Beast of Burden


this-was-you

This was you at your best

You, the creature behind the veil
Why do you hide behind the smile?
your guile  & deceit,
the shame of being you
Ruminating and toiling,
The work of your hands-
denigrating the innocents.
Towards what end?
Your scribbles of poetry
on life and death
why does it matter?
who will remember?
your power and your wealth,
silenced by the face of death.
All of your glory,
decrepit and dilapidated
Even the grave,
unleashes the worms on your carcass
your bones, an inconvenience-
to the grave
I stare at the mirror,
I see you-
Bluntly staring back at me.
a scowl etched on your temperament
In the end,
what matters is the shards-
of kindness and love
that perpetuates the essence of your spirit
Not your name, not your children
but the unseen gifts of grace,
that you shared with strangers-
transmuting & transmogrifying
from  generation to generation
Though your name may never be known
and while history will forgive your presence,
your spirit will live on embodied in the culture
of men who were recipients of your love
this-is-you

This is your future

–Prashant Thomas

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Summer’s End


goodbye grave

Emotions unclasped, tolerance lost
Faint hearts, hurtful thoughts
Venom of dejection
Slowly seeping in.
Only the numbness remains

Remember how it was?
We were inseparable,
Hearts pined for the other,
Giddy with passion
When we swore our love

How did this come to be?
My stubborn spirit?
Or was it your docile and
tone deaf amorality?
Did we get played for a fool?

We were good for each other
Too good to be true
But the vein of insecurity ran deep
to be exploited by vagrants.
Putty to the curmudgeon.

Hate runs deep
Forgiveness scarce
Ruminating over intends
Questioning the sincerity
of all that was true

Revenge is bitter sweet
Quick on it’s feet
Shreds the members
Carcass for the vultures
Bitter to the very end

This place we are in
Strange and uncomfortable
We cant be together
Nor can we separate –
the bonds that bind

Where was the disconnect?
Can we ever mend this discord
Navigate the tide of high self esteem
Back to the beginning
When we were just too souls –
naked and unfettered.

— Prashant Thomas

Healing for My Pain


 

Poem of the day

A new poem every day

Pain, oh what pain and anguish that grip my heart

Trying, and so desperately, to rip me apart

No tongue can tell the tangling that is deep within

Tears cannot express what despair has set in

Ah, but what is that I hear?

It’s the strain of a tune about help that’s near

Ready to heal a broken spirit, to brighten a faint smile

Stop by here Lord Jesus, and help me go another mile

Anonymous

Redeemed


12th-century_unknown_painters_-_creation_adam_and_the_original_sin_-_wga19757

I am impressed in debt
I cant seem to wring free
these bonds that tie me up,
are tightening its grip on me
my nakedness reveal my shame
my inner man is but a shadow in retreat
Each day brings forth neglect and compulsions
I cant seem to idle away a day in sublime peace
When will this torture end
when will my contenance shine
My faith is on a precipice
but I cant loose hope
I can ignore the world
ignore the reality of death
but I cant ignore the claims of a mad man
for he was either mad, bad or the son of God
No man has made such claims.
no man so bold
None died for a treacherous lie
none personified such foresight
I know my path is set
I know my resolve will be tested
but the captain of my ship
his sights are keen
He holds my hand
no condemnation, but grace
his promises are everlasting
and I await his return.

Written by: Prashant Thomas

Not Waving, But Drowning


Hands reaching above water --- Image by © G. Baden/Corbis

Not waving but drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Poem by: Stevie Smith