STEPS IN THE DARK

in #poetry5 years ago

It is a lengthy road I face,
enveloped in dust and smog.
There is nothing behind or forward.
No sound, just my thoughts
and my beating heart.
Where am I?
Who am I?
I take a step forward


First step;
I am a suckling babe
beneath mama's gaze,
watching her face
as she gossips with her mates.
I am content and papa's roaring laughter in the yard tells me that he drinks
with his men and the land
is rich and free.

Second step;
I watch my twisted, withering limbs
as someone rolls me from bath to bed.
A familiar face smiles at me
but I forget her name.
She calls me grandfather
and rubs me with talcum powder
even as my bladder empties
beneath the freshly spread bed sheets.

Third step;
I am a soldier with a flag in my hands,
blood on my uniform
and tears in my eyes.
The flag is white and my friends die,
their eyes blank, lips slack
and their hands cold like winter.

Fourth step;
The gates open to me
And I twirl my spear signaling forward.
I hear the roar of men behind me,
Dust swirl, vultures gather
And hyenas chuckle as a city
Becomes mine for the taking.

Fifth step;
A little boy pushes me to the floor,
slaps blood and sand into my lips
and tears into my eyes.
My uniform is dirty and torn
but mother soothes me.
At night father screams and
mother weeps and I, alone
in the cold of darkness, think.
Yes I think murderous thoughts.

Sixth step;
I close my eyes in prayer
then I rise, a gun in my hand
As my brothers desecrate a temple.
I light the world with fire
and the screams of innocents
but I do not hear them.
I hear her pleas though,
a memory of when they took her
one after the other.
She had called my name though
as they claimed their rights
on my blood and honor.

Seventh step;
I light the crack pipe and sip.
The high enter my limbs
like soft pillows and feather beds
and I sink into a dream
where I run wild and free.
I wake, light a cigarette
and start it all over again.
There are no tears in my eyes,
no... Not yet.

Eighth step;
Doctor's bed, watching her cling
like a starfish to a rock.
Her breath fades, I know
but I will dare anything to make her stay;
experimental, natural, futuristic,
banned, spiritual, all.
It all means nothing though.
Life support beeps and flat lines.
I can't cry.
I turn to her mother and watch
bitterness fade to hate.
Yes it is on me.
I can't cry.

Ninth step;
I am preaching the sermon
and her skirt parts like a sea.
There is nought between my eyes
and the sheen of her lips.
She winks but I do not stutter or stop
for I cannot fornicate or masturbate
even if I wanted to.
Pastor Mrs chuckles, She sees.
She is not bothered, my member sleeps.

Tenth step,
I pick through the debris,
picking metal cans and plastic bottles
for coins to feed the unending
hunger that winds my navel.
The bag greets me, filled with wealth.
I flee with glee and live for a bit.
Two weeks later, I stumble back,
the debris beckoning, having learnt
nothing of what it means to live.


I stop and breathe.
I look back and forward.
There's nothing but smog and dust.
The silence is my thoughts
and the beating of my heart.
Who am I?
Where am I?
I take a step forward.


photo-1527502453703-7b81868ad23d.jpeg
Unsplash: Michal Pazurchowski


This is a lengthy poem or something akin to a poem. It is dedicated to those who still dream, who fear, who love, who live, who pray, who fight, who die.


©warpedpoetic, 2019.

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