that;
...chained to responsibility.
I told a lot of lies when young, in the presence -
of my peers.
Poverty hurt my self-esteem which wanted to,
wear this perpetual cloak.
My friends knew, I suppose in retrospect.
They respected me too much to hurt.
Silence and 'hakuna matata' followed.
That's the tragedy of the poor.
The unlimited thoughts of the mind,
and the mental forays into joyous fictionality.
Endless possibilities are dreams; who knows
when to wake up and realize them; hopefully.
'The poor are blessed', is a saying.
I live free now.
I live carefree, in the land of the FREE.
Now, truthfully for no one holds a
microscope.
I think, the issue - is
power...
I'd rather have poverty in spirit;
I co-own a kingdom.
I am free and brave - for I can
look at myself and
not look away.
Jason Dhanapalan
06H00 EST 08/10/10
NC, Raleigh
'The truth shall set you free', is the saying.
'Freedom isn't free' is a saying.
Give me freedom which isn't free, but that;
...chained to responsibility.
I told a lot of lies when young, in the presence -
of my peers.
Poverty hurt my self-esteem which wanted to,
wear this perpetual cloak.
My friends knew, I suppose in retrospect.
They respected me too much to hurt.
Silence and 'hakuna matata' followed.
That's the tragedy of the poor.
The unlimited thoughts of the mind,
and the mental forays into joyous fictionality.
Endless possibilities are dreams; who knows
when to wake up and realize them; hopefully.
'The poor are blessed', is a saying.
I live free now.
I live carefree, in the land of the FREE.
Now, truthfully for no one holds a
microscope.
I think, the issue - is
power...
I'd rather have poverty in spirit;
I co-own a kingdom.
I am free and brave - for I can
look at myself and
not look away.
Jason Dhanapalan
06H00 EST 08/10/10
NC, Raleigh
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Granny's Automobile
Granny's Automobile
Be a defender of the weak and a helper,
of the helpless.
Is what I've learned.
The promise I made to keep to widows
and orphans - the voiceless.
Granny is 87 and living a happy life.
Tho' she cannot do many things for herself,
she is content when others are there.
Presence is everything in the lonely pauses.
God is glorified in these;
than those with eloquence of speech.
I will finish what I started for no one,
starts a race, not intending to finish
and finish well for its not boxing the air.
Aren't we salt and light?
I expect nothing;
than a smile of satisfaction and the understanding;
you can lean on me, anytime as someday I likely will;
on some else.
Thanks for the honor.
Fulfilled, without speaking.
Jason Dhanapalan
9:48 pm EST 10/19/2010
Be a defender of the weak and a helper,
of the helpless.
Is what I've learned.
The promise I made to keep to widows
and orphans - the voiceless.
Granny is 87 and living a happy life.
Tho' she cannot do many things for herself,
she is content when others are there.
Presence is everything in the lonely pauses.
God is glorified in these;
than those with eloquence of speech.
I will finish what I started for no one,
starts a race, not intending to finish
and finish well for its not boxing the air.
Aren't we salt and light?
I expect nothing;
than a smile of satisfaction and the understanding;
you can lean on me, anytime as someday I likely will;
on some else.
Thanks for the honor.
Fulfilled, without speaking.
Jason Dhanapalan
9:48 pm EST 10/19/2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
You and I
You and I
Like a bullet fired from a gun, old or new
that has to hit a target some or other,
effecting change...
between us.
I value you and should always.
Once started, cannot be ended.
For the mind's eye sees ever well,
will not be dimmed by age.
On this earth, you're the complement,
to me...
Making me... complete.
You're resplendent with...
everything.
Someone else judges otherwise,
carnally.
An open book, well read,
is respected, revered...
Like you!!
I could see the stars through the ceiling boards,
but did not reach up to touch them.
They sparkled and gleamed like brilliant diamonds.
Sometimes, that's my weakness.
They're there but not near,
my friends.
Jason Dhanapalan
05H42 EST
Like a bullet fired from a gun, old or new
that has to hit a target some or other,
effecting change...
between us.
I value you and should always.
Once started, cannot be ended.
For the mind's eye sees ever well,
will not be dimmed by age.
On this earth, you're the complement,
to me...
Making me... complete.
You're resplendent with...
everything.
Someone else judges otherwise,
carnally.
An open book, well read,
is respected, revered...
Like you!!
I could see the stars through the ceiling boards,
but did not reach up to touch them.
They sparkled and gleamed like brilliant diamonds.
Sometimes, that's my weakness.
They're there but not near,
my friends.
Jason Dhanapalan
05H42 EST
Freedom
Freedom without responsibility and accountability isn't really freedom at all. Freedom 'fighters' can 'fight' for freedom and overthrow governments but not really be free themselves, at all.
This is the all pervasive mindset in South Africa today, that freedom is something to be fought for and won and the 'victor' to revel in their 'accomplishments' and have the attended right of lording it over the 'conquered'.
This is the all pervasive mindset in South Africa today, that freedom is something to be fought for and won and the 'victor' to revel in their 'accomplishments' and have the attended right of lording it over the 'conquered'.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Africa the Motherland
AFRICA THE MOTHERLAND
Africa the motherland, everybody can love you;
from a distance.
I heard the other day,
thieves were scurrying on the roof just after midnite.
People here want your soil, just to be
grounded.
The politicians there are self-aggrandisers; knowing not
how to be rooted.
They drink the life sap of the land to its death,
narcissistically.
A million were killed in 3 months,
and the world gawped.
The holocaust will forever be
remembered and 9/11.
Who are you?
I see your hands stretched out, perpetually.
Who loves you, Africa?
The 'dark continent'.
An old map in Germany, perhaps before
cartography,
named you for 'Barbaria'.
I see the blue oceans of peace and the
dancing workers.
They don't care, if someone dies.
Other lives are cheap, not their own.
You're an embarassment.
I hate you Africa;
but love you in a horribly, twisted way.
08/21/2010
Jason Dhanapalan
15H15 EST.
Africa the motherland, everybody can love you;
from a distance.
I heard the other day,
thieves were scurrying on the roof just after midnite.
People here want your soil, just to be
grounded.
The politicians there are self-aggrandisers; knowing not
how to be rooted.
They drink the life sap of the land to its death,
narcissistically.
A million were killed in 3 months,
and the world gawped.
The holocaust will forever be
remembered and 9/11.
Who are you?
I see your hands stretched out, perpetually.
Who loves you, Africa?
The 'dark continent'.
An old map in Germany, perhaps before
cartography,
named you for 'Barbaria'.
I see the blue oceans of peace and the
dancing workers.
They don't care, if someone dies.
Other lives are cheap, not their own.
You're an embarassment.
I hate you Africa;
but love you in a horribly, twisted way.
08/21/2010
Jason Dhanapalan
15H15 EST.
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