Tuesday, 19 November 2013

A Poem Colored Red

The sober winds of a rather warm November
Blew steadily towards the East. From the seas
They traveled, and the people they subdued
Under their severe show of power, they also
Took a brief moment to share a poignant story:

'From the fields of a nation where red flags flew
With sparks of gold radiating from its corners
In passion and unwavering ecstasy, we speak of
Puerile minds who were offended of being
Abused by destiny which kept them hungry
Each morning, while we (the winds) ate their
Fragile (yet tasty) homes and drank their sweat.

Is it offending to be favored by birth? Anarchism
Proliferated among them, their withheld bodies
Ached for freedom and the legend of a man, who
Cut though winds in his motorcycle, gave them aid!
To be stupid and to be outraged is a mortal sin,
And it must be said with sadness, they paid!

How do you define a common man? What is it
That makes a man uncommon? Is it the luxury
That keeps him lie down in comfort, or is it his
Machiavellian tastes to be wealthier that inflames
Men like you? Whatever be it, all it took was an
Uncontrolled show of disgust which turned
Common men into exalted martyrs, and many
Granted us the blame for blowing their lives away.

We must say (in disgust) that the bearded saint
Is the one who deserves the blame, he rode
Them along in his travels through socialism,
And dropped them abruptly in burning fields
Of hysterical idealism, which was fed upon
By his fervent addition of a long lost hope.

So, my friend before we bid you adieu, we
Can show you the fate of bearing the potent
Ideals that they carried, for you to know.'

And then through their vivid gust, I saw a painting
Made by my concealed mind, in reverence.

The martyrs slept painfully in their red painted
Coffins, their hands were locked by the weight of
The Earth, their mind clogged by the blocked flow
Of blood, yet their spirits flew like the saint on the bike,
Out of their lifeless bodies, I heard his reverberations,
'Kill me coward, you are only killing a man!'

Inspired by 'The Motorcycle Diaries' and what I see everyday in my immediate surroundings. I dedicate this poem in reverence to the idealistic views of Ernesto Che Guevara who still lives and inflames the hearts of the oppressed with revolution and hope.


  1. it's so difficult to walk on razor's edge........but some are born to choose that path....and their spirit lives.......

  2. A heartfelt, passionate poem! Ideals live on....

  3. nice...def a passionate write...and it takes passion to do these things...to speak what needs be spoke...the greatest among uncommon men are those that speak for hte common man and never forget their place among them, very unlike those that are only in it for themselves...far too many of those...

  4. This is definitely an intense expression. I appreciate it. The way you open the poem is enthralling and had my attention captured. He was a humanist, he'd cheer for the people, how refreshing that is..


  5. incredibly well-formed and resonant poetry. I am reading and re-reading this. The imagery in your last stanza is particularly wonderful.

  6. The passion you can arouse with martyrs is amazing... love how you took us through the common man becoming uncommon... very well written.

  7. When I read this, I felt you wrote it with all your heart ... the words come out so brilliantly ... lovely !!!

  8. Thanks guys. Your words inspire me to keep writing. :)