THE FRAILITIES OF MAN KIND (trigger warning)

 

I think death itself is the summary statement of one's predicament, and people usually come into its embrace, days and months before the barrel of a gun feels cold against one's tongue, its head mounted in a vantage position on the roof of the tongue, and from it; slightly acidic and pungent smelling gun oil, immaculately oozing or the calloused fingertips finally and lastly experiencing a rough feel of the rough metal between the bridge rails. Then it's "boom!"; rivers and rivers of blood, almost livid and ketchup-like, that it almost looks fake. Just to sum up, some people die before they experience death.

" I was tired, I was weary, I was weak, I was worn". Scene; alliteration, that is what my powerful English teacher taught me. I use it to hide the hidden meaning of my poem. I use it quite ostensibly.

The barbiturates I take to regulate my emotions have turned me into an insomniac. I had been awake almost the whole night pondering the words of this new blog. Part of today's blog is all about expressing one of the frailties of man in a very complicated and poetic manner. I have been laboring all night; quite literally, thinking of the words which could end with the long "e" for a great poem. This is not alliteration. Maybe it's the "urudiaji" in Swahili poems. I use the elevated form of "thee" and "thou" as my pompous form of address in my poem; maybe to mollify the acid of my direct and unfiltered choice of words.

This poem I will write,( yes I am yet to write it) will emphasize the allegory of my previous and prior desire to throw in the towel and quit. I ponder about the words I am going to use while seated; cross-legged on our Tundra- white carpet. Sometimes my life flashes before me twenty times a day, other stuff like that happens to me too.

Nigel was a shrewd high school student, who always walked proud with his neck up high, accentuating his broad shoulders and protruding gorilla chest. However, Nigel had an essence of one battered and haggard. He loved writing; from creative essays to poems to writing about contemporary issues. He wrote fairly dry essays; where the prose soldierly marched across the exam-pad paper. Just the same mundane things, with two or three bombastic words thrown here and there, doing their ardent best to vex the poor vocabulary deficient examiner, (oh well...). 

I surely will write this poem. I know I will. It will be liberating, I sense it I feel it in my veins. It will bear all hallmarks of progress. " A season-long forgotten". Now, I know the frailties of mankind. And I will explain the odyssey through the frailties in 6 to 12 lines, just like 'Ozymandias'.

Sic me Deus adiuvet!