The copper beaches

As the room

Lost its gloom

To the candles and to the oils

The windows panned

The soul to the darkness

And the doors opened

The roads to the burials

I have this memory

Lost and found

In the cracks on the walls

I have this desire

Hidden under the carpets

I take them out

From the darkness

To the darkness

From the hopelessness

To the nothingness

From being forgotten

To being alone

From the rivers

To the the seas

I bring back that memory

I relive that desire

Of being a child

Counting the ships

Building the castles

Playing with the waves

On the beaches of happiness.

As the room

Lost its gloom

To the candles and oils

This nature kindles a light

In me,

In me for this last walk.

-Aroon Che

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The Confederate Loneliness of the Surrounded

The barrels of the guns

Round as the eyes of evil

And as of this earth and sun

Hang on the mud pile

Here and there

Waiting for the prey to show up

With no idea of being followed

And with no idea of being weak

The guns are ready to fire

At the sight of this innocent animal

For they are fed with patriotism

But not with love and compassion

The innocent deer shall soon wake up

From it beautiful dream and walk up

To the brook nearby

The guns shall then fire its head off

To the grass below coloring the dew

With blood, rage and power

I wanted to rise from the ambush

And lay down my gun

To let the deer finish its morning chore

I wanted my peers to standby

And watch the animal play safe

I wanted to start peace

I wanted to give away this anger

To some distant god of nonsense

But the blur soon hovered my eyes

With long waiting for the animal

The thirst changed its shape to greed

And the hunger to annoyance

The deer did come out of its beautiful dream

And the intolerance overtook my culture

I pulled the trigger

And the deer died losing its head

There was a shout of pain and

Cheer of win.

I just found who is who

The me in me.

What good is being taught?

By this goodness of civics and science

When I just found the real ignorance

As the deer shook its last breathe to air

And to the land we are raven of?

-Aroon Che

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The Parallel Waters

There was once this street,running parallel to the river,full of corpses of the old and the young,of same age to the air that's rotting them to dust. Its been years they all lie like a baby sleeping to the voice of its mother. They wear colours of thread from rich heritage. Their hands have bracelets of gold with images of god moulded to the centres. Their faces smile though dead, and are filled with ignorant bliss. They all lie dead as the days die into nights and nights give birth to days. They all lie dead as the stones are carved to images from the epics. They all lie dead as kings melted to democracies. They all lie dead with no memory of how all this began to grow into what's today. They faced floods and the sun. They faced love and war. They faced the wheel and cancers. They faced everything with a smile. They faced everything with a hope. A hope that's protected by faiths, by votes, by rules and doctrines,by law and order of the state,by fear and trust,by the harmful gods and  gentle devils. A hope that's humanity. A hope that's omnipresent. A hope that kindles god in them. Till then they shall lay dead, in the street that runs parallel to the river of life.

-Aroon Che

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Candles

Let the candles burn
Till the nights stay
And fear leave us free
The morals and the epics run
With us all the way
Into this darkness we flee
The men of war promised us
A faith to be with
It doesn't matter who the gods be
There is hope in us
And we shall not die as a myth
In this run for love and life
So I plead you
Let the candles burn
Till the nights stay
And fear leave us free
From the devils inside
And the darkness outside.

-Aroon Che

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Freedom is more than Love

Its been dark when the fields went dry,and the night police were all around everyone's  house,in every street,all through the tide. My house was filled with gold and silver but nothing to eat a morsel of it. The windows looked stained with blood from previous night's fight. We fight every night,each time at chosen house. Last night it was mine. As the rules said,I served beer and steak,to all the guest from the great deserts and rockies. They don't fight but fix them. We,the poles,fight. In exchange we lose our chains. Over a time we forget to fight the rights. The chains were so heavy and we had to pay to lose them. We did pay so. We lost our wives to the kings who wore turbans and to their pimps who wore black suits. They said it would liberate them and so we did. We lost our daughters to time and our sons to war. Neither time nor war returned them to us. Freedom is more important than love. We were wrong but right. Some of us were sooty and they fight well than us. They don't have families to lose. They don't have anything but wars to win. We fought the great depression and the great war of peace. We won them. We won everything but ourselves. Its been dark when the fields went dry and tonight there's a fight next street. I am getting into the usual code of dress,the tie and pants, iron with heat of sweat,washed with big bother's soap. There's one from India fighting the one from Europe. I left the home to the streets filled with lights and men. With a book to write my poems and flute to sing them in the fight, I walked towards the circle of men and into the blood filled perimeters. Its our usual practice to sing some poems to motive the fight. We did it everytime. I am best at them. We are best at them. We drank too much ink that's slowly breeding in  to replace the blood in us. We will soon bleed blood to die. And every fight is a page in this history of ours. The great epic of mankind.

-Aroon Che

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