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Showing posts with the label Life and Death

The Summer of ‘98-A Short Story

I remember the summer of ‘98 like it was yesterday. The sun was a relentless tyrant, and the air was thick with the smell of cut grass and dusty sneakers. The neighborhood kids, a motley crew of preteens with scraped knees and boundless energy, spent every waking hour playing street soccer in front of old Mr. Atley’s house. He hated us, and we loved the thrill of annoying him. He was the grumpy Goliath, and we were the plucky Davids, a soccer ball our only sling. The best player on the street was Kevin. He was a year older than the rest of us, with a mop of sandy hair and a cocky grin. He was faster, more agile, and had a way of dribbling the ball that made it seem like an extension of his own foot. He knew it, too, and his constant showboating drove me crazy. I was a decent player, but Kevin always found a way to make me look like a clumsy oaf, stealing the ball from me with a quick flick of his ankle or nutmegging me with a cheeky grin. One day, our game intensified. It was just Kevi...
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The Toll of War

No bugles call the troops to charge. No bayonets gleam in the morning's raw light. The pilot, a cipher, sips lukewarm coffee. Sees the world through a screen, in stark green and white. With a joystick's soft, unthinking shift, A wedding becomes a smudge of flame. A drone's low hum, a disembodied gift, Of death that carries no face, nor name. In another room, a keyboard clicks, A virus blooms in the digital dust. The market falters on its nervous ticks; A fortress crumbles from a stolen trust. Meanwhile, in a country far from home, The soldier patrols in a heat so deep, That memory and nightmare start to roam, And crawl beneath the skin while he sleeps. He remembers the blast, the blinding white flash, The dust in the mouth, the terror, the grief. He touches a name, and time turns to ash; There is no rest, no relief in sight. The casualties are not just found on the wire. They are the children who play in the crater. The wife who waits by a muted fire. The man who lives, but...
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Death-Loss

Heard of him we have One form or another Not yet?, a promise in waiting Now more than ever, counting in the thousands An angel to a few The devil to most It plucks the loved ones at will It pardons not the cherished Nor does it spare the young A fondness for the old All races entertained Wealthy or poor alike, an audience it offers Discrimination is absent in langue Possess it does, icy cold hands at best It grabs at will, robs day or night It fears not the mob Grab in troves at will; if implored by the mass shooter, the impaired driver, the irate forest fire, the natural disaster, unbridled infections, just a few to name Bold it is, some balls it has Timid not I grant A few can see it coming Others barely aware, till their name is pulled, from the lottery basket of life As such timely for some, untimely for most Either way is a loss, too painful to bear Attempt to hinder the inexorable encounter, we strive each day anew
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"I Can't Breathe"

I am on the ground A man on my chest  Another knee on my neck Hemmed between tar and stone, and heavy bodies of my fellow men How can I breathe A few breaths I need I try to speak A breath of air is sought Alas, dust from the ground, I welcome My voice not heard The pressure remains Oppressively horrifying, to say the least A breath of air still me eludes Bystanders notice, the air I need The blue and black, duty to care remiss I continue to say “I can’t breathe” Still he hears me not Murder in public, repercussions not one, by those who swore to protect Barbarism on display Lynching days are back? Humanity is gone? Where art thou empathy? Now I begin to cry, my mother I call What am I? Who am I? A light to be extinguished? A life to be snuffed?  A person to be feared and executed on sight? My body becomes limp Another black and brown, dust becomes When will this cycle end? What became the promise to “protect and serve” Innocent until proven guilty, a jury of my peers? Dignity...
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