There is a life, there is a death,
We dance between the might,
For the hopes so high enough,
Those darkest deeds of the past,
Strangles me like strings among,
Between the lights of life,
And the death's charred grips,
I ramble my mind in pale drips,
There must be a way leading,
A path where I could step, leaving,
An eternal spiral of lives behind,
Until then, I shall wander on,
There is a life, there is a death,
I dance between the mist.

All these years, rain fails to land,
No more crops ever stand green,
The land is so broken, the drought is so hard,
Only the salt that's left for the soul to rot,

Years have passed, no drops from the sky,
Hope was fading like a sunset light,
The blazing sun like a sharp silver needle,
Gone was the skin, only the bones were left,

When I thought the land was lost,
I could see no more of the future,
Seen was a delight my eyes could not believe,
What is darker than a moonless night,

Her eyes were black alright, but,
Can her floor-sweeping hair justify,
No more light I have seen anywhere else,
Her soul glowed like a thousand moons,

Her smile that wrapped her lips so gentle,
Sure I knew for it can bring all the joy,
I asked, but not with the words,
She granted a wish as a goddess would,

Brought her back to the Salt Desert, I did,
When she arrived at my village, starved,
The rain that had gone for so many years,
Came to see the love that has just sparked.

Marble, sweat and rivers jolting away
This is the veil in which we play.
A city distracted from other’s gaze and
Far astray from the turtles’ graze. Torchlight
And illuminating words, spark a phantom turn
Ditching the foreign birds and when justice
Is spoken, it is unheard. Unearth
And unearth the doubting worm, feed it
The thieves of the land, allow
Them to punish the thieving man. Speak
Bitter and more wittier than most, tell the
Impotent and spectral ghosts that they, like us,
And like today are not entitled
To a rise in pay. Like the potato men
Who would weigh and weigh
And wade and wade for as
Little pay as
Fourty pence and a kind
Delay on their crippling rent.

Over and over the marble hedge, and
Across the pools of delirious sweat sleeps
Bountifuls of brush and deer, soaking up
The tears of lesser fellas, queer men
Back from deserts,
Tightening their belts and
Clasping at their mother’s gifted quilts.
Cactus sounds follow them home, prickly
Towns await in their ready made tombs, and dirt
Dirt, dirt filled cracks block comfort
And solace in their tracks.

Remembering when thunder struck, and how
‘Tough love falling out of love’ is a thought
Keeping the boys away from graves. Keeping
The boys safe and tucked behind
The garden maze, the green paths and walls
Of Europe's lavish sites keep the boys
Safe and tucked,
And in and out of love like a parrot
Stuck barking the same
Unpleasant rhymes.

Kingdom come, come marching towards
The heavy crimson sun and speak
Easy towards fun and fun. Men have not
Seen fun for some time, it was barred
From the camps on the riverside.
“Pick up a gun and have some fun” the corporal said,
“Pick up a gun and have some fun” the witness said,
And “Pick up a gun and have some fun” the grieving
Brother and
Tired mother cried.  

Fun has thieved the land, taking
Man and man away from the rivers and the lakes. Sinking
Man into water, and engulfing water in man.
Fun has taken life after life and
Watered down the meaning of strife, men
No longer tighten their belts
Or grieve on their mother’s quilts
But rather sip at straws and pause
The heroes on the screens, wishing and hoping
For more meaningful means, perhaps
As numbing and forthcoming
As their midday dreams.

The pavements creek down London Road,
Slabs of stone lay uneven, waiting
For a misstep or perhaps a purposeful tumble
So that the day may begin.
A young lad, no older than twenty,
Takes the day’s virginity, and yet
He gains nothing from the exchange,
Left to curl into the floor, strapped
To an overturned slab.

And on this fragile surface, this new
Home of his, he separates the loose
Fragments of pavement into shapes
And size, hoping he might find
Some pattern and rhyme.

But the floor is unforgiving
And misleading, offering
No rhythm and no reason.

All this perpetual solidarity, all
This miserable conformity and lack
Of understanding takes a toll
On his youthful hands as the shards
Pierce his skin and convince blood
To pour out onto the streets.

He is tough but his skin has retired,
His exterior is withered and begins
To smell of a gloomy musk, and yet
His skeleton still dances eagerly on
Behind all the frowning rot.

Passerbys readily move on, dodging
His numb and hopeful soul
As they know it will soon become
A sunken and nameless corpse.
But, until then,
Our street bound friend
Seeks desire and fortune, but luck
Seeks privilege and passion, leaving
Only the welcoming dusk
To bring kindness to the streets.

He is not the only one, the sun rise
Washes dead men ashore, dry
And unloved bodies find themselves
Motionless and dull, glued intimately
To the jagged street floor.

But these bodies once lived!
Their fingers thrived on tobacco dust
And half burnt poorly rolled papers.

Their mouths fed on second hand
Crumbs, leaving a foul aftertaste
Perhaps guilt or malicious tongues.  

Their voices garnered an audience,
Proving uneducated souls could please
Others through word and love.  

Their eyes witnessed
The intricacies of the changing seasons,
They saw autumn wilt and winter born.

Their hearts pumped pure, drugs
And blood rushed through streams
In their arms and powered
Their merry croaking lungs.

And they were once loved.
Indeed, they were loved.

Perhaps not by their mums, or
Unborn sons but by existence.
Life’s brilliance dwells
In the dead men on our streets,
A reminder that merely existing
Is a burden, but also
The greatest responsibility.

Moonlight covers the pebbles gathered,
Soaking the shore in shade and fog, walk along
This beachfront, in sandals and white socks.
Take your toes and your feet, and embark
In the shallows of the sea, splash
And splash at the sand’s edge, until ***** and fish
Swim towards your disturbing intent,
Forgo their cares, send fish and crab skipping,
And splish and splish at the water’s end.

The mermaids are in wake, grieving their friends,
And pouring tears into the waves, they cry in song
Wallowing out loud the ocean’s fables, and
Stirring the great waters with their lurking tails,
Bubbles form where their tears have dwelled,
Carrying their grief to the surface, and popping
Once they touch where night is held, releasing
The weight from their sullen faces, and
Now the mermaids may smile again,
Their songs shift from misery to mirth, and
The moon smiles back, kissing new light
Upon the cheeks of the emerald earth.

The chain is brought back to you,
You distrbued the *****, and you disturbed
The fish, you distubured the waters.
The mermaids, they never bothered
To gaze upon your crimes, they never even
Bothered to give you their time, they sang
Not to you, but they sang for your sins, healing
What you could not, and sending
Your demons back, back to the rot and rock.

Resume your normal day, walk your dog
Along the paved waterway, and sing
Your songs of joy and hope, and hope
To settle near pebble and boat. Most things
Now make you smile, crack a smirk
To the ramblers on their Sunday travels,
Teach the postman and teach the milkman
What the mermaids have taught, show
Them the meaning of the mermaids’ song.

Spaces form between foreign fingers,
Resting hands go stale on oak tables
Where infatuation peeks and lingers.

Cups and candles placed like pawns
Waiting for battle, cups and candles
Lay between love and smiles.

Plates take their seats, carrying
Conversations and dripping mistakes
From one mouth to another.

Glasses touching and kissing,
Stirring desire into love, and
Teaching courage how to dance.

Knives and forks lay dormant,
Imprisoned to the landscape
By moving lips and perpetual talks.

Chatter comes floating, bound
To the bubbles and the foaming,
And ending at ears steaming.

Spilt love soaks the evening,
Washed out by late night dreaming,
Disguised as buoyant thinking.