Vengeance is Not Mine

You have an empire. A kingdom, almost. It comprises of those who fear you. They do not love you. They hate you. And I will watch as your empire crumbles before you. As all your material and concrete success comes crashing in on you. As your comrades crumble, then turn on you.

You will be alone in the rubble of everything you once had.

Nay, you ARE alone.

And the only one who doesn’t see it is the person who lives in the mirror. The empty eyes staring back at you as if to say, “What have you done?”

M.G.

The Downfall of Democracy

Why are we told that Republican is the opposite of Democrat?
The whole system is democratic!

Why do people who leave their country to become independent people
complain when their country wants to leave and become
Independent People?

Why do we call them Conservative when there’s not much conservation?
Why do we call them Liberal when they are not free to speak their minds?
Why do we call it Labour when taxes favour those who don’t?

Why do they complain about the government instead of themselves,
when democracies are “by the people”?

Why do people fight to change the rules instead of first learning to play
the existing ones?
Why are we taught that rules are made to be broken,
but then are told we can change them?

We do we tax those who work,
but provide to those who don’t?

Why do we restrict those who can work for a lower salary,
then complain that they do not work?

Why do they educate all who enter their doors,
then banish them along with skills bred on their soil?

Why do they complain about their countries falling apart,
when they were the ones who abandoned it in the first place?

Why do democracies still exist if they cater only to the small percentage of elitists?

And why do those elitists,
at some point,
drop out of the game…?

Think about it.

M. Gordan

Friend and Foe

Friend and Foe
There he glazed through the rainy city streets, carefully dodging puddles while avoiding bumping into crowds. He manoeuvred his body carefully, at times shuffling his shoulders to make room for him to pass. It was almost like he had an invisible, metaphorical shield around him to protect him from bumping into anyone. Either that, or his charisma somehow carried an aura that simply led people to part for him. Whatever it was, he felt magical. 

Despite the ease at which his bulky self moved, he dressed rather eccentrically – but not the colourful, hippie-like eccentric. Rather, he did not quite dress for his age. Something about his style was a cross between mature and young – almost like an extremely well-groomed middle-aged man. Leather jacket, throw-over jumper, collar shirt, slim black trousers and black boots. 

This was a guy to whom youth was both friend and foe. 

Just shy of a quarter-century alive on earth, he hadn’t quite grasped the balance of being an adult; if anything, he was back to being a baby in the complex and conflicting manner in which the “grown-up world” worked. Everything he had ever been taught about life – work, academics, relationships, finances – seemed to make so much less sense on paper than it did in practice. In sum, the reality was definitely less complicated than the methodical, theoretical education he underwent at school.

Suddenly, he missed college – that balance between having freedom and responsibility. That period of time when parents finally realise that the less you pressure your kid, the more they’ll pressure themselves. 

Somehow, here in the real world, he saw it for what it was – high school all over again. Rich, popular people stick together the same way nerds and philosophers are drawn to each other. The classist, racist, and ageist mentalities seemed to be even more blatant in this world. 

He suddenly found himself wishing he’d paid more attention in high school…

City Lights

The sun sets,
Slowly dimming the street.
It falls behind the magnificent structure
Of steel, glass and concrete.

The view from this altitude
Is an endless stretch of charm.
With what’s left of the sun’s rays
Reaching from the city to my palm.

As the roads wind and connect
A seemingly complicated system of its own
Extending from where I stand to infinity
Further and deeper, the winding roads flow.

You illuminate this beautiful creation
Each color pasted against the dark
The blackness of the freshly painted evening sky
Anything you connect with lights a spark

Your endless glow revealing the city’s corners
The secrets, illusions, blind to the naked eye
But all is clear: the cars and the trees
The alley ways, the gangs, the random passer-bys

The people, the animals, the steel buildings
The clouds, the moon, the glowing stars
The trucks, the dogs, the plants and pipes
Everything is clear, from here to afar

You see it all yet you say no words
You keep the secrets that all conceal
You are the one who knows everything
You hold the key to any darkness revealed.

For you are the reason that so many souls
Have been brought to life by the flick of a switch
You are the reason that people who search
Can see through the mask to the bottom of the pit.

~Mikaela Gordan, 2008~

Many construct buildings while I construct villages. Villages grow into towns, into cities; a building will always just β€œbe”.

What Are We?

i am one

What are we?
We are a generation.

A generation of dreamers
who are told to walk when we can fly.

A generation of poets
who speak of nothing but truth.

A generation of scholars
who are censored through education.

A generation of learners
who know nothing and everything.

A generation of thinkers
whose thoughts we are taught to suppress.

A generation of radicals
who are oppressed by our leaders.

We are a generation.

A generation of non-conformists
who are intimidating to the sheep of our society.

A generation of critics
who live by a standard.

A generation of soldiers
who are willing to fight.

A generation of fighters
who are trained to live by standards set by society.

A generation of creators
who create a paradigm of humanity.

A generation of philosophers
who are criticized for depth.

A generation of influence
who are hindered by time.

A generation of doers
who haven’t made a mark in history.
Yet.
A generation of historians
who are making a mark in history.

We are.
A generation.

A generation of people
who will not be robotised.

A generation of humans
who will not lose our dignity.

But we,
this generation;
us –

We are what we are.
We will be what we want.
We are a result of history
and we are the makers of our future.

But at present,
we are this generation.
And if you break us,
you will make us.

Us, this generation,
is made from the debris of our ancestors.

~Mikaela Gordan~