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Power Of A Tear 

Pounds of pain punctured my progress
Tons of trouble terminated my tranquility
Swarms of stress subtracted my substance
My heart exploded like a thousand thunders
My mind melted and my spirit splintered
Hanging by a thread destined to burst

I tried to wash away the wounds with words
But the stains were deeply dyed in concrete colors
Verbal detergents were badly and sadly defeated
Verbosity crumbled, fell at my feet and retreated 
Internal torment was the architect of my demise
Terrorizing my thoughts and hijacking my hope

Music tried to massage me out of my misery
But though the words were so wonderful 
And the melody so moving and majestic
Misfortune only mushroomed and multiplied

I sought solution in the fraternity of friends
But their fantastic fellowship fell flat on its face
As the vanity of my vicissitudes vented and vomited
Causing emotional dehydration and mental suffocation

Pounds of pain to be pushed out
Stupendous swarms of stress to secrete 
But nothing happened until a tear fell from my eye
It impacted me so powerfully that I began to cry
I felt so happy that I jumped for joy 
I was like a kid with a brand new toy
From that day I celebrated the power of a tear
And with anyone who would listen, share: 

Hand picked from the clouds of my heart
Providing me with an excellent new start
A tear
Carrying the DNA of pain
Washing away hurtful stains
A tear
Expressing unspeakable feelings
Creating new channels of healing
A tear
Traveling through tunnels of tragedy
Transporting tremendous tons of therapy
A tear
Rushing into a river of reformation 
Creating a deluge of consolation
A tear
Tearing down walls of internal imprisonment
Building beautiful bridges of betterment
A tear 
Providing homeostasis
Averting my crisis
A tear
Seasoned with the salt of reality
Rescued me from the claws of insanity
A tear
Flowing directly from the tear in my soul
Anchoring my feet and making me whole
A tear
Much thanks to you my dear tear

You are the reason I’m still here

Howard Simon

Dream And Reality 

One day my dream set on to meet Reality
The task has been tough since 
Neither before nor till now 
They both met for anyone in life
And when they did, either of them survived
The night was dark and mysterious 
Lovers whispering to the moon 
And stars blinking their eyes 
Trying to see what is going on 
Between the two
The air gently passes through the leaves
That survived the sun’s heat 
A watchful owl, keeping the vigilant eye
On each passerby 
Cicada occasionally jumped from 
One branch to another when firefly 
Exchanged their mating signals
Frog takes a giant leap with every blow of the wind
All of them saw my dream flying across
Crossing them furiously to meet reality
Dream in its childhood, 
started to play with the sands
ripple in the pond, flowing brook
falling water from height and 
with the birds it flew from one branch to another
when it reached the adolescence, with little maturity
It stayed in castle serving royals
In high and plush malls, above the crowds
With the aging, it realized that somehow
It drifted far from the reality 
And the threshold point of meeting 
Is illusory like a mirage in the dessert
Finally the bubbles of dreams reached the point
Where reality was not very far away
And it got merged with it 
By the sides of the road where 
Rich and poor dwelled together
One in mansion and other on streets
The dreams, woke up early in the morning 
To play with the kittens and puppies 
To fly with the birds, to run bare feet 
On the grass covered with dew drops
Whereas the reality slept on a cushion of laurels
In an air conditioned room nicely covered
By the thick and dark curtains
They often meet on the streets of life
When one receives the love and other give away the charity. 

M. Asim Nehal

My Identity

So lost deep inside, 
Is all that makes me.
My true identity, 
Is hard to see.
To my friends and family, 
I’m a different me.
I have a secret identity, 
Wonder if you’ll ever see.
My thoughts and actions, 
Are all that makes me, 
But some things I may do, 
May not describe me.
Now look inside me, 
If you ever feel, 
like it, 
I’m no-one but me, 
Never hiding my identity.
Don’t say I am hypocrisy, 
Because I never showed you, 
two of me.
Now please, 
Look at me, 
Try to see the real me.
I’m no-one but, 
my real identity.
All full of beauty, 
Inside me. 

Yisel Chong

Acceptance Of A Nothingness

Somehow the meaninglessness…
Many describe as senseless, 
Has a meaningfulness…
In a useful kind of way.

The acceptance of a nothingness…
As it is applied, 
Has a purpose that drives curiosities…
To perceive a conception connected, 
With a totalness lived.
Yet arguably not perfected.

And rejecting this completion given, 
As ‘part of’ a mural of existence…
Does not validate, 
A separateness.
Like a timeless void without exits.
And since there aren’t any witnessed…
It sits.

Since there is an attention given it.
Even within the abstraction that attracts, 
A collective misunderstanding of what it is.
Whatever it is, 
That we…
You and I try scientifically to determine.
In our limited mindsets to fit it in.

And even if that meaningless nothing, 
Is described as senseless…
There is a meaningfulness of it, 
That is with us here to stay! 

Lawrence S. Pertillar

A Boy Named Sue

Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn’t leave much to Ma and me,
just this old guitar and a bottle of booze.
Now I don’t blame him because he run and hid,
but the meanest thing that he ever did was
before he left he went and named me Sue.

Well, he must have thought it was quite a joke,
and it got lots of laughs from a lot of folks,
it seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I’d get red
and some guy would laugh and I’d bust his head,
I tell you, life ain’t easy for a boy named Sue.

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean.
My fist got hard and my wits got keen.
Roamed from town to town to hide my shame,
but I made me a vow to the moon and the stars,
I’d search the honky tonks and bars and kill
that man that gave me that awful name.

But it was Gatlinburg in mid July and I had
just hit town and my throat was dry.
I’d thought i’d stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon in a street of mud
and at a table dealing stud sat the dirty,
mangy dog that named me Sue.

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
from a worn-out picture that my mother had
and I knew the scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old
and I looked at him and my blood ran cold,
and I said, “My name is Sue. How do you do?
Now you’re gonna die.” Yeah, that’s what I told him.

Well, I hit him right between the eyes and he went down
but to my surprise he came up with a knife
and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair
right across his teeth. And we crashed through
the wall and into the street kicking and a-gouging
in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell you I’ve fought tougher men but I really can’t remember when.
He kicked like a mule and bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laughin’ and then I heard him cussin’,
he went for his gun and I pulled mine first.
He stood there looking at me and I saw him smile.

And he said, “Son, this world is rough and if
a man’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough
and I knew I wouldn’t be there to help you along.
So I gave you that name and I said ‘Goodbye’.
I knew you’d have to get tough or die. And it’s
that name that helped to make you strong.”

Yeah, he said, “Now you have just fought one
helluva fight, and I know you hate me and you’ve
got the right to kill me now and I wouldn’t blame you
if you do. But you ought to thank me
before I die for the gravel in your guts and the spit
in your eye because I’m the nut that named you Sue.”
Yeah, what could I do? What could I do?

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun,
called him pa and he called me a son,
and I came away with a different point of view
and I think about him now and then.
Every time I tried, every time I win and if I
ever have a son I think I am gonna name him
Bill or George – anything but Sue.

Excerpt from: “The Giving Tree” by Shel Silverstein

Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Excerpt from: The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein

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