Impulse Was His Weakness (Collaboration)

It was his only chance
He rushed towards the door
Impulse was his weakness
Thus he tripped onto the floor

Knowing who was knocking
He wanted to make an impression
Little did he realise he was bound
By a wheelchair and a confession

He picked himself up to get the door
To her surprise, this day she found
His confession was constrained
By her sentimental sound

With wails and tears she empathised
As her lover succumbed to the chair
A little girl tugged at her dress
And asked, “Is this man Daddy?” in despair.

 

Varnika and MG

 

 

Enjoyed collaborating this creative piece with an inspiring poet, Varnika
(Click here for more poetry and spoken wordwith audio)

Be Kind, Not Weak

Be kind, be meek.
Be kind,
not weak.

MG

 

 

 

(related — “Kindness is Not Weakness” by MG )

On Words and Wisdom

poetry.jpg

 

MG

Spencer

Spencer was new to school and hadn’t quite decided who to be. Having the benefit of a unisex name meant that Spencer had also chosen not to identify as ‘he’ nor ‘she’ but ‘it’ or ‘Spence’.

On the first day, Spence dressed in such a manner that its gender could not be identified at first glance. Short-ish hair but not entirely, hoody, jeans, sneakers, and body language that simply confused everyone.

Spence didn’t like being told who to be nor was It capable of mimicking what has already been done, so instead of trying to emulate the behavior of those around, It decided to merely experience people. This strategy was much more relaxing than trying to ‘keep up with appearances’, because all Spence had to do was either sit back and listen to what people seemed inspired by or initiate conversation and be aware of what emotions were evoked throughout the duration.

The first day was fun for Spence. Some of the classmates whispered to each other, “Is that a boy or girl? So weird…” This made Spence feel a little amused but also disappointed knowing that befriending this sector of the class would just cause misery throughout the term. Spence smirked a little and tuned-in to the group on the other side of the room.

“Dude you can’t say shit like that! I think the new kid is kinda awesome,” said one of the more charismatic figures in the class. Spence listened more, and heard another classmate say in a mocking tone, “Go say hi then!” To Spence’s surprise, the new friend actually walked over and said “Hi, I’m Evon. When an O.”

Spence liked this person’s energy—confident but not overpowering. “Oh!” bantered Spence, “As in O-V-A-N?”

Evon caught on quickly and chuckled. “Not ‘oven’. Evon. E-V-O-N.”

“I’m Spence. Like pence with an S,” Spence played along with the vibe.

“Ha!” Evon turned around and called out to the group, “This is Spence! Toldja the new kid is awesome!” The group walked over to meet Spence and introduced themselves.

The judgmental group from the first side of the classroom rolled their eyes and went back to mainstream mediocrity, gossiping about which teachers might end up dating each other or which Netflix characters should ‘soooo not be together’ (which could be heard from the hallway).

Evon’s group didn’t seem bothered by this, and frankly neither was Spence; what was noticeable though, was that the more Evon seemed to ignore them, the louder and more uncomfortable they seemed to become. Their eyes rolled more aggressively and their voices became more audible to the point where full conversations could be heard outside the classroom.

Spence turned back to Evon and the newly-made friends, grateful that this new school wasn’t entirely hopeless. Still, for a split second, Spence did feel bad for the conforming haters on the other side.

Everyone knew those were the kids who’d either die alone or become so miserable with insecurity that eventually they’d be intolerable.

Everyone knew.

Everyone, except themselves.

 

MG

Inequality

How does one write
rather how does one type
on a stereotype
in the form of a hype
trendsetters surround
generating sounds
flooding all around
coming from outta town
now I don’t mean immigrants
I’m talkin ‘bout expats n’ tourists
with commercial interest
bearing the label “capitalist”

The few who were impressed
returned to invest
at the materialist’s bequest
a thirst that can’t be quenched

see the downside to this notion
that they term “capitalism”
is the constant hunger for more
for meagre life’s a chore
a need to compensate
with objects on their plates
that constantly seek upgrade
and engage in debate
about the technological change
about foreign stock exchange
about our nuclear weapons’ range
the ones blasted up on stage
the faces of diplomats
glorified doormats
they might have nicer habitats
but still use the same laundromats

Speeches are drafted and read
edited before they’re said
don’t want the people to be misled
rephrase the lies they spread
yet e’ryday People get out of bed
are drawn to the metaphorical Red
log on to hot topics n’ threads
to catch up with the trend
but on the other end
there are beggars who can’t pay rent
their problems aren’t concerning where their right to vote went
but surviving on less than a tenth
of the income most of us get
and let ourselves forget
the roots from which we were bred

 

MG

 

 

(freeverse / spoken word — July 2019)

When the Enemy Cries

What do we do when the enemy cries?
Do we mock their pains, or empathise?

What do we do when the racists scream
that they want to conserve their liberties?

What do we do when classists steal
from those who have less material?

What do we do when sexists refuse
to embrace others as human but then make excuses?

What do we do when homophobes whine
about the fear of being ‘hit on’ all the time?

What do we do when ageists enforce ideals
not to address them by name but instead by title?

What do we do when religious indoctrination
is interpreted with arrogance and not with empowerment?

What do we do when any other human
believes it’s acceptable to compete for validation?

What do we do when abusers run towards weapons,
provoke violence, get beaten, then play ‘victim’?

What do we do when the enemy cries?
Do we mock their pains, or empathize?

 

MG

 

 

 

 

Inspired by Hong Kong 

Two Leaders

One day, two world leaders got together
To discuss a deal that would benefit each other

One said, “I’ll paint my country as heaven
but really it will be hell.
People will flock from all over
to drink from our immortal well.”

The other replied, “I’ll canvas mine as hell
but really it will be heaven.
No one will dare draw near;
no humans means no pollution.”

The first leader smiled, “I’ll build factories for the humans,
teach them the bare minimum
and ensure cheap production,
then I’ll sell them to your nation.”

The second smirked and said, “I’ll drench them with education
and dictate the laws of freedom,
They’ll design our ammunition
and set up our revolution.”

The first raised an eyebrow, “You think you can take us on?
Your ego is not that strong.
You’re weak with humanity and empathy,
you will have a crumbled economy.”

The second laughed and replied, “Depends what you define as economy.
To you, it’s the paper trail of money,
To your people, it’s multiple properties.
To us, money is simply
but a tool to enhance our humanity.”

The first was enraged by this plan
for he did not understand
what it meant to be loved, to be respected, to be free;
he was oppressed by his own beliefs.

The second was not too scared,
for there weren’t many who needed his care.
He provided the tools and let them pave a way,
then reveled in delight of what they’d made.

~MG~

Morning Sun Midnight Rain

Every morning, I open the curtain
Hoping for some sun to pour in
Some days, I get a shining radiance
That gives a majestic illusion of permanance
Only to have it take a break
Almost exactly the very next day
When the clouds roll in and the rain pours down
Thunder roars, lightning flashes all around
It showers the city with acid and carbon
Melting away concrete that took weeks to harden
I watch as the city slowly fades
Into the sillhouette that was once my escape
A place containing many a memory
That I’ve recorded in ink and written down as history
Awaiting in silence for the sun
To sing its song of frivol and fun
To dry up the gloom of humid rain
To illuminate the paths that few dare to take
To warm the frozen hearts that roam
Around this street without a soul
To shed some light on the lack of humanity
That takes place in this atrocity of a city
Maybe the sun will shine again
Well, it will… but who knows when…

MG