What if We Wrote a True Story

Would it be too much to bear,

An eye and throat so sincere

That air would grow burdened by Sound. 

Could our ears handle

Our mouth’s need to be heard;

And would our souls be left un-bound

To drown in thoughts of freedom,

like a fragrance not yet buried –

To float along streams of 

Selflessness, to find life

In the unwavering meaning

Of living in lifelessness; to try so hard

To walk across man-made threads

Spun from abdomens bloated

By dividends and blood-money,

Tight-ropes serving only

To keep us stratified, layering

bodies on bodies on bodies so our cries lose

themselves to echoes of others’ echoes – un-unified,

We try so hard to balance

On predetermined paths only

To break, trip, and have ourselves fall

 – be strung up and

Hung, while tethered to an

Earthly feeling of deceit. Lies keep the ground 

Neat and thick enough to bear the weight of

The world’s truths; we bury them so

Deeply that we don’t hear the pulse anymore, the pounding, 

The un-sounding of sincerity, wound round spires of labels grown into Towers of Babel

Si quieres que algo se muera, déjalo quieto. Si vols q’alguna cosa es mori, deixa-ho quiet.
Αν θέλεις κάτι να πεθάνει, άφησέ το ακίνητο. 如果你想令某樣嘢死亡, 就俾佢保持靜止

If you want something dead, keep it…

Still, after all this time

We don’t know what truth

Would sound like; it leaves room

To ponder, to let yourself be torn asunder,

And from the thundering of tens of thousands of feet

And worn-out breaths running low on their patient capacity,

From the rumble of un-slumbering silent spirits of veracity, 

It leaves enough room for the mind to begin wondering…