Jakosi

Nothing is impossible; a phrase used only too easily. But is it true? Some see this remark as mere maxim of some long forgotten philosopher; some see it as a daft remark sentimentalists and dreamers rant about; but to some, it is more. Because really; nothing is impossible. Merely thinking can discharge everything, even a simple mathematical fact, such as, 1 + 1 = 2. Man cannot fly; at the moment. Imagine, if you can, the possibility of man having vast wings attached to either side of his torso. Invisible to our eye - not yet adapted to our environment, we cannot use these wings. Subconsciously they are there; but consciously, they are

When freedom exerts more pain and hatred than any conformism, colonialism and rule, one realises that it is not the politics, the insecticides, which are ruining the sweet taste of the apple. It is the corrupt nature and fallen walls of social values of the seeds that are ruining the foreseeable future; yet, there is nothing we can do.

He sits - solemnly, silently. His hands lay on the table: - His hands lay broken, His hands lay sore, His hands lay, worthy of a rest. His plump stomach His lumberjack shirt His dirty jeans His swollen arms, And what for? Money to scrape for, Money to fight for, Money to look forward to, Money for the poor. Money for the attention of society, Money to bargain with, Money for food, Money for hair Money for life. And what for?

When you sit at home, And it all goes wrong, When you feel sometimes its gone, But you cant feel what, Pick up and run, Ah come on, Pick up and run, Fly. Shake yourself down, Keep your head above ground, You know shes doing it on purpose But you cant, But you cant. As we sit under the sulphur red sun, Turn to say, but its all the wrong way Your tongue seems to stray, She gets up and runs, Leaving you in part. And you feel its done, But you cant, But you cant. Somtimes its gone, Somtimes not. Probably gonna, Then again probably not, As soon as she comes back, You feel your thoughts were the devils act, And you dont

Half-Baked One:        Daddy spoke softly, with feeling and took great care in choosing his diction. He sat opposite me, the warmth from the fire only inducing further memories of the cozy atmosphere; he said he had something important to tell me. I dreamt of the possibilities. He took my hand, with the both of his own, they felt warm and sweaty, and he adjusted oddly in his seat, and he looked at me and he smiled, oddly. He opened his mouth to talk, but only took a breath, his eyes were now welling up. He looked at the floor and exhaled deeply, almost whistling.