Nostalgia, people say
is when you look back
to a time that stuck
for the hearts
at peace.
Remembrance, they tell of the day
when serenity merged with craze
and comfort was in the vibrancy.
But wrong they are,
for these streets arouse me
of war,
of hope,
of love
and that sloppy slope
that took us
from faith to faceless terms.
Cause you know,
shame was not just the agenda,
it was the memorandum
of all the living would strive for
and all the dead would thrive in.
Yes, there was a time
when lost was the scrutiny
to give up and flee,
when hands were drawn
for blood and bond,
when lines were shackled
for terror and truce,
when peace was a means
for mediating loss,
and only the best could strive
for that biased toss.
Nobody knew
where destiny would turn,
but everyone had their share
in making their runs.
And so came the rulers,
forgotten in their chains,
lost for how they shone
in sickle of blood and bone.
Conquest they had
to claim all that became afraid,
in eyes that bequest of terror
and mercy of power.
Yes! That’s nostalgia,
of years of reign,
of faces faithlessly drained,
of light ever dark,
of shadows scorching
through the depths of soul
crying for voices they lost
in time that never returned,
for hope
shattered
in the brink
of light.
And that’s what this moment brings for us-
eternal shame.
Reasons were never the name
that deserved praise
and races never became the cause
to drive
all that felt lost.
Because rulers weren’t of the empire
that built to destroy,
they were the deaths of martyrs
who swore
to fight
till the last drop of life
that flowed
in the red
of their swords,
and to the last breathe
of the enemies
whose integrity they needed to derail.
The fight wasn’t against another kind
but just people
stranded off,
people unknown
to the reality of time.
And that’s what nostalgia is;
a dream of a painful past
looking towards the hope
of a better tomorrow
fighting in the name
of justice
and preaching
the game of war.
·poetry