Category Archives: Courage

Naive To Be True

The naive two

Reached out to each other 

As their fingers touched

Sparks flew 

Like spiderwebs of a lighting strike 

And the equivalent of thunder rolled in their souls 

To awaken them from every other peripheral distraction

As their eyes met

And their pupils dilated in synchronicity 

All they could see was each other, and no other

Fulfilling a prophesy that each had been long foretold was their destiny to realise,

But seemed far fetched to believe,

And neither let go of the other 

Either then or now

For, if none of us are naive to begin with

None would be brave enough

To unlock the fairytale that life has in store for us.


Great plains,
Frozen lakes,
Dirt-smeared faces,
Crawling on all fours,
Pledging fealty,
In both fear and desperation;
To he who occupies,
The raised dias,
Great King of Kings,
Kubalai Khan!

The eternal blue sky’s mandate to conquer,
He inherited,
The diversity of his empire,
He embraced,
Through the prism of violent barbarity of his culture,
He enforced his authority

Throughout eternity does his deeds echo,
And the cog that turns the myth into legend,
Is studded with savage barbs,
To scar and bloody any who venture near,
For all time.

Bended Knees

From the moment you could stand,

A torrent of elemental forces have been eclipsed by you,

Resenting your audacity to defy their influence,

Every effort has been made to force you into submission;

Playing with your life like a casual pastime,

Rejoicing at your struggles as if they were a satisfying result by design;

Although your impact on them is marginal,

They remain determined- simply, because:

The manner of your existence has sought to rise above your station, and emerge nominally into theirs;

Wherein, from your perspective:

Tortured fables berate and assail ;

Like rapids over jagged stone,

Worn down to smooth pebble,

As the journey slowly creeps forward,

Crawling on bended knees:

Over barbs and broken glass of every description;

On scuffed knees and trailing blood-soaked,

Before the altar of hope;

Until health deteriorates,

Morale fragments,

Haunting you with doubt,

As you reach nearer the doors,

Will you be un-bent and undefeated,

Or a total spent force?

Counting the minutes in anticipation,

Bearing criss-cross scars,


Nursing open wounds, and more besides,

Both within and without;

Then stand-up on painful broken, deformed limbs,

No matter how pathetically,

And scream your defiance at your maker,

Or, whoever stands behind those pearly doors,

Your would-be-torturer-by-proxy,

And, decry:

‘You have taken everything from me i’ve ever had,’

‘Done your worst and then some,’

‘But, here. I. Still. Stand.’

‘Do your worse,’

‘For I have long passed caring’,

As you have become numb to all feeling, save one:


Patience & Experience

Patience and experience,

Can you have one without the other?

Or, before you have the former, must you have a proper grasp of the latter?

Like receiving a savage beating to the head and torso:

Bearing through the pain;

While being beaten to within a whisker of meeting your maker;

And, even faced with wave upon wave of unbearable pain:

Managing to break out into a blood-smeared, broken-toothed, savage grin,

It does not make it any less painful y’see,

But it does give you perspective to abide and hope by,

To put away the hollow helplessness of before,

And mock your attacker with defiance,

To do their worst!

For, this is not the first beating you have endured,

And, though the experience left you near crippled,

You – even, now, in this present extremity – recall:

It hurt far more the first time round!

Perhaps it’s the onset of delirium and madness mixed with concussion,

But, if it provides you even the slightest hint of hesitation in your attacker,

A narrow opening:

To launch yourself  at him to rip out his bastard neck, and taste his life force ebb and flow away from him,

As he had taken great pleasure in leisurely shattering yours moments earlier;

Tables turn on occasion,

And, it is experience that allows you to judge when to time your counter-strike ;

Whereas, without patience, you would  never have reached that opportune moment at all.

Forged in Adversity

Don’t let success go to your head,

Don’t allow failure to do that to you either;

Savage words and deeds will take its toll on saint and sinner alike,

For, the core of all men is forged in adversity,

What’s left behind, none can say for certain;

Only the principles that have guided you throughout,

Will hint at your motivation and character,

For those interested, to casually speculate upon, or not.

Trojan Horse

Reborn in a firestorm;

Trapped within the cooled embers,

Shaped into a trojan horse,

Unremarkable to look on,

Learning to observe the minutiae from the interior;

Of all the happenings in the exterior,

Unable to partake and forgotten by the wayside,

Learning the reality of the surroundings within the neglected irrelevance;

Until you’re ready to walk beyond your enclosure,

Like a child’s tentative first steps unaided,

To walk, run, work and play, avoiding the potholes;

Demonstrate the sum total of your observations and experiences,

To add your unique perspective to the mix;

And, yield maximum impact.

The Celestial Garden

I feel myself inexplicably reaching for the stars,

The vast eternity that peppers the night sky,

Brightest petals of the celestial wilderness that lies beyond,

Everything has its season,

Theirs is measured in millennia;

Pick apart the petals,

Measure it to your soul – the very essence of your being,

Feel it resonate like a calling,

Draw solace to face the reality:

You are but a bee on a flower of blue,

In a vast garden stretching beyond imagining;

I cannot help but agree with the proposition, therefore:

We were never meant to dwell on this flower alone;

How about you?

Final Showdown

A figure stands sentry bathed in moonlight,

It’s a crescent moon;

So the light is not as bright as on some nights,

Frozen marshes span out to either side of him,

With piercing winds whipping and buffeting what little clothing he has on,

Leaving bare skin numb,

Pain follows,

As the cold absorbs into flesh,

Beginning from feet and head,

In an inexorable journey,

To meet in the middle;

A pincer movement,

Bringing terminal decline to the host at reunion,

What spell is this sentry under,

To permit this grim inevitability?

Perhaps, nothing;

Perhaps, everything;

For, journey’s end is always ugly,

And it is your character that denotes,

How you will face the final showdown.