Bodhisattva

A still from a film adaption of Jean-Paul Satre’s play No Exit, about a hell where people are tormented by each other’s company. It was excellent and I recommend you watch it, although many might not take to even the possibility of its point being legitimate. The following poem is similar, but with a twist. I hope you like it.

 

“A Saint of Light’s compassion is as deep as the sea”

–          From an old Japanese folk-tale

 

From one man to another

She’s traded like she has no will:

Someone wanted this.

 

Confined from now to Death

The criminal tolerates injustice:

Someone thinks that fair.

 

Faced with his demise

Then taken off Death Row:

This jokingly called Mercy.

 

Hated and shunned

After being raped when on a date:

Blamed for victimhood.

 

There is a million scenes unfolding

Just like these ones every day.

Horror will never be exhausted,

Yet Avalokiteshvara

Vowed to find a way.

Death

This picture links to a song from Metallica called The Call of Cthulu. It is a song that straddles the line between the inexplicably divided genres of metal and synthonic poetry. Both genres show a strong individuality combined with a drive to depict something outside of its self, such as events from fairy tales or superstitions. This song is perhaps the best way to musically portray the desolation of permanent loss, which this poem is about.

 

Where he walks there was light and joy,

Now ice beneath his feet.

The spacious purity of the snow-dressed landscape.

 

The damage it leaves:

Where the ice has finally melted

Still, nothing can live.

The spacious harmonies of a widow’s cries.

 

I’ve seen Death on the horizon:

A silent intrusion from a foreign world.

The Songstress Suicide

This is Wendy O Williams, from a rock band called The Plasmatics. She killed herself in 1998. I only recently discovered this wonderful human being existed, only to find that she ended her life. There is no justification for ending one’s life nor for whatever it is that could bring someone to consider it. The picture links to an interview from the 1980’s, where Wendy demonstrates her humour and creativity. I made an attempt at a poem in her honour, below.

.

Silence. The woodland clearing.

This is where the blackbirds sing.

This is where she’d go,

Feeding the wildlife.

The world glowed when she walked.

That glow has died.

.

Her last remnant, in this world of horror:

Her words about the soulless calm

Of the last decision

She’d ever make.

She loved her freedom, even more than fans

Had loved her body and her heart.

.

~~~

.

When you exit through the purple mist,

Leave that door open.

Do not leave the world to itself.

Change the world, make it worth your grace,

Do anything at all,

But don’t leave the world in its darkness.