The Orchid of Catalina
The rooftops glitters in the mid day sun.
Densely populated and loosely regulated.
Confused and Hungry wondering where help lies.
The dogs stroll aimlessly in the streets, The traffic goes in every direction grinding to an abrupt stop.
There is a motionless body on the street, Citizens walk by oblivious of the lifeless presence.
A far too common site and a fixture to a restive lifestyle.
Accepted as the way of life for a people caught in the crossfire.
The police finally show up.
Yellow tapes keeps onlookers at bay.
They ask a few questions and leave without an arrest.
They dump John Doe on the bed of the truck An end to another promising soul.
I hold in my hand the orchid of catalina.
The beauty captivates and the fragrance invites.
The lush vegetation is a great backdrop for life.
Something so beautiful lies within the carnage.
The movements of the populace is delayed.
Thinking twice before every step.
There are constant reminders of an environ devoid of peace.
We used to be a simple-minded bunch.
Now we are a few steps away from the grave.
There are holes in every wall.
A lasting monuments to the gangs that rule.
The birds have stopped perching on the rooftops.
They peer from a safe distance.
The kids are now men.
They age too soon and lose their innocence.
Playgrounds are empty and overgrown with brush.
Dreams and nightmares are a constant companion.
Forced silence is the order of the day.
Any slip and you might slip into the unknown.
We have seen so much, but say very little.
Sometimes, we just wait for the fumes from the kettle.
Every now and then, I escape into an imaginary world, I dare into the field and pluck a rich and vibrant orchid.
The smell reminds me of the path to the future, A place of peace and nostalgia hidden within.
The stem is long and variegated.
The buds are like the template of an artist.
It blossoms every season, in war and peace.
A constant presence in an environment of flux.
It dots the landscape close to the river bed.
The frogs hide and seek within the valley.
I tug and roll into forgetfulness.
An ideal escape valve for my soul.
I hold it high and it glitters in the Sun.
The colors are so soft and innocent.
A present and hope for my spirit.
The beautiful orchid of catalina.
(c) 2012.
Muyiwa Babalola.
Densely populated and loosely regulated.
Confused and Hungry wondering where help lies.
The dogs stroll aimlessly in the streets, The traffic goes in every direction grinding to an abrupt stop.
There is a motionless body on the street, Citizens walk by oblivious of the lifeless presence.
A far too common site and a fixture to a restive lifestyle.
Accepted as the way of life for a people caught in the crossfire.
The police finally show up.
Yellow tapes keeps onlookers at bay.
They ask a few questions and leave without an arrest.
They dump John Doe on the bed of the truck An end to another promising soul.
I hold in my hand the orchid of catalina.
The beauty captivates and the fragrance invites.
The lush vegetation is a great backdrop for life.
Something so beautiful lies within the carnage.
The movements of the populace is delayed.
Thinking twice before every step.
There are constant reminders of an environ devoid of peace.
We used to be a simple-minded bunch.
Now we are a few steps away from the grave.
There are holes in every wall.
A lasting monuments to the gangs that rule.
The birds have stopped perching on the rooftops.
They peer from a safe distance.
The kids are now men.
They age too soon and lose their innocence.
Playgrounds are empty and overgrown with brush.
Dreams and nightmares are a constant companion.
Forced silence is the order of the day.
Any slip and you might slip into the unknown.
We have seen so much, but say very little.
Sometimes, we just wait for the fumes from the kettle.
Every now and then, I escape into an imaginary world, I dare into the field and pluck a rich and vibrant orchid.
The smell reminds me of the path to the future, A place of peace and nostalgia hidden within.
The stem is long and variegated.
The buds are like the template of an artist.
It blossoms every season, in war and peace.
A constant presence in an environment of flux.
It dots the landscape close to the river bed.
The frogs hide and seek within the valley.
I tug and roll into forgetfulness.
An ideal escape valve for my soul.
I hold it high and it glitters in the Sun.
The colors are so soft and innocent.
A present and hope for my spirit.
The beautiful orchid of catalina.
(c) 2012.
Muyiwa Babalola.
Source...