My soul is sad.
I have seen lives swallowed by spells from stone hedges.
This makes souls that ought to live, die.
Those who ought to die, live.
I lie down, my soul desires to stand up.
I stand up, my soul wants to lie down.
I sleep but my soul is awake.
The bed shorter than a man can lie.
I dream of snuffed out candles.
I dream of adorable butterflies with broken wings.
Dreams of red roses with severed petals assail me.
I see lands where canaries sing like vultures.
And of ostriches who fly backwards.
Dreadful dreams of paradise lost.
What made me happy now makes me sad.
What made me sad no more moves me.
My soul is like a journey to a windy Island.
Everything is being tossed and turned.
There is no shore of escape,
From this strange cycle of worrisome fantasies.
How can you be glad when your neighbour lives in wretchedness.
His children pawned off to pay his debts.
His wife a courtesan to his landlord.
To earn a dollar or two for family upkeep.
A world where helpless refugees are now called aliens.
A place of rest no more can he find.
Where he ran from blames him.
His host blames him.
Yet this was the angel he looked up to.
Now at war with his presence.
A war caused by contradiction of existence.
“What you are, is different from what I am”.
Oh the times we live in.
No one understands the language of tears anymore.
They think everyone smiling is enjoying blissful times.
They can’t even see that his eyes have lost it’s sparkle.
A man is slowly dying like a melting candle.
Yet they say he is strong.
“keep your head high”,
the uncaring choir of life sings.
Till punishment from the hands of a strange reality befalls him.
Don’t you see them on the streets of life
Men, who’s shadows avoid them.
Whose ignorance gives birth to more ignorance
Frustrated men talking to nothing,
And nothing is talking back to them.
Men stonewalled by riches and honour.
Still hoping whilst bound in chains of stagnation.
Hoping on hope that has lost hope.
Their lives having become a cruel soap opera.
A sad drama that makes everyone cry.
Why is man born of woman so full of troubles?
Why is his pillow always tear stained?
Why does the sun scorch him?
And the rain is relentless in beating him.
Even nature has become an accomplice.
Rendering him helpless in his own earth-home.
Mankind has ruined creation.
Creation has ruined mankind.
Who knows the road back to Eden?
Where lilies were white.
And roses were red.
Where every soul had light in them.
Where sadness and darkness was unthinkable.
How can man’s soul ever become glad.
When he has forgotten He who begat him.
Now nothing maintains or stabilises him in life.
The fountain of peace is dry.
Except Blood and Water washes
blood and water,
The wonders of salvation.
(To the discerning I speak)
Man’s soul will ever remain sad.