Twelve

And they view from the sides of the wall, they peer to see if more has come... yes they are many in number, riding arabian horses, splender in colour, the sand arising like a storm , the leaves shiver and fall, there is none mourning their connection of life.. dead , alive, breathing, contemplating, accesing web pages, arousing.... they ve all felt it .. wrapped in muslin cloth... held towards a mothers breast, their gums clutch the nipples , she did not wince in pain for this joy amidst the women in the land of the baren ... life is peircing itself thru veils of thickness... war, bombs, swords, bullets... are they wat is peircing u oh women behind the wall? .... wat? speak louder pls.... the air is punched with holes made by victories of men who believed they were leading us to greatness... speak louder oh mother at twelve.. let ur child voice arise ... can it touch the glass panes that stand tall leaving oak trees to wither in shame ... ur not alone u tell me? there are more? more? & still more? ... where are they? behind? behind the wall? behind the house? underneath? underneath wat? underneath men u say? ... men... men who touch to grapple wat god did not provide them with to push wat they found extra fittings that instilled luxury at the oddest times of panic and rivalry.... yes they did not count i know... they did not ask if it pained .. i know oh mother at the age of twelve.. and yet u stand .. u stand to tell me.. u dare to use ur own voice ... u wont ? u wont u say? this is a whisper for me to keep in my heart? the many that come will keep coming u say?... can u speak to the world? .. they will not listen u say? maybe someone will oh pure one.. someone will tell another one and they will tell others in turn and then maybe a nation will be born lil one, a nation where u will revive ur childhood... u will smile like the other children ur age, u will laugh and jump and when u fall on the dust u will brush urself gleefully ...knowing fully this is the perfect heaven on earth..

there, there & there

Neither tall nor short,
Neither funny nor snotty,
Neither crisp nor damp,
Neither me nor you.

To them we are but
A figment of the inner lives.
There is no rebellion,
No constant bickering,
Only the plain consent of
Achievement mixed with concrete
And sand...

Words they speak fly like the sand
Settle among hairs and inside ear lobes,
A whisper is heard over and over again...
They speak within and without,
It is the same... They are there,
Not there but there, there and there!