No, it's not me!

I gave it a second round,
Of deeper reflecting,
And 'twas abundantly clear,
The fault was your own making.
It's your tribalist, broken, soul,
In quasi-eternal slumber,
And not the melanin in my skin,
So far as I can remember,
That's wrong and unqualified;
But if being what I am’s crime,
I'm a proud felon, it does seem,
Serving my precious time,
In your stupid dream.

I do care...

Though the truth be you're my life,

I made you feel I did not care,

But how, my love, care I don't?

You're that life without a spare!

You're that life, so precious,

That I cherish for all my days,

You're the air to my lungs,

The priceless gem to my eyes!

You're the smell of my morning air,

And the heat of my midday sun,
My raison d'être you are,
And the meaning of my life's fun.
In other words, this selfish me,
I can't afford to never care,
For my life without you,
Is fragile and bare.

Is It Me?

I have noticed of this for aeons of ages,
I have asked of this from the start,
 Is it me or your distorted view of reality
 That’s keeping us worlds apart?
Does the sight of me repel you,
Or is my mind too shallow?
Or is my taste of life too primitive,
For your ’fancy’ mind to swallow?
Is my background too inferior
To the world of yours and kind,
That no matter what I do now
You never bother, never mind?
Is it true that you think
 No matter how I excel in what I do,
You would rather have that mediocre,
Or even simpleton, kind of you?
Well, of course, I know your answers,
 Petty justifications for wicked deeds;
 And why you think you’re entitled
 To agonize me till my heart bleeds.

Glitter and Gold

This life of ours, this precious a thing,

Always fleeting and always old,

This monstrous beauty,

Glitter and gold.

This taken-for-granted transience,

Of our earthly presence.

Our only chance at existence,

In the vastness of the cosmos,

Our blink of glitter in the eternity of time;

The last redemption of a guiltless crime!

Childish Old Man

Childish old man with a vindictive heart,

What have you learnt from your past?

Where is the wisdom that comes with age,

Or was it all waste from the start?

Shame, childish old man, out for spite,

Year in year out but you never learn:

As your li'l pretentious mind rots,

So will your vicious heart always burn.

Dreams of a Syrian Child

My family is all scattered,
And my dreams all but shattered;
My health in decline,
My life on the redline.
My dream was like yours one day,
But I now only dream to stay;
To see the light of tomorrow,
Instead of scenes of sorrow.
I still dream you might say,
That that's a good thing, for one,
But I won't know for sure today, for
How long the chemicals won't have won!
You see, I'm a child born unlucky,
In the midst of a senseless war,
Who does not know a piece of peace,
And who doesn't recall parental kiss.
I'm that child who knows no peace,
And I'm that child who knew to dream,
I'm that child for whom family,
Is now all I wished I had, really.
I'm that child who knows no love,
And I'm that child who dreams of care,
Whose only act in that game of life's,
To feign the truth and choose to dare!

My Life and Yours

My life and yours, when they're the same,
We win in every war, and excel in every game;
My life and yours, right from the start,
They're meant together and never apart;
And when apart for a day or week,
Coming back together is all they seek.
My life and yours is ours as one,
By the generosity of time united,
Despite the frugality of space,
Forever never blighted;
My life and yours, when the same,
We excel and win in every game.