I sit quietly and alone,
World bombarding my head and ears,
The base line almost shakes the glass
From the apartment just above.
Power talking rappers posture
Greed, sex, violence, arrogance,
In a language not know to him
Who listens over and over
In the room above. I have heard
him crying when his father yelled
Less louder than his stereo.
He is grown now, his father’s gone.
He has gotten used to it but
His father’s anger still lives there.
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8 comments:
just doing a spot of catching up on your smart site.
boy, there has been some good stuff of late and so very different from what went before.
this one in particular has a sadness about it that brings to mind a yearning and a loss.
Hi CJ! Thanks for the great comments. The sadness here, comes from the sorrow I feel watching kids grow up carrying burdens from the past. Some have less, some are heavily weighed down. I can't imagine the extent of trama this poor young man lives with!
This week Living In Poetry is having a tribute for .:A:. (English-August Blogspot) please visit the blog down below to tell us your thoughts on his writing and poetry
L I P
www.livinginpoetry.blogspot.com
Just thought I'd pop in and let you know you made the list of 100 Blogging Poets In 100 Days-- Episode II. I hope it brings you plenty of great readers.
It would be an honor to participate in a tribute to .:A:. and I hope many of his frinds will post on your special place in honor of him, Nasra. Thanks!
Thanks Billy for putting me on your list. It is a pleasure and an honor.
This is very haunting, I definately have visited places were the ghost of what happend there still lives, the younger I was the more intense the feeling
The anger released in that apartment seems doomed to never go away as long as the people who remember it still live there. Thanks for your geat comments, Sue.
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