566. For What’s Yet To Be

The world has become as crazy as my mind,

Now no matter where I turn,

I can not find,…

Relief.

What else can one do in such times, but survive,

And hope for a tomorrow,

Where they’re alive,…

Enough.

‘Til then, I pass the days waiting actively,

In protection of my soul,

And sanity,…

To fight,…

For the world that’s yet to be.

K. Aldaya, 11/22/21

Picture: By Luis Cortes on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/DRL63jJ0L2Y

562. How Many Will Be Here Tomorrow?

As the world decays beneath us,

I wonder sorrowfully,

How many will be here tomorrow?

And will one of them be me?

The ground has opened wide,

Threatening to swallow us all,

As devil’s in humans’ clothes,

Neighborly push, to help us fall.

I have not prayed for many years,

And it may just be absurd,

But I find myself wanting to,

Even if it won’t be heard.

I fear that the demons are real,

And all the good angels have gone.

Now all we have is one another,

And little ground to stand upon.

((Australian Quarantine Camp))
((Chinese Quarantine Camp))

For I am but a mortal child,

Yet, I wonder anyway,

How many will be here tomorrow?

…I better write this today.

K. Aldaya, 9/13/21

Picture 1: By Fakurian Design on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/1r0TPtmhEZA

Picture 2: By National Cancer Institute on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/701-FJcjLAQ

Picture 3: From ABC News: Michael Franchi; https://www.abc.net.au/news/2021-05-09/mining-camp-designers-plan-covid-19-quarantine-hub-in-wa/100119364

Picture 4: From CNN (VCG via Getty Images); https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/covid-china-quarantine-camp-hebei-b1790210.html

Picture 5: Posted by Jim Davidson on Twitter; https://twitter.com/planetaryjim/status/1298645415831777280

526. Coliseum

I long to write, though who will listen,

To the rantings of the insane?

The title merely grants invisibility;

And a face without a name,

In the coliseum of civility.

I wander through the crowds,

In the stands, where spectators watch,

As warriors and politicians,

Earn another scar or notch,

In the holding of their positions.

I stretch my hands out for scraps,

As they shoo me out of sight;

Though from here I see it all,

And know that none of this is right…

And soon all of us will fall.

Be it by starvation, wound, or pride.

We are all part of the show.

I may seem but a distraction,

Yet I’ve gone where others can not go;

And seen every angle of inaction.

For they play their parts quite well,

And the world moves to their plans.

I’ve seen every move and collapse,

As money changes hands,

And they fall in the same traps.

From the outside, I look in,

Year after year…Sin after sin.

I hold my voice, and hold my breath.

No one’s listening, so who can win?

We stand aside until death.

I look at you. Do you see me?

Are you looking? What do you see?

God’s play games, as day absconds.

Are you a God, or are you me?

Do you play games with human pawns?

For who can win an endless game?

And who can fight our mortal fate?

Though, in my eyes you’d find the sun,

So listen well, it’s getting late.

This entertainment is not fun!

And this game you can not win!

The only money, worth it, to spend,

Is found in the outstretched hand.

For the show continues long after curtain descends…

And only in the heart of another could you understand,…

All we have is each other in the end.

K. Aldaya, 10/7/20

Picture: By: Jorge Fernandez Salas on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/hvxJ2cnecd4

355. Political Reform

Where are the hands which hold you here?

Which hold you to this land,

Of scorching concrete,

And vulgar deceit?

Where gavels scream every command,

Of the political elite.

Where are the hands which hold you back?

Which hold you in embrace?

The hands which act,

To make an impact,

Before time is lost without a trace?

Toward death the odds are stacked.

Where are the hands which hold you near?

Which hold your worth skin-tight?

Hands fall to find,

The world is unkind.

Countless die from depression’s heights,

Waiting for laws to be signed….

………..Waiting for a hand to hold.

K. Aldaya, 6/4/16

241. Anxious Truth

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Something’s not right!

Can’t you feel it?

Something is wrong…..

It doesn’t fit!

This life it’s all wrong!

Can’t you sense it?

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Broken.  Distorted.

Can’t you hear the song?

I can’t sleep ’til I fix it.

I’ll fix it right now.

I have to help everyone!

I cannot allow,…

This wrong to continue;

But to stop it….how?

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Broken.  Distorted.

Can’t you hear the song?

Everything’s wrong!

Everything’s bad!

Please help me stop it!

I must fix or go mad!!!

There must be an answer?

Please it’s just too sad!

This life…, oh God…., this game, so….

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

And in truth…..

It’s been rigged all along.

K. Aldaya, 06/25/13

Picture:  by Anka Zhuravleva from her series “Distorted Gravity”: http://www.anka-zhuravleva.com; http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2011/10/11/article-2047778-0E53136900000578-403_964x703.jpg