When I First Stir
by
Iyan Igma
The morning’s calm; It worries me
To hear unbroken ave chatter
Sound jubilantly through the boxwoods
At my window; What’s the matter?
Usually when I first stir,
Nature has been hushed by the dread
That humans give it abundantly,
And it soothes me to know I’m not dead.
But crickets and frogs lullaby me,
And there’s peace in the air at night
Since my neighbours haven’t argued for days.
I hope that they’re all right.
Social Mobility
by
Iyan Igma
The only way to leave my class
With its working-class grime behind
Is to stroll through the rich man’s flowerbed,
And, believe me, it weighs on my mind.
I’d like to see so-called nature,
Even if it’s sullied by cultivation;
I hear beauty used to exist
Before industry stripped the nation.
But they say they’re making us rich,
Seeing as all was poor before,
But it’s only helped a handful,
When the rest are worse than before.
There’s no time for pleasure and parks,
If such beasts truly exist,
Cause I gotta work mindless, endlessly,
That the rich have whereon to subsist.
Darkness is all I see,
Though it’s what my eyes are accustomed to.
They say there used to be bright stars,
But the smog and lamps keep them from view.
Bridled by the Passions of Men
by
Iyan Igma
I don’t dare disturb the ant bed;
They need not be angry again,
Though someone is bound to pass soon
Well bridled by the passions of men.
Upon seeing such a tiny thing
Their first instinct is to destroy,
And claiming “might makes right”
They’ll trounce the hill with cruel joy.
And they’ll justify their soul’s ulcer
With the vain threats the ants might bite
And move on to find more to maim,
Much to their spirit’s sick, sordid delight.
But for now I grant you reprieve,
Perhaps because I have true empathy:
My works and I often destroyed
By mankind, and principally me.
Somnabulance
by
Iyan Igma
The length and the breadth of earth I see
Corpses ambling somnambulantly
Not knowing who they are, where they’re bound.
That is, people walk around
Wholly led by their unconscious minds,
Which is to say that they do not find
That they’re sleepwalking in a dream
Thinking they are just what they seem
Shutting their brains down as they’re supposed
To believe all the labels imposed.
A Tear For Hiroshima
by
Iyan Igma
Corpses charred where they stood
In a split second their spirits gone,
A man’s shadow etched into a wall,
The deathmark of the man that’s gone
Civilians whose hurried lives paused
As each molecule burst apart
Children slain playing at school
For the crime of having a heart
The shock wave never reached them
Where it exploded in the sky
So early in the morning
So that more innocents would die
But if scores of thousands dead were all,
Then why would I dare to blink an eye?
One hundred thousand perished in Tokyo
From firebombs, but we never questioned why.
But needless loss of countless lives
More precious than war and peace
Proved that generations were wolves
Clothed in good, God-fearing fleece.
How eagerly we rejoiced
To push morality from the mind
And justify our war crime,
Vowing that God was right behind
Us, for surely the loss of the elderly,
Kids, and pregnant in Japan
Don’t matter much to God;
It’s not like they were American.
But wait, you cannot quantify
By the initial devastation
How many were the casualties
Because of hotly denied radiation
Generations poisoned heartlessly
And cancer ravaged tots and tykes
Could fold origami as they wished
Never to be healed as they’d like.
Since the truth was censored
And history justified and altered,
It makes you wonder at the effort;
Deep within our leader’s hearts faltered.
But they could never admit this
To themselves or the populace they deceived
So they spun yarns about the GIs saved
And dim-wittingly the Yankees believed
Though the numbers grew by leaps and bounds
From forty thousand to two million
Though the latter was good story telling,
The bomb condemned several billion
A few bombs dropped and human life ends,
That’s too much power for base man.
It was dropped on you only to show
That omnipotence was American.
The war was over, peace had been sought
But to intimidate the commies
Truman, Groves, and Stimson disregarded life’s
Intrinsic value at the hands of atom bombies.
They thought atom bombs would bring peace
Which meant America would dominate
Disregarding fears of an arms race
Because their love for power was obstinate.
Thus, your citizens (not military) perished
Not to bring about Japan’s submission
But as the unthanked actors in a play
Endorsing power by gross attrition
No warning shot or evacuation notice,
Nor consideration of its holocaust
For corrupt men were in love with absolute power
Many died, but their souls were the lost.
To FDR it was a dubious last resort,
And the Soviets were to bomb Japan soon;
Instead two cities decimated sent off spores
To infect the world with the cold war mushroom.
I’ll shed a tear for you, Hiroshima,
And your co-victim Nagasaki
And most of all for the American soul!
Unnecessary carnage without an apology.
Pagans Like Me
by
Iyan Igma
It’s a shame when pagans like me
Have more genuine Christianity
Than you, Mr. Hypocrisy
You say I’ll burn in Hell evermore
While you sip piña coladas on Heav’ns shore.
But, what of all these beliefs you ignore?
Instead of pointing fingers fervently
You could help those dying in poverty
And pretend you had humanity.
Don’t quote scriptures; no one cares
About mere words and haughty airs
When they’re suffering, though you’re unawares.
Do something, it’s within your reach,
Live out the things your Holy Words teach
Serve God’s kids, everyone and each .
You claim to be pious and smart
But lack the most important part:
A compassionate and love-filled heart.
I don’t wear religion on my sleeve;
I practice what you claim to believe.
On Moralists
by
Iyan Igma
What daft lies the bitter men tell
Convincing themselves down to hell
By buying into fervent screeds
To convince them further of their creed
By lambasting those who don’t share
Their insecurity but are aware
Of their own faults, and those confess.
Moralists are those who don’t profess
To have morals, and ironically
Are the ones not lurking guiltily
And hiding behind lying faces,
Flawed ideals, and sure disgraces.
Those who claim moral aptitude
Are more acquainted with turpitude
And should really let honest men be
And save their souls from hypocrisy.
