THE STRONG AND THE PROUD

25.THE STRONG AND THE PROUD

Amid the disruptions-

the unwanted shatterings-

the financial upheavals-

the uncertainties, and the tells of wars-

Daily at my worktable, I remind self-

I am a Soldier, coupled, plus-

Papa soldier I am-

My wife a soldier’s wife, wedded at company’s salute-

My son, born a soldier’s son, born in military hospitality-

The conglomerate media hydra-

The dramatists and the rating hunters –

dozing relentless coverage, of a soldier’s death-

pits my heart-

betwixt love of family, and love of nation-

The heart contend the degree

upholding the factors for nation’s pride-

“scrambles setting limitations to nation’s safety-

But I to limitations of nation’s safety limits my family’s safety-

I am strong! Yes, I am!

I proclaim, to the uncomfortable tables-

That, that which, is immoral, demoralizes soldiery

The televisions, radios and newspapers-

The quick, the relay pipes-

the mongers of soldier’s death-

Drumming the immoral-union of the upper soprano-

Carousing and caroling the state of frailty of the strong and proud.

Ignoramus, the name of the uninformed-

that the possibility of pain and death in soldiery-

chances the power, the strength and pride-

the victory of victors-

the pride of nationhood-

I am, a soldier, proud and strong! Yes, I am!

Time galloping, whistling the call to duty-

to readiness, the load is belted-

tagged, strong and proud-

I ate and swallowed, mind free from perturbation-

the Newscasters politics-

I worry not at the making of a soldier’s death “the News”

Yes; the making of a soldier’s death - “News”-

The demoralizing, of soldiery in the fields of battle-

The News, the indoctrination that dispirits, and defaces-

the civilians, the noble commoners, to anti soldiery-

The gullible for “News in Death”, -the Soldier’s Death-

The cryptic rats that ravage the obituary pages

Yet the News Channels heartily know,

that: ~ “The Limit to Nation’s safety,

is the limit of the News Channel’s safety;

I am strong!” Yes, I am!

From my office, I proclaim,

I am, a Soldier, proud and strong!

I am strong! And proud!

And finally, the expectation broke the anticipatory gland

The list called out, to the nobles, the spirits of the world,

and among the proud, the strong, I am enabled

A kiss to young wife packaged in a lasting smile,

a kiss to my baby son, with a barge of family’s honor

Worry not, be strong, be strong,

I will come back home to you,

See, son, among the strong and proud,

I, the nation’s hope; I, for the peace of the World

And to my inner self, I proclaim,

I am, a Soldier, proud and strong. I will!

To the field of battle,

to battle for my Country honor

battle for peace in this World

I am, proud and strong. I will! Yes, I will!

Retrenchment, visited at fifth-tear soldiery-

This centrist son, misses the pump

the battles highs and lows

that touched the battles won;

Draft over and therapy engendered,

Soldier’s nightmarish reminder

That the notch is made only on the scale of life

the war’s sorry-sight, rank to the low

The evidently incapacitated; the wounded lion sobs:

"these are not object for the scale

By nether soldiery, nor civilian hardness"

I am strong!

But my physical depletion

is conjuring despicable love,

As the lone wolf's shadow chases him,

he hounds his tail

Finding the moon circling, he bellows “I will…win”

I am, a Soldier, proud and strong; I will win!

Drinking the disability, pains and suffering

and choking on the eyes that roll out

~sympathy and despise, into nicety

even at my flashing pin-ups -the Hero's Shrine

My son, young and innocent,

his infectious rejoicing~ that, I still have.

My wife, young and beautiful,

~the pinnacle of frailty, that, I have lost

Lost to News Channels Daily Sermons

“Soldiers die”, "soldiers dying" , "soldier’s death" ;

Young and pretty, freckles, frail and feeble

Inundated, she had no extra heart capacity to stomach.

Fear drove her from TV

into sympathizer Blue-worker’s arm.

Finding no missing parts in the cubits of the interior

I play the NFL.

I am strong; yes, I am! Touch down,

the stump-leg kicks the extra point from my bed

Dating engages in serious drafting,

eliminating by degree of acceptance

Dancing the rumba- the strong and proud endures, I will!

to life of peace and newness; I; Yes, I will!

To my new job with disability

and new spouse that makes up the lacking,

and disability evoking pre-judgments,

heaves to common caricature

I proclaimed, I am, a Soldier, proud and strong.

The soldier I, I am a Veteran of Wars,

I warred for peace in this World. Yes, I did!

I drove a custom S.U.V. proclaiming~

a soldier I am, proud and strong;

I turned the corner of Dell and I-94,

and there, at the Beggar’s Post stood he

the languishing battle chubby-checker

In full attestation stood he, in proud regalia stood he,

proclaiming, I am a soldier strong and proud!

Homelessness the calamitous veteran’s fortune

He lives with fallen comrades

~the unlucky spirits in shades and darks

He lives in remembrance ~

of him carrying the Nation’s flag to battle

He lives in remembrance

~ the pride of Nation’s glory

Nightmarish is them all in tarter and worn beggar's vest

In the “Nowhere-Street” in the land of the Brave  

The strong and the proud.

O! Comrade, O! Comrade I salute you; yes, I do!

With all the disabilities, pains and sufferings;

faces still speak out loud and clear

I am a soldier, a soldier for my Country, yes, I am!

I fought for the peace in this World. Yes, I did!

The mental sufferings,

lacking inspirational comrade-fellowship-

the high mortality; from sufferings, rejections,

the failure of society’s implant identity “soldier”

yielding societal denunciations,

the unspoken ban,

The embedded silent rejection;

The politically correct tossing of the head,

and or twisting the mouth

Is all present and situated in people-interaction

No complains no regret

just dealing with facts of post war soldier's life

In the Land of the Brave and the Strong.

Amid the indignation and forced inactivates,

I am proud and strong; A Soldier I, yes! I!

the proud, the strong, I make the difference, Yes I!

Chin-up, proud and strong, I salute the President,

I salute the Military;

I salute the America’s might; the difference; Yes! I do!

The soldier I, I am a Veteran of Wars,

I warred for the Peace in this World. Yes, I did!

THE BEGGAR’S SOLILOQUY

18). THE BEGGAR’S SOLILOQUY

In the native land, there-

where the Sun bakes and fries the land-

the clouds rain, of sand and dust-

Sea of Sand, waves of dust, ridges and dunes-

flows, the richest of Allah’s gifts; ~

a sea of gas, petrol of oil- the black liquid gold-.

Beneath my feet, the ground I walks-

flows, my share of Allah’s gift of liquid gold and silver-

Yet lost, find I and myself, starving-

wandering about the streets, in beggar’s shoes-

seeking diligently whom I owe the blame-

for my God’s given fortune missed?-

Who, made me, the man I have become?

the sorry-site- the wayside-bottom of the living-

finding myself, in beggar’s shoes-.

The Government of Sharia?-

yet survival of the fittest-

the jungle justice and winner take all-

where the poor blesses the rich-

and line up, for the crumbs, that fall out from master’s table-

But all it takes for me and myself to stand-

“A reminder to them surgeons”-

It is just a barrel of petrol oil per week bestow- Qulum! That is all!-

But to whom do I owe then this blame;

for my God’s given fortune missed?-

Oh-o! Not I- beam myself then; onto my Emir and Emirate-

                                                   

On the street, I trek daily, with expectations high,

for them in conscience blame-

Those bad souls, rotten, stinking greedy souls-

Who made me the man I am; ~

“The Post Master of Allah/God’s divine penitential fees”

To religion from which pews are preached;

“Beggary ~ is a Blessed Profession”?-

Yet no adherent in faith and worship,

a caliph, for Allah/God’s sake, would,

a volunteer become- a Beggar Emir-

To whom do I owe this blame?-

for my God’s given fortune missed?-

In my native, land that flows-

the petrol of oil, sea of flammable wealth, natives say-

“A beggar has no choice not even in US of A”-

O! ya!-

the truth, I know, for,  I am, the Master-

It’s only when, the beggar is not you-

I walk the street wearing out my soles-

day and night, dry or wet, rough or smooth,

My kind heated intercessory offerings/

that, souls, may be amended;

patch-patch soul to render-

prime solicitation to Allah/God-

    

My toes are dusty, full of cracks, gauges, the canyons

the habitat haven for the like of jiggers,

and their burrowing sack of juniors-

the beggar’s lead to salvation,

from the merit of mortification-

too many soles, I have worn-out-

through many work-a-days

do grace my experience high-

certified by, the College of Beggary.

Recon my face preserved my experience, Suma Cum Laude-

weather-beaten and self in tartar- veteran raggedy-

Albeit! I must be highly ranked- the Obama by Him,

Allah/God ~the mender, of bad souls/.

To whom do I owe the blame?

Oh-o! Not I! Take myself to my Emir

The blame for my God’s given fortune missed.

Oh, how with expectation I stand-

impressively raggedy-

those men in consciences blamed-

needing seriously the Mender of Bad Souls-

Would perceive my experience and higher rank

as the Post Master of Allah’s divine penitential fees-

increase their fees to bundles- Wallahi/ By God

to speed up time-

for their souls, be amended- The express delivery

For the Mender of bad souls appreciates the widow’s mite-

rather than a coin toss at Allah’s divine Postmaster-

What an under rating -

If, you are, not a widow/?

yours is His tax to pay -

for His wealth consumed.

Payment through this -

Post Master of Allah’s divine penitential fees.

For you, I owe the blame?

Oh-o! Not me; take it to your Emir.

O! Poor Soul-

See-

poverty has anointed me-

 The “Tool” for the Mender of Bad Soul-

 I, the Mother T. of Dubai-
In my native land, the Caliphs claim the Divine Right to Rule-

even the oil beneath the earth-

 and the dead bodies too-

They also claim blessings from Allah/God-

God given fortune, theirs and also mine-

Oh yes! -

to ensure I a beggar be- Chaii!

O! Why not a writ of divorce?

 “Become a Christian, - give up your jigger too!” –

They battle the Mighty Ocean, with my share,

to build, Sky Scrapper on the Sea/ Kai!  Who?

In the City, I walk, wearing out my soles;

that, Bad Souls may be amended/.

O! exile you, and yourself to Nigeria

fry your jiggers for lunch

There in Nigeria,

meet Souls whose soles barely touch the ground

on which I walk. Oh, see! O! See,

what?

“That this beggar finds not the Emir culpable”.

They see not, my high esteem-

as the Postmaster for Divine Penitential Fees-

To offer a fee commensurate to their worsening Souls-

and my Beggary years of experience-

Would that the giving, had been in bundles?-

O beggar me! To whom do I owe a blame?

for my God’s given fortune missed?

I talk to myself the label it Beggar’s soliloquy-

I talk to Allah/God they tag it Beggar’s ingratitude-

I talk to fellow beggars; they say I am crazy-

But when I talk to people on the street; they run/

they distance themselves from this beggar-

~The foul-mouthed beggar.

Oh, beggar me- the Postmaster for Divine Penitential Fees-

How is it; and why not- the Beggar-Treasonable-Felon-

All I did was asking-

who to blame for my Allah /God given fortune missed-

I, myself am- my own judge, jury, and executioner-

Spent out the meager Divine Penitential Fees-

Starved to death-

Buried deep for more petrol oil-

Allah/God be the Supreme Judge, Jury, and Executioner

of this Postmaster of Divine Penitential Fees

and my Caliph of the Divine Right of Kings/.