I’m deeply honored to have been featured on the Official NaPoWriMo website for my last poem on Intellectuals. I was actually quite shocked to see it, because I thought it wasn’t my best work, and because I’ve entered the world of poetry only recently. A lot of people however beg to differ, thankfully. Welcome new readers to Realiction!
Stranger in A Strange Land
Under the aurorean light of two suns
I discover the Emerald Lady
Shimmering in the golden haze between sky and sand
Lying in the remains of the Forgotten City.
Crossing over the ocean of blue dunes
Every step amputates half my body.
From cracked lips emanate a weary tune
For I am my own company.
The rags I wear used to be “clothes”
In the Old World, a sign of poverty.
But do social classes exist anymore
When there exists no society?
(No more Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself
More like Every Man For Himself)
Mirrors have not seen me in months,
I meet a different person each time within them.
Hairy masses of flesh and fur:
Men melting into oblivion.
I reach the fringes of the ruins,
A sign flaps in the diseased wind:
W 42nd and Broadway. And I know
I stand at the crossroads of the world.
Many have walked this path before me,
My predecessors shielded by art and story,
Their collective consciousness predicting rightly,
That every beginning has an end.
Even Life runs out of time to spend.
My guard is up, my head all around,
Taking in the sights and sounds,
Of a culture long lost under the dust
Of time, as I navigate through submerged skyscrapers,
Decayed asphalt and rusted metal.
What brings me to the heart of desolation?
Surely, this isn’t my idea of a vacation.
No, it’s my job to catalog information
Of what remains of the Great Cities.
I am a time traveler at the Public Library,
Jumping across eras through paper and ink.
Disconnects me from reality,
Sometimes pulls me back from the brink.
But all this time traveling lets my guard down,
The Enemy sneaks up and around me.
I always knew I was born slippy.
The Shadows cocoon the bloodthirsty souls,
An alliance was made long before today.
I can make out the outline of their mutated shapes.
I glance up at Him and softly pray.
I try to talk my way out of this mess, but
I speak a language that no one understands.
I am a Stranger in a Strange Land.
They promptly slice my feet and severe my hands.
And chop my –
(NaPoWriMo 2013 #12)