the theatre

the art of theatre

is one that has meaning;

it has emotion and feeling

and shows what the world is

as a comedy

or simplily a tragedy.

theatre shows more

than a simple word said,

it potrays through a gesture

shown by a character on stage

a deeper meaning.

people think that representing

on a stage is so simple

and has nothing to it,

it being something that

"everybody can do".

not so, if well done

it has more depth

in some cases,

than the actual person

that one is potraying.

the gull´s life

He has landed after a long journey

And plonks down elegantly on the surface

Of the calm muddy water

Narrowly missing a duck.

He knows a quick dip will be all

That he needs to continue on his journey.

Two Worlds

The comparison between two worlds

Is the largest distance formed.

Each is nearly the total contradiction

Of the other, and of itself.

Respect, loyalty and efficiency

On one side of the line;

Laziness, noise and rudeness

Thrive in the opposite ambient.

Tell me which world to live in

As I belong in neither.

Can there not be a middle?

Like Earth is

Between Heaven and Hell?

I if I belong neither here

Nor there were I was,

Where does one go?

The heat and friendliness

Flowing from Africa,

To the cold and rain

On the mountains of Europe.

Tell me that I am lost,

And I will easily believe,

For it is not here,

Nor there, nor where

Do I belong.

I thrive for difference

Which cannot be achieved

If rules are to be followed.

Yet who can plainly say

That they only live in one world

If they dream about the other.

My name is Kuda

This is what I am in the world;
a little nobody with no home -
a dot in the vast expanse.
If I disappear - no one will notice,
if I get sick - no one will care.
Ofttimes I go hungry
but no one will share their food with me.
My name is Kuda.

The street is my definition of home,
there is no house but shelters
I run to from the rain.
I live my life one garbage can at a time
sifting through what people throw out:
one man´s rubbish is another man´s meal.
My name is Kuda.

give me

give me a question and i´ll give you an answer,

give me a moment and i´ll give you a minute,

give me a second and i´ll give you an hour,

give me a trade and i´ll give you a swap,

give me an emotion and i´ll return a feeling,

give me a hand and i´ll give you help,

give me what i want and i´ll make you happy,

give me the time and you´ll have your day,

give me the chance and you´ll get the reward,

give me encouragement and you´ll also succeed,

give me a push and i´ll return the shove,

give me a gift and receive a present,

give me laughter and get happiness,

give me a wink and you´ll get a smile,

give me a comment and you´ll get a response,

give me reasoning and you´ll get an arguement,

give me a hope and see the reward,

give me a chance and reveiw the work,

give me a compass and i´ll show you the way,

give me a spark and i´ll light up your world,

give me a dream and be carried on cotton clouds,

give me a season and you´ll find me in summer,

give me a flower and you´ll always carry a bloom,

give me something simple, plain and from the heart

and it, like me,will always belong to you.

feeling

Six hours and losing patience.

Idiotic and chaotic.

Headache and backache.

Endless waiting -

For nothing.

Fingers itching

To punch the sight

Of the smile

Lighting up

An unpreocupied idiot´s

Soon to be damaged face-.

Don’t expect,

Then you won’t be disappointed.

Expectations are created

The same way rules are made -

To be broken, dashed, or ruined.

Boredom

Boredom is hard to define,

It is the epitome of nothing

That occurs when one hasn´t anything to do.

It comes in various forms and sizes:

Counting lines on the ceiling,

Spots on the floor,

Or screws on a table.

The recounting of the hundredth counting

The yawns and wasteful doodling....

Nothing

Nothing can be so easily described,

A space that has no end,

Ãnd no beginning.

The moment in which no work,

Nor play is done or thought of.

A blank page on which ink has yet to tint.

A darkness that holds just blackness.

It has no feeling, no thought,

Nothing described easily as simply-

Nothing.

???

Have you ever thought about the world;
Of things as they are,
As they were,
As they can be,
As they should be?

Have you ever pictured a moment in time;
What happened,
What could happen,
What should have happened,
What is happening?

Imagine a child;
Has his past been good,
Has his future blessings,
Has he the perfect life now?

Feel a breeze blowing;
Where has it come from,
Where will it go,
Where should it be,
Where should it have gone,
Where will it stand still,
Where will it end?

Listen to a sound;
Does it come from nearby,
Does it say something,
Does it do anything,
Does it mean a warning,
Does it require a reaction,
Does it just simply sound?

Touch an object;
Of whom does it belong,
Of who does it want,
Of what does it need,
Of what does it feel.
Of where will it go?

through the eyes: the windows of the soul

looking through the eyes of a child as he looks across a barren land. a land that once had corn blowing softly in the fields and food aplenty to feed its people. that same field looks wasted, ugly and even can be called evil. he doesn´t know when he will eat next.

look through the eyes of a child as she stares at the same four walls all day long. she may be fed and sheltered but she is imprisoned. she may receive everything she wants but that can never replace the time that she is cooped up and is not outside enjoying the world.

look through the eyes of a child as she gazes across the animals she is herding. an adult should be doing this work yet those very adults are either dead or dying at home, and yet the child must work to support them.

look through the eyes of a child who glares up at the stranger his parents hire to watch and care for him. they may say they work hard to give him the best of everything out of love yet the child has never experienced that love.

look through the eyes of a child who scans the crowd looking for a sympathetic person who will give her some money to buy food, its not her fault she is on the streets begging for her very life.
look through the eyes of a child who frantically searches his mother´s face for signs of life as she slowly suffers a painful death. he shouldn´t be witnessing such on act of life at his young age just because there are no doctors.

look through the eyes of a child looking down at her own child as she realises the enormity of her life. she has had to find a way to sustain her family, she now ends up with one more mouth to feed; her daughter´s.

look through the eyes of a child as he guards his domain. he has received everything imaginable yet all those things will never make him a great man.

look through the eyes of a child as she watches her mother starve so that the children may have something to eat. she will probably end up with the same fate, as history will repeat its self in time.

look through the eyes of a child as he opens his eyes for the first time to see nobody waiting next to him with open arms and warm smiles to welcome him into this world. one can only imagine the pain he has yet to face.

look through the eyes of a child whilst she eyes the lonely path she will have to embark on as she has no friends to join her. picture the scene of her standing out in the crowd; feel her pain.

look through the eyes of a child criminal that has never known anything but the streets, it would never have been his nature to steal if he was born into something better. should he not have had a better chance at life?

look through the eyes that stare apon the morrow, he knows not what is yet to come or go. watch as he moves with uncertainty and care, trying to avoid being detected.

just take a moment and look through their eyes....

The last one

The last year of high school,

Isn´t that so cool?

Three sixty-five to freedom,

Three hundred of boredom

And study and headaches;

Cramming, jamming and heartaches.

No peace, less silence;
Book piles and patience

Shall be your life.

Insanity shall be your partner,

Knowledge you goal,

Wishing your wit sharper

To reach the high pole.

Classmates and teachers,

Friends and preachers

Shall fill your hours

Driving you to use all powers

To prevent from strangling them.

Bring on the last one;

May it be the best one.

(to all the seniors out there)