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)

The End Is Only The Beginning

You left in haste
Without a trace
Which probably explains why
It’s taken a while

To learn to love again
To learn to be a friend
To learn to value you
To learn to embrace the new
You were wonderful, Skye, yes you were
For the longest time you were my only world
The only person who held the key
To uncovering my mysteries
But now, my dear, I have discovered
Other entrances hidden under rubble
Under the debris of our earthquake
When you brought down the worlds we made
I have sifted, oh, how I have searched
Through sand, and ash, lye and dirt
At first, of course I was looking for you
But over time the search was subdued
The reality soon faded into a memory
And present times became history
When all’s said and done, where will you be?
While all’s left standing is… me

I’ve found another entrance dear, one you didn’t know
Buried far beneath ice and a thousand layers of snow
It took a long time to find it, time, heat and friction
Laid under slates encoded with alien diction
Then I looked closely at the engravings
There were patterns perplexing and penetrating
Right to the core of all dissent
Of dissonance, of regret, and resentment
The code was the final key I needed
To blast through the ice that melts and refreezes
To access the entrance to a cave of mystery
Unencumbered selves, shattered in pieces
I’d put them back together in time
With cracks so perfect, lines so fine
Formulating a new me, me dear
Rising from the ashes, the fire I feared
But fear does not become me anymore, Skye
It does not hover as a shadow by my side
I have seen the light at the end of the road
And I’m ready, now, to free-fall into the unknown…

MG

(Excerpt from Dear Skye by Mikaela Gordan. Originally posted on Wattpad. Click for link.)

Love. More of It.

Love…

If chasing sunshine has taught me one thing, it’s that opening your curtains means you can just let it come.
(Generally, open curtains means a tidy room first…)

*     *    *    *    *

My experience of love is one that can be expressed on so many different levels.

There is the love of the flesh, the appreciation of the physical world around us. A love of a moment, an enjoyment of a platform created by our material world. It is a fickle love, like the flicker of a sun as it bounces off a mirror, a glimpse of your smile as you try to hide behind your smirk. That blue flash of flame just before it turns orange. It is love.

There is a love of the heart, the emotional resonance of love’s existence. A love of a person, to dwell in the company of a friend, a relative, a lover, even a stranger who shares the experience of “youness” in that moment. It is a lingering love that stays, like the love of a friend who makes you laugh, the love of a relative who makes you comfortable, the love of a lover whose presence warms you. It is love.

There is a love of the mind, the mental and sentimental spark of both brain and body. A love of a conversation, a concept, an idea. It is a love that revels in whoever or whatever embodies that expression. It is a temperamental love, impulsive and vibrating at a whole different frequency. It is an intangible love, its permanence  encompassed by us. Much like the unformed winds that can rustle up leaves or up-root a tree, it is a love that is made whole in itself.

Finally, there is a love of the soul, the universe that is both within and around us. The universe of which we are both creators as well as inhabitants. Our soul is the expression of the metaphysical world reflected by our physical one. It is a love in itself, a love that consumes itself while it reflects. It is like the sun, burning at high frequencies and eating itself while regenerating the light to reflect onto the moon. It is a love that is self-reliant, self-sufficient, yet self-destructive. It is a love that provides to all and gains only from self-regeneration. It is a love that regenerates, it does not disintegrate.

Love.

I love you, so very much right now, and I’m sure you feel it, too.

MG