C. I . T . S .-2

I took a detour while I was walking down memory lane
Ended up at a station, looked around and saw a train
That took me to a place in the city of the blind
Never been there before, but I was surprised at what I was able to find
We’re aware of what lies in front of the eyes
But never bother with what’s behind
A lot of things we leave imprisoned
In the solitary confines of our minds

A kid once told me,
“In my juxtaposed reality
The line of differentiation is the door
There’s war on the outside
And then some bodies washed up on the shore
Then on the in,
The rain knocks on the roof, barges in and spends the night on the floor
In all the years we’ve known, it’s never bothered to use the front door
Then a couple of undone chores, and stomachs that want more
But the environment’s still safe from all the blood and gore”
Crickets of the earth
Too small to be heard
And never understood
So our speech has no worth
Music, an avenue, for us to release our minds and allow our imaginations grow
But they dumb it all down, and do it so we never know

Don’t let your inner fears sew a coat of cowardice for outerwear
I try to speak to people who actually care
Because the presence of ears don’t mean that you actually hear
If not for eyes this message would’ve been trapped behind your screen
If not for hands, our ideas would’ve only manifested in our dreams
But still some, of the most important things in life remain  unseen
A heart doesn’t mean there’s love
And the crown doesn’t make you king

Pride can paralyze, leave you in the dirt
Your legs’ll crumble under the weight of your ego
And reality’ll hit you where it hurts
Take one step at a time, my mother used to plead
If you rush, you’ll trip, and when you’re down no-one’ll help you when you need
They told me the grass was greener on the other side
Then I checked, and found out that it was stained with the blood from the genocide
Imagination was fossilized before common sense became extinct
The remains of a civilization that refused to think

You can’t bring us down if you can’t reach us
A little lesson the stars tacitly teach us
Our true colours are immutable
They’re not seen, but they make the picture beautiful

I pray the sons of my ageing pen never die
That they find their way into people’s hearts once they make it through their eyes
And eventually build a home in the hollow of their minds
As we continue to dip our words in ink and bury them in the sands of time