An Orphans Play-list

So Sabbath Flavoured lollipop.

Tastes Familiar.

Tastes Nostalgic.

Tastes like musk lollies found in the back of your dad’s old Sedan.

Anyway.

This is a post to mark the day I was reminded.

Poetry: An Orphans Play-list – The Vanguard Element | The Vanguard Element:

Dust mites crowd the underground alley beneath the hidden valley,

The desolate village of the youth, echo poverty in the muted mouth of the destitute.

Starving roar of the diaspora,

Sounds of lost pain, like an anthem of war, riveting in its rhythm,

Reaching the angst-ridden note,

A reclusive composition unnoticed by most:

The useless symphony is usually grotesque

since the establishments acknowledge facts,

then leave the salvaging unkempt…

like clothing and hygiene from all sizes,

the rise of the forgotten seem to hide in a forbidden dream,

until reality seeps through the seams of grimy jeans.

romanian orphans Poetry: An Orphans Play list
Credit: BBC News “Romanian Orphans”

Ah, the sounds of lost pain–

Reverberation of the heartbeat-less offspring’s,

speechless in their bleak journey,

their weakest attempt to flee their lonely planet, where the stars refuse to align,

the dark hue of the murkiest times, the color of the bags under blurry eyes,

the color of the rags used to bathe outside, near empty  syringes, through trenches,

swift moments of bliss, like a musical sample…

Cardboard boxes, rain-damaged mattresses

massive abandonment, flooded pavements of ragamuffin’s

hustling to bundle necessities, remedies; their nightmares murmur blues of strife

spoken in low notes, aiming to produce A lyrical antidote for survival.

Ah, the sounds of lost pain…

The colic in infants is music–

concoction of opium, soothing the voiceless

like street children, screaming a silent sigh…

of being a 9-year-old parent, to a 5-year-old sibling.

We riddle the sense of worth, beating the conundrum,

until the sounds of confusion disperse,

and a paradigm shift of living conditions, advance the cause for freedom…

Our home exist in the beauty of our children, playing near the façade

Avoiding murder, by the “clean up squads.”

It is inhuman to have outsiders, A cultural medley of off-beat souls,

Walking, running, sleeping, hiding, fighting, for love, food, and education,

picking random locations like a stringed instrument, and

shuffling lives like:

an Orphans music in a playlist.

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