Sunday, 28 February 2016

"Notes from the trenches"

"Notes from the trenches"

"I hear your voice, and the sound of your sword"

I hear your voice
And the sound of your sword
As it plunged the body of your enemy
And heard your striking word
I hear their suffering cries
As the battle rages on
Further as the rotten order tremble
As their blood has gushing strong

I hear your voice
And the sound of the cogwheels of the machinery
Trying to create progress
Breaking the order of the reactionary
I feel the tremendous heat 
Coming from the steel foundry
If not the warmth of the cloth
Coming from the textile factory

I hear your voice
And the chant of the majority
As I see them in the streets
Clamoring for justice and liberty
I feel the hatred that has rising
As they confront the order trembling
Willing to fight as they are shouting
Willing to be beaten as the cops kept truncheons banging

I hear your voice
And the fire of the rifle
Creating a sound of freedom
On the countryside where enemies tremble
I feel the people rising
As their eyes entirely opening
The offensive has been coming
And the system has been running, retreating

To hell with the system
Make the enemies tremble
To hell with the system
The call of the risen people
To hell with the system
Fan further the flames of the struggle
To hell with the system
To hell with the system
To hell with the system
To hell with the system

"From the gleam of the steel church"

There are more memories
As I enter the Gothic edifice
As if summoned by the honest spirits
Like those of its stained glasses
Despite rust remained sturdy
Enough to say a bulwark against infamy
Coming from those social manges
That drives everyone into insanity 

Quite magical as I see
Especially at early night
As if drawing powers all from the moonshine
And keeping the holy fires 
As I hear prayers to the martyrs
If not age old incantations
Incense and candles burning
Whose fumes trying to cover delusions

The victims seek revenge against the leeches
The betrayed be against the order of thugs and parasites
That for years been trying to create an actually-existing hell
Such as near and surrounding the old steel church
And at its worst swarm with condemned souls
Social manges trying to fool everyone
With all the illusions and pseudo-happiness
That in the end with real tears, fears, and sadness

Yet to hear the priestly sermons
Coming from the centuries-old wooden pulpit
Quite inspiring as the clergyman extort the faithful
To bring an end to a so-called mess
And I translate emotions into words
Messages full of fire and brimstone
Setting fire to a damned world
Whose order is as rotten to its core

Flames of eternal yearnings
Enough to burn once suffering hearts
And the water as if like tears
Enough to quench thirst called despair
The sermons whose messages like fire and brimstone
Creating an expression of revenge
From the gleam of the old steel church
Trying to counter the modern rottenness and its stench


Third world country by the moonlight
The destitute yearning for a good life
As they see tangible illusions
Such as good vibes from the other side
Yet reality is all full of screams 
If not deafening silence
Coming from the urban enclaves
If not from the graves

Such unpleasant memories
Trying to be hidden by the authorities
In a way screams of protests
Trying to be blocked by various sound systems 
The system can't withstand the pressure
Despite statements and tangible "facts"
Yet failed to please everyone
Especially those victims unsung

In a way modern edifices
Trying to cover the stench of the dumpsites
If not tourist attractions
Trying to hide centuries old countryside repressions
I feel worrisome if not in despair
Enough to create words such as this poem
As I see the reality such as hell
Trying to be redescribed as heaven by a foolish few


Rains bring me memories
As I revisit the old university
Same old bullshit as I see
Yet college life seemed quite remembering
The joys, the suffering, the pain, the pleasure
Coming from friends, books, and the pressure
And even remember when I was watching
In one's mystic eyes coming from a beauty worth lovable

Those damned times as I recall
Like any other memories from childhood
From the four cornered rooms full of books
To the major thoroughfares full of various noises
Of parties whose drinking sprees with flowing wine
If not protests whose chants, confrontations, fighting against time
Hearts almost lost from issues, emotions gushing
Yet painful despite moving on as recalling and feeling

Such lessons has been continue to relearn
Knowing that most of the time it is forgotten
Yet those times be like becoming sadomasochists
Having pleasure and pain in recalling
And in translating those thoughts into words
As if tastes like wine from the darkest grapes of sin
Strange those days, damned college days
Enough to set the world on fire than to say "come what may"

Karen Mae, you lighted up my way
Until we see the world as if a funeral pyre whose flames stay.