Helping the needy....

As the last drop of rain slowly trickles to a stop,

I wander out to the field to inhale a breath of fresh air.

My soul takes in the aroma of the last of the season’s crop,

Only to be shaken by the poverty stricken child’s glare.

Alas, Who do we think we really are ?

Pretending to be blind to the world around us.

Ignoring the needy, neglecting a blind man’s scar,

Self obsessed with our petty lives, not worth a fuss.

If only we change our vision of society,

Donate an extra pair, may be show some empathy.

Don’t just sit at home watching helplessly,

May be one day we might be in need of their sympathy.

Scribbled lines....

These chains that wrap me,
tightening with every passing day.
These walls that are closing in,
suffocating me as they laugh.
The old memories that come back,
reminding me of those painful days.
Memories I can never forget,
and dare I not forgive.
Sometimes I think there is no future,
of this loser soul, of this frightened boy.
But losing is in my veins,
in my blood is raw desperation.

The Standoff....

The dust from the sandstorm hasn’t quite settled down,

and I find myself staring into a set of brown, steely eyes.

I wait for the nearby clock to chime, as mechanical as a clown,

as the widow of the previous battle’s loser cries.   

Sweat runs down my sunburned neck,

and my faded hat flutters in the gale.

There is no prize in this duel, least of all a cheque,

And nobody here goes to jail.

I flick open my gun holster, as the clock is about to reach nine,

and for assurance, slowly feel the hilt of my trusted old “Colt”.

Suddenly my senses kick into gear, now is the time to shine

my eyes narrows, and the local pub’s door creaks from its rusted bolt.

I hear the clock hands move one last time,

and notice my opponent’s hands move.

The clock was yet to let out its chime,

and I was totally out of the groove.

There was a loud bang of a gun.

and I realized it wasn’t mine.

I find myself falling down, my eyes locked on the sun

slowly feeling drowsy and sleepy, as if I had just drunk wine.

My eye lids start to slowly close,

my body gets completely froze

My “Colt” was still in my hand,

and there was my blood all over the sand.

Normandy (D-Day).........

Through the eyes that saw peace,

here he now stands, watching war.

He has awakened, the one who is called the beast,

bent upon erasing all of his scars.

With only a knife for a side arm,

and with only a rusting rifle for company,

the beast has joined the battlefield,

his only previous experience was in Germany.

Here he witnesses a cocktail of a different kind,

one of blood, salt water and sand.

Its the beaches of Normandy, that he has set out to conquer

and now he realises, there is no value of his cash in hand.

The screams of fellow soldiers have filled the air,

and the bullets from the MMG greet him on the beach,

abandoned rifles lie on the ground, with bullets to spare

telling tales of the heroes who are now out of reach.

Charred bodies, screaming inaudible tales lay on the ground,

as a soldier, paralysed by fear started counting his last moments.

Torn hands and legs decorated the beach, with its colour brown,
and now he is not really sure as to who really are his opponents.

But now there is no time to take in this scenery,
as he has to find a way to survive this dance of death.
He decides to run for cover, although its just a theory.
and run for cover he does, until he runs out of breath.

Once he finds cover, he now has no time to reflect.
He has to coax that beast within, and earn some self respect.
The bunker lies 20 metres above him, firing bullets at will.
He decides to try his arm, and throws a grenade inside it, intending to kill.

There were countless soldiers that day, most of them now dead.
And this was just a small account of one of them.
This was where the war was decided, it was D-Day,
it was the beaches of Normandy.