It seems that my love for metaphors and surrealism in my art may not have the necessary clarity required for a Spoken Word performance. Even more of a problem is that this inability to express myself wanders into my everyday interactions with people as well, where I’m unable to properly express my mind, or end up giving people wrong impressions about me. I’ve often prided myself for being a circular thinker, but it seems to take some skill to translate those circular thoughts is linear linguistic formats.
This poem is based on a blog-post written by a friend named Aashna Iyer. Let’s just say, at the time of writing, I was suffering from chronic depression.
When writing my story, just on a whim, I decided to turn my primary protagonist from male to female. While much of the plot remains the same, I noticed something about myself that startled me.
My character was stronger, and more dynamic, and no longer eclipsed by the secondary protagonist. Which made me realize that this character had similar traits as my other female protagonists in other stories.
A late tribute to the late Maya Angelou. May she rest in peace. This might manifest into a longer poem of its own in the future.
There’s something more
That you ought to know
There was a greater play
That was written before
Your life was even your own.
Now that you turn the next stone,
Play your greatest score
And carve your lore
In the heart of life, as it walks out the door,
After it screams, “ENCORE!”
Your score will be played again.
New lad, new spirit. But the same violin.
My first blog post, and it’s long and unrefined. This post manifested from a beautiful conversation I’ve recently had with a friend. Brace yourselves!
Throughout my life, I’ve met many people who dream of being rich and famous — and it’s a no-brainer that almost everyone wants to be rich and famous. Many of them have their different reasons behind these wants. A lot of them, like Kevin MacLeod, merely want to be recognized for the beautiful works they do. Many also seem to want a life of luxury, where their need of comfort (we could debate if such an art is soulless, but that’s for another topic) is what drives their art. Many others want to simply “follow the social ladder” of popularity as the norms have encouraged.
And some are simply afraid of oblivion.
When we’re left limbo between absolutes and fantasy, it might be confusing to know if we ought to ride the streams as they are, or bend the streams to our will.
Note: This is my only poem currently that requires the use of sleight-of-hand coin magic to properly portray what I mean.
This is a short-version of my original poem, and one for performance-only. I’ll revise the longer version for my book.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
It did not.
There IS no other side.
Is there any place to hide
From the doubts of within
That makes our head spin?
I wish I could Pin-
Point that one voice from the din
That encourages me on
To the road of a new dawn.
A re-imagining of a famous nursery rhyme (and former riddle) with the inclusion of the most famous fictional detective in the world. (Performed for the slam yesterday.)
Update 19th April ’14: The audio is up!