Its my soul.

I wont be held, restrained, you wont stop my refrain. You may interrupt it, punctuate it, but the melody, the verses, the rhythm, that comes from within, that keep me soaring, like a bird, like an eagle, are what sustain me.

So, I said it already, I am possessed, positively, like I want to be, like you could be, if you were free, with the spirit of my ancestors, that make me look at you, in your dark eyes, fearlessly.

So, go on, try to hurt me, sure you can physically, then again you don't know me, like I know you, with your minuscule mind, that keeps you from seeing me in you and you in me, the man across the street that eats from the garbage can, in you and me, the little girl with the little baby boy, in you and in me.

So, go ahead punctuate, be bad, be mean, I will forgive you, but I will write about you, and a hundred years from now, you will be remembered as the pitiful soul that you are that failed to kill a spirit, a bird, an eagle that soars too high for your liking.

Sometimes, I think I am crazy for having nothing but yet plenty, because I am a dreamer and maybe thats where it starts, with a dream, with a passion, with a maddening love for something that is exceedingly intoxicating, that is more pleasurable than the sweetness of a vagina.

So my life could be chaotic, but times like these, when I write, I am free, I feel I can touch the sky, although I cant, I want to share my soul, my heart, so I feel uninhibited,
then the morning will come, the train will scream, the sky will be consumed with smoke, and my life will take on a monotony.

Then the night will fall, darkness will envelope us and in the quiet, the solitude, I will find myself.

So, now I need balance, so I can do what I love, if not I will prefer to be alone, in a room somewhere, dimly lit, listening to the pant of a dog, peering out the window, now and then, to the black wet street that glistens. I don't smoke. I quit, you thought you knew me, otherwise, I would open the door, to the soothing cold, take a pull and contemplate my next work.
I would look at the grass, orange, from the weight of the snow, but still alive, deep rooted, and about to enrich itself with a luscious greenness.
Maybe, I am like the grass... maybe you can be like that grass...ah..perennial.

...The school bell rang at exactly 12.00 and hundreds of gleeful children ran out, happy that they were getting another half day. The Prime Minister was coming to their village, and they were looking forward to line the streets and welcome him with the many placards, they had made at school. For the past week, their parents, who months previously, couldn’t find work, had been busy cleaning drains, trimming hedges and filling thousands of pot holes for the grand occasion. The Prime Minister who was also the minister of finance, the minister of works, the minister of education and the minister of lands, had issued a special warrant for four million dollars, to get the village in tip top shape, for what was being billed as another historic occasion. It was the 12th half day for the year, and government workers were encouraged to take half day too, to support nation building, they were told.
Even the business owners, big and small, felt that they had to close up shop, as a sign of support. The prime minister was also the minister of trade, so they all understood the importance of being in his good grace.

The master of the ceremonies was a J.P, chairman of the local party branch, ambulance driver, senior watchman and road supervisor. He was hoping to get the nod for the MBE or OBE or even a knighthood, during the upcoming independence celebrations. It would be the biggest nationhood celebrations, to be ever held, throughout the region, the great leader had promised.

He paused for a drink of water, and peered at the growing crowd, over the perfectly round lens, of his glasses. He was told they give him a sophisticated and educated look, so he didn’t mind the occasional headaches, that they caused. He took another drink, he was not thirsty, nor was his throat dry, but, he liked the idea of the crowd waiting, somewhat impatiently, for him to continue. Besides, the supreme leader does it too.

“Those few of you who are on the other side, or who are sitting on the fence, should emulate her and come to us. Embrace the community, embrace the prime minister, embrace the great leader, embrace the great great leader, embrace him, embrace him because we are blessed to have such a leader, who is progressive and who puts people before politics”.
He surveyed the crowd, pausing for another drink of water. He had their attention alright. What he didn’t notice was that the PM was twitching and turning uncomfortably in his seat. Admittedly, the P.M thought Jones was a good speaker, especially for someone who had never gone to secondary school or university. After all, he knew nothing about the law, politics and arts, and the finer things in life, but he had his uses. He was loyal, and acted when called upon to do so, without fail. Jones would have to cut short his speech. The people had come to see their leader, not him, pretending to be erudite. .....

Jones was now introducing the Pm, one of his Cuban trained security personnel had signaled to Jones to get on with it, the great leader was now excited, ready to get up and look down on his adulating followers.
“Gentlemen , ladies, boys and girls, I now turn you over to the greatest leader in this country and the Caribbean, a man we are all blessed to have transforming our lives in more ways than one..”

Thunderous clapping erupted, the earth shook, the trees took a bow and the Prime minister rose slowly. He looked over at the sea of red and lifted his arms, parallel to each other. The crowd fell silent, immediately. He lowered his arms and the crowd went wild again. Up went his arms, followed by silence. Then up and down, chanting and silence, like a light switch being turned on and off........