Of Blood, Bus Stations And Backpacks // I Am No Gentle Soul
OF BLOOD, BUS STATIONS AND BACKPACKS
mama once said:
you guys have each other's back forever.
when you drop at new bus stations
let your backpack remind you
of the one
whose blood you share;
your karma is his karma
his loss is your loss
your gain is his gain
his joy is your joy.
with new buses come new drivers
with new routes come new destinations
and with destinations come new backpacks.
—new places, new faces, same old blood
same old mama, same old man.
my karma is mine
my loss is mine
my gain is mine
i guess;
his's are his.
maybe mama forgot
we are all creators
we determine what flows through us
what our backs carry
and what's ours.
I AM NO GENTLE SOUL
A twenty one year old died
in my haven yesterday, and
the world said: "may his gentle soul rest in peace."
He was no gentle soul. Neither was he calm;
He was fire. He was life. He was vigour.
He was one that'd dance in the beyond,
And wouldn't sit still like a mannequin.
He was a firecracker, a wild one!
Ire should be ushered to the beyond with drums,
But the world said:
"He was so young, we can't dance."
Hear me world! Hear me friends!
When I leave for the beyond;
See me off with drums and dance.
I am no gentle soul, I am a bustling one;
Dance with flowers, sing to the grave
For my exit is a triumphant entry;
Do not snuff me out like a
candle that has served its purpose.
