When Some One Dies

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Photo by Ian Espinosa on Unsplash

When someone dies, I ask what the hell is life all about
I’m soo sad. I weep. Where the hell is this peace I seek
This pain is to much to bear. It sears my soul
I am hurting, distraught and bereft

Such a good friend of mine is taken from this life, at this time
Where is the justification. Where is the reason why
Where are you now God. Explain to me the reason why
Why now, why her. Why at this time

Come on, fess up. Explain to me the reason why
It makes no sense. I am distraught. I cry
I am a man, but yet I weep
Her Love, Her energy, Her Happiness
You take that, and don’t explain why

Do I hate you God, if you exist at all
This life I don’t understand at all
I curse you life, I curse you God
I really do.

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London, England.

London tube train station.
Photo by Adrien Ledoux on Unsplash

The ‘interview’ began gently, almost imperceptible. An ever so gentle probing of one’s character. An opportunity to judge their sense of self-esteem, and their willingness to stand up for them selves and fight back.

He held out the cigarette, and asked in a friendly manner.

‘Have you got a light ?’

All so very innocent, yet deceptive. The rattle of the tube trains loud as they whisked their passengers into the center of London, and outwards towards the safety and quietness of the suburbs. He offered him the lit cigarette he held by his side.  Certainly not the reaction this human predator was expecting. No one hand diverted into a trouser or jacket pocket, affording the would be thief, come mugger an opportunity to  be victorious as he unleashed a ferocious, and unexpected assault a now one-handed adversary.
Something was certainly ‘off’ about the man asking for a light to his cigarette. Just something didn’t seem right, did not ‘feel right’. He moved away down the platform with some non believable excuse.

It was hard not to paint every young black person as a ‘near do well’. To see them as human, some struggling, some quiet religious. Yet so many caught up in the prison system. The local newspapers only to happy to report yet another ‘person of African decent’, a coloured person to you and me, involved in crime in one form or another. The reasons for their choice of ‘career’ many and varied, and depending on one’s view, you could either feel somewhat sorry for their upbringing. Some brought up in poverty and squalor, ill educated, non interested parents, schoolteachers, no mentors and all the rest. Some turned to crime, while others choose not to. Whether that was just good fortune, who is to know.
Were you one of these Guardian Newspaper readers. Those do gooders, who may over their Chianti and cheese at the various parties they attended in the best houses of Hampstead and Chelsea, would have decried the unfairness of it all, as they snacked on yet more canapes and scallops. Exclaiming that really someone must do something about the situation. Perhaps, they allowed, that next time round they may, actually, heaven forbid, vote for a labour government to run the country. The laughter around the oak dinner tables of such fine homes reverberated long and loud into the evening.

The phone call was brief and do the point.

He excused himself from the table, and the animated, and at times laughter filled conversations, at the select Chelsea townhouse, that had become near enough his second home. Among people he trusted, and felt at ease with. People, who if given an opportunity would certainly put the world to right. Or so they believed. Sort out all these tiresome issues, that forever filled the newspapers and daily radio news reports.

Slowly he walked upstairs to find a quiet room together his thoughts. He needed to be alone. He stood in the darkness by the open french windows that looked out onto the quiet street. He glanced at the quarter full moon, in the late evening sky, and considered where his adopted child might now be. He noted the expensive vehicles on the clean, tree lined street, outside the expensive houses, and considered had it being a wise move to allow his adopted son the freedom to live as he pleased. What did that child really know of England, and the ways of the west. Brought from the ragged and poverty stricken streets of Kampala, Africa, to the unforgiving streets of London. Innocent and pure. Raised with Gods love by his Mother. Expecting so much from his new homeland.

People know people. After quiet some time contemplating alone, remembering. He made a phone call to the Embassy. He spoke to the military attaché, and old friend from a time long ago, when he was a different type of man. He briefly explained the situation, and accepted the condolences of the Military attaché. But revenge and retribution of the most savage and violent type was what he wanted, and asked the Military attaché to use his high level connections to ensure, discreetly, that the perpetrator’s of the crime were brought to justice, the South African Way. Quietly, and out of sight of police and interfering politicians.

He poured himself a straight whiskey from the decanter that adorned the mahogany bedside table. Enjoying and hoping the strong bitter taste of the liquid would fortify him over the next few moments. In the darkened room, he drank from the crystal glass, and dialed the number.

With hesitation, and pause for thought he slowly dialed the number.

His words were soft, and comforting.

‘Margaret, are you sitting down………..’

In the diplomatic area of Kampala, one of the few remaining well to do area’s of the city. Inside the gated community, behind the armed guards. She sat in the quietness of the evening on her veranda overlooking the vast expanse of bush that stretched out before her. The sounds of the many wild animals, unseen but heard, making their presence felt.
She recalled memories of her only son, and the many happy times they had spent together. How he had spoken of his plans and dreams to travel. The medical career he had planned, and his determination to use those skills for the poorer people in the townships, who were left to fend for themselves, by the many.
She had listened to and encouraged his honorable aspirations, and wondered how London was turning out for him, and had he perhaps met a nice woman.

The jangling of the phone ringing in the lounge disrupted her thoughts.

Her screams echoed throughout the large house, like a wounded animal caught in the most brutal of traps. The servants altered by her screams ran quickly to her rooms. The large breasted African housekeeper, whom she treated as a surrogate Mother, moved quickly to her side, as she knelt on the floor, weeping, sobbing and shaking. Held her gently in her arms. Comforted and soothed her as best she could, under the circumstances.
A human in pain is hard to witness at any time. But the searing pain a Mother feels for a child, unfairly taken from this life, is something else. Those screams of distress can cut through the hardest of hearts, and last a lifetime in one’s memory.

In the weeks that followed it did not take long for that call to come through. The efficiency of the South African security forces had always been top class, just as he remembered them.

‘ That delivery you requested has arrived, and is ready for collection at the embassy ‘.

The phone call brief, and to the point.

‘I’ll come and see to it this afternoon’. His response just as brief, and businesslike.

He sat back in the leather armchair, behind the dark mahogany desk, which he never liked. Among the shelves lined with books. Many of which he knew he would never manage to read, let alone, understand. Still, he assured himself, it would impress some of his clients.

He was unsure how he would deal with the package. He was still grieving. A very restrained, private type of grief. Not noticeable to others. In his former life he had seen the most brutal forms of death and destruction, and could not, would not allow emotions such as pity, sorrow, regret to intrude and detract from the job at hand. He did not allow himself to indulge in analytical, searching questioning of the methods and motivations he used, and the reasons for such.

But this was different. This was family. His family, albeit an adopted family / child. The distress of his wife was very real. That child, her child was cruelly and unfairly taken from her. He knew she stood once again on the precipice, and would not be surprised if this event would see her slide back once again into the bottomless, empty abyss of her addiction. Sobriety or relapse, only time would tell. Whether God, or her cohorts, or her own strength would save her, it was hard to say.

It was not too long since their attempt at procreation had led to that still-born child, whom she still grieved for. He on the other hand, had brushed it off, as a fact of life. The way men of a certain caliber are able to do. Their childless, cold marriage they were expected to endure, rescued in part by the adoption of the young boy. Now a young man, making his way in the world.

But focusing his mind on the issue at hand. A crime. An unfair, unjustified had been committed and had to be punished. Revenge, retribution was only right, and fair, and to be expected. It was what he expected, no, demanded of himself. He could not….

The ringing of the desk phone, disrupted his thoughts.

‘Will you need your car and driver this afternoon’.

‘No, that’s fine. Give him the afternoon off’.

The drive from his office, close to Parliament Sq to the South African Embassy, took him through the better parts of London. Gave him some time to turn his mind from his problems. As he drove, he reflected on how much London had changed in recent years.
The massive influx of the Eastern Europeans had to be seen to be believed. They brought with them an air of hardworking, industrious efficiency. Serious and dour, seldom seen smiling. There energy had changed London, and not for the better. The physical attractiveness of the Eastern European women, was some, little compensation for there cold and austere demeanor.

In the quiet road away from the thronged busy, wealthy high street, the cameras watched silently, as his car approached the embassy gates. The gates opened to allow his vehicle access. There was the perfucntionary security check just inside the gate. Although polite, and dressed like well to business executives, the security guards exuded a undeniable aura of seething violence, cruelty and brutality, just beneath their thin veneer of civility.

‘Welcome Back, Sir’, one of the guards offered. He pointed Edward in the direction of the building at the rear of the embassy, and managed to smile in anticipation of, perhaps some secret knowledge of what lay within.

 

 

 

 

 

An Emigrant’s Tale

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I must sleep now and rest my mind, allow it to unwind
What is this at my throat, who is this man
What does he want from me, I don’t understand
No, not my full stash of cash
If you take that, I’ll never be free
Your not getting that. I will fight with all my might
Oh God, please help me. I’m losing this fight

‘There’s no help for you child, you have not done right
You must pay the price for the past you left behind.
Let that be a lesson to you, there’s no escaping karma for any of mankind
Those who steal, defraud and our unkind
Those who murder, who abuse and are cruel
They may think they get away with it, but they are only fools
One way or another, life say’s you gotta play by the rules
Do onto other’s as they do onto you

Your time is up, karma has had its say
You will not live, not even one more day
You will die a death, that will be cruel and unkind
But that because of that attitude’s you have in your mind
You don’t play by the rules, you gotta pay the price
Maybe next time round, try to be nice, honest and true
Treat other’s right, be kind, and decent too
Then maybe life will look fondly on you

I’m leaving my homeland, I gotta be free
I don’t care what other’s think of me. I’ll never return
I’ve stolen from my own family, what do they think of me
Gotta get away from all this poverty and strife, this ain’t no way to be living life
It just has to be better, just wait and see
The West promises riches, I want part of that
Even if I must lie, steal, cheat and defraud my way to the top
That’s something I’m prepared to do
Find myself a rich husband, he can see to my needs and desires
I will see to his too
I can’t wait to get their, live the high life
This is what I desire, this is my right.

 

 

 

 

Torture.

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Photo by Charles Deluvio 🇵🇭🇨🇦 on Unsplash

Is life torture to you, and you just don’t know what to do
Do you wish it was over now, just wishing for the end
Is everything what you wanted not coming true
The love of your life not appearing
That career, you aint even sure of, not showing up
The wealth you dreamed of, seems such an impossible dream
Your aspirations to enhance the lives of others, seem empty futile, even obscene

Where is it all gone wrong, the people you meet daily, not want you want to see
They are the damn opposite of what you see in your dreams
Where’s that compatible partner, why just can’t they appear
You know, just like magick
That career you hanker after, how come it just disappears
Where’s the end to this, God alone knows
Where are the people you expect to show up, as you did for them
With their care, their consideration, or is that an empty dream
You were there for them, but now they ain’t nowhere to be seen
Make’s one question deeply, are some friendships what they purport to be

Is your body up the creek, with no end in sight
No healing miracles, about to come your way, and put things right
It’s stuff like this, that at times make’s it hard to carry on
With no brightness ahead, it all looks rather……trying
It’s at times like this, pleasure is in short supply
With a negative outlook, you might think abut dying
Many, many days like this, and life can seem like torture, and I ain’t lying

Have you got someone in your life saying, you don’t matter, you hardly exist
What’s going on with you, is of little and no concern
But yet they watch and analyse every move you make
Give there view on your preconceived mistakes, do they not believe in live and let live
Why can they not live their own lives, instead of living your life for you
Instead they find fault with all that you do, they that have little, to non existent respect

Why don’t you just hide away, until I discern you may be worth interacting with
But only to bring you down, as I lift myself up, and watch you squirm
Once again you’ve fallen for my my false sense of love and concern
But I care nothing for you, when will you ever learn
You are nothing to me, but a psychological punchbag, on whom I can let free
Destroy, and tear down, with words that cut to the core
Words that will reverberate for evermore within your mind
Even when I’m gone from this world, my words will destroy and control you
From beyond the grave
You got people like this in your life, throw them out, before they take your soul, your spirit, your life
Take my word, you see people like this, close to you. Shut them down, cut them out
This is what you must do. This is what you must do

Watching trough the window, another sunny day, another lovely day
Blue skies, and fluffy clouds, birds high in the sky
As you sit alone in your house, contemplating the benefits should you die
Maybe I may change my mind, another Netflix movie, foreign language perhaps
Engage my mind fully. Proper diet, positive views, you know, like you should do
Maybe life won’t seem so bad. Gotto keep bouncing back
Sure we’ll see what we can do. If it all seems worth it…..

 

 

Knife crime, Gun Crime, Dying Time, London Time.

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Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

Knife crime, gun crime, another young kid dying
Use that blade, shoot that gun, then when you do that
It’s all done
Think your tough, think your brave
What you really are, is afraid
Do onto other’s, before they do onto you

These are the actions of cowardly men
Weak, pitiful and meek man
Another drive by shooting, another young kid losing
Anyone with a knife, can take a life
Anyone with a gun, can make others run
Here son, take my gun, make the people hide
Make’s you feel real powerful, that ain’t no lie

What will Jesus say to you when you die
You took that man’s life, and now you must pay the price
Seek your redemption down there behind the gates of hell
Listen for evermore to that tolling bell
Where are the celebrities, the football stars, the ex gang members
To preach the peace, to these young people who behind it all
Behind the bravado, the brutal weapons, are small, afraid and weak
That one day it will they who is layed out a slab, as their relatives gather to send them off
As they become nothing more than dust
Wasted lives cut down so young, surely something can be done

Government cutbacks, so you can feed the fat cats
Now look what you’ve done, so many young people dying by the gun
Preachers, pastors and church leaders, we look to you for guidance
How come you’ve all gone so quiet
Are you out and about, tending to the young, showing them the folly of their ways
Maybe your hiding in your ivory towers, waiting for better days
When it all goes away
Are you Mother’s talking to your son’s, showing them the futility of carrying a gun
Father’s where are you, educating your children, you know, as you should do
With a guiding hand, showing them the lay of the land
The road to take, to be a better man
Brother’s and sister’s I ask of you, what it is you are going to do
Or will you look the other way too. You know what it is you must do
Teacher’s what are you doing in there. Is it anything, or do you not care
Or is it, that your afraid and scared
You have a duty, a responsibly too. We entrust our children onto you
For many hours every day. Your people of influence, have your say
Try to lead them clear, to see a better way

We look to you all to guide the young
To say the life your planning on living, is nothing but a dead end
Pull away from where your headed, it’s not where you want to be
Where are the community leaders, and youth leaders, where’s your voice, where’s your anger
We are relying now on your candour, pull no punches, say it loud
This behavior will not be tolerated nor allowed
We will shop you to the police, as we stand together in a crowd
We want out children home tonite, from the wild streets they roam

Where are these people to find that sense of bravery they seek
Hiding behind weapons of death, seem to make them look so weak
A loser who hides behind artificial means, to get what he needs
That sense of courage, bravery and daring do
If you want all that, join the damn army, that’s what you can do
They will welcome you, little fool
Kill, stab, main, travel the world and get paid for inflicting pain
Meddle in other countries affairs, bomb them to kingdom come
When your done the government will welcome you home as a hero
If you lose your legs or half your head on duty
Well they’ll hide you away, so you’ll have little say
Give you a medal to make your day

Another funeral, more anger and tears. Promises of revenge to quench their fears
The circle of death and violence, never end’s
Those who live by violence, if you keep knocking on that door
One day soon, life will even up the score
Will these young people ever learn
These young people should be embarrassed and ashamed to say
I used a gun or a knife on some other fella today
Cause that’s what I am, nothing but a cowardly, ineffectual man
Other’s don’t look to you and see a brave hero
They see a fool, who has nothing to be proud of in life
You ain’t got nothing, you got zero
Bravery, self worth and courage, are earned by pushing yourself to the limit
Not stealing someone’s life, at the point of a knife or a gun
Where are these rap stars, these social media stars
Using the power of their popularity to guide the youth of today
We need you to come out, and have your say
Tv program makers, make them sit up and listen
Say no more to this cowardly way, of acting to settle trivial scores
This ain’t the way it’s gotta be, watch and listen to this
There are alternatives to this, you will see

We gotto make them see, the consequences of their actions
For the lives they are taking
The impact it can have on a family and friends, when a loved one is unnecessary taken
In a non recoverable instant of anger and revenge
The untold human pain, and distress
That many will struggle to recover, from such a psychological mess
What might have been, what should have been, in a life lived full and to the brim
Instead of a barren empty chasm, that’s impossible to fill again

You aint brave, your just a slave to the media and tv, and other’s
Who would have you believe, you gotto take a life by gun or by knife
To add value, worth and bravery to your crew
Don’t be a fool to fall for that, whatever you do
Find better friends, and influences, should you need to make amends
For perceived disrespect put upon you
Handle it like a man, slap him round the face if you can
Rather than take his life with a hole in the head, as you shoot him dead
For words, that perhaps should have being left un-said
Slice and stab his life away with your knife
What about his young child and wife, can you really face that
Taking a mans life

That’s how real it get’s, friend’s stunned, Mother’s and Father’s wailing
Brother’s and sister’s going crazy
Human pain that never leaves, an aching heart, that forever bleeds
If you carry out that evil deed
Please think twice before you raise that knife, and take someone’s life
This is real, it ain’t no video game. They ain’t waking up, once you slay ’em
They are proper dead. Get that right, inside your head
How would you feel. How would you deal, with one of your own, not coming home
Cause some young guy, was too free and easy with a weapon
Proving a point, releasing his hate, on someone he blames
For imagined disrespect or similar

Unlike Lazarus, not too many can rise from the dead
When all is said and done, me old son
So before you take that fatal step, and shoot some guy through the head
Or stick him through with a knife, as any one could do
Have a think about the future consequences
Life has a way of paying back, what you give out returns ten fold
Have a think about that, perhaps you won’t feel so tough and bold
Karma is a real deal, and will leave a permanent seal on you and your family’s life
London 2018, what will we see today before the sun goes down.

The Funeral.

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Photo by Madison Grooms on Unsplash

Sympathize

They gathered in numbers. Slowly at first. Most dressed in all their finery. A mark of respect. Was that justified, who’s to know. But eventually the church was reasonably full. A surprisingly good turn out, considering.
Throughout his life he was a lover of music, and an accomplished musician himself. The lilting soft tones of his favourite piano pieces, echoed around the church walls, as played by the lady at the piano, on behalf of the church. The gentle soft, loving music, so out of sync with the church, with the life the man had led.

The crowd gathered, and shook the hands of the remaining living relatives, offering their commiserations, there shared sadness and reminiscences. Wheather it was true sadness, and grief, was quiet easy to see. Many, if not all, grateful that it was not them, nor one of their own who had been taken from this life. Glad they had escaped been clawed, dragged from this life.
His now grown children, with mixed emotions read from the lectern, remembering the few happy times they shared together. But I wont forget, the restraining  order issued by the courts, to protect his wife and children from his madness and violence, as they waited in fear, awaiting his return to the family home, that he was likely at any time to unleash upon them. The  finances used to indulge his selfish life style.
The affairs outside of the marriage, conducted in full view of the small town Ireland where he lived. The fleeing to England, with his latest flossy. The continual non payment of child and wife maintenance, rightfully due, but never paid. These are my memories of that man.
Others may have praised him, but it’s what many do, at a funeral. But what did they know of his family life, nothing. Perhaps they knew, but chose to ignore. But for those of us close to what was happening, he will be forever remembered, for the bastard what he was, and good riddance to him. I refused to go to the wake, a well known Irish tradition. To drink to drunkenness, and praise the departed and weep for their loss. I refused to indulge in such false sentiment. I’m sure, and trust the Devil has a warm welcome for him. The world is better off today.

Silent

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Photo by RODRIGO MTORRES on Unsplash

Silent

In the quiet of the night, when moonbeams touch the skies
I think of you, and all that you do
It’s in the stillness within, I hear your screams
I sit and listen for your call
Will you visit with me tonite, or has your spirit really taken flight
I ache for your touch just one more time
Did you really have to go, life now seems ever so slow, and empty
Was it right you lost that fight, is it fair you took that dare
Like you didn’t even care, what was it you were proving
Are you happy now your gone, and we are all bereft
It’s in the quietness of the night, when I wish I could have put things right
I think of you.