Mango Walk

 when the past does not fade and disappear

we're forced to confront it to face the pain

of solid memory to feel all again

within each mind something in the dull air

weighs down upon us with the weight of care

while every face reflects the groaning strain

and total terror that we can see plain

when nothing's left to mankind but raw fear

the once safe garden now becomes a cage

by our own efforts  for we are so dense

we cannot see the function of a wall

is to hold in not just to keep out rage

that justice functions better as defence

and isolation leads to the last fall

 the thing's the same once you've told the story

putting the planet into normal mode

you've won power but never truly glory

 

you know it all is just transitory

each of us goes a short way on the road

the thing's the same once you've told the story

 

whether the ending's peaceful or gory

each must arrive at the one sole abode

you've won power but never truly glory

 

of no import whether whig or tory

for you the process is in no way slowed

the thing's the same once you've told the story

 

only message here's memento mori

the human network down to one last node

you've won power but never truly glory

 

answer now in words that are not hoary

explaining how you cracked the final code

the things the same once you've told the story

you've won power but never truly glory

 golden and warm in the december sun

this fading year will pass and be no more

we pause and take account of all that's done

since normal duty includes keeping score

what we must do is often clear and plain

to be repeated and done once again

our task unfinished this mild winter day

is not the simple message we convey

but something awesome born of nature's grace

seen not on mountain nor in ocean spray

the true redemption of the human race

 

we think we can escape that we can run

some massive distance from the starting door

and then be free but there's no means to shun

the things we are they're with us to the core

clear in the light and won't wash off in rain

that is the fact of our eternal stain

nor is there any word that we might say

to grant us ease nor even to delay

the fact of judgment the truth we must face

is not one we avoid in any way

the true redemption of the human race

 

the journey starts with us thinking it fun

but none believe that on the final shore

nor think of it in terms of lost and won

of those we love and those we now abhor

we speak of rivers that have found the main

of means by which we might a truth sustain

and understandings of the honest way

including moments that will never stay

but all that comes is part of the whole case

and from that knowledge no true soul will stray

the true redemption of the human race

 

prince none will wish our poor hopes to betray

and there's no unjust word that you could say

we have direction and we know our place

participants in nature's grand ballet

the true redemption of the human race

 despair embodied in dark winter rain

through fitful sleep in absence of all dream

to wake pursuing the first pallid gleam

within a world marked by the human stain

there's not one thing that's simple clear or plain

nothing that honest living might redeem

from what we suffer at the last extreme

paid for in horror and in stabbing pain

there's no deliverance from what we are

nor is it chosen freely in the sun

in a light-hearted moment with a smile

by each of us no favourable star

can serve to light our steps on homeward run

nor gleam and brighten on the final mile

none left behind except the final few

who dragging feet had given in to fear

and felt the cold now in the still dark air

there was no doubt but that each of them knew

no help would come not even what was due

since out beyond stood no one who would care

about such folk and none with heart to spare

for such as perish in cold morning dew

now liberation is the glory word

for when the yoke is taken off our backs

but that is not what happened on that night

the actual story’s complex and absurd

involving battles skirmishes and tax

with weeping loss of kindred truth and right

 

sleep  hides in dimmest corners of the night

refusing to reach out and hold us dear

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright

 

like scars of whiteness injuring the sight

bringing so many distant horrors near

sleep hides in dimmest corners of the night

 

while on each eye some terror will alight

so waking mind can slowly shred and tear

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright

 

thought after thought revolves upon harsh blight

and inner rack we’re thorough-cooked by fear

sleeps hides in dimmest corners of the night

 

options seem few and hope reduced to slight

expecting that the dawn might bring cool air

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright

 

yet there are answers left to turn times right

repairing rest while giving breath to spare

sleep hides in dimmest corners of the night

for far too long our fears and pains seem bright

in places known lacking all restriction

we lift our heads and arms extend their reach

whilst all the silent learn to practice speech

as sterling critics take honour from fiction

with truth resulting from the hard conviction

that since no one will give what we beseech

making reality out of all they teach

we must become our own true benediction

this is a world where silence means dissent

from standard syllogisms of bright command

yet we are bound to  stay within the mesh

of human intercourse of what is meant

by these creations of the head and hand

that come together in the mortal flesh

the world outside will not let one alone

not for one second to breathe open air

just heed the rastaman on rastaphone

 

 

speaking his truth in simple honest tone

with words of import durable and fair

the world outside will not let one alone

 

 

but like a dog protecting its last bone

will growl and dart at those who only dare

just heed the rastaman on rastaphone

 

 

with such a message that we have to own

ourselves bemused and forced indeed to care

the world outside will not let one alone

 

 

not even emperor asleep on throne

who would methought have time enough to spare

just heed the rastaman on rastaphone

 

 

give up the past and head beyond the known

into the heart of humans everywhere

the world outside will not let one alone

just heed the rastaman on rastaphone

you learn the shadows do not hide all lies

nor is the truth what's gleaming in the sun

for far too frequently the tale's not done

when light has faded from all noonday skies

or wisdom woken in the youngest eyes

no not at all yet for each honour won

by those whose struggle is the daily run

through the hot lands there are no final lies

instead we face a constant horrid stream

of angry platitudes regarding fate

and what it means when we give up the fight

for who we are and what we dare to dream

in these dread times there can be no debate

since there's one chance to leap into the light

so now we listen for the coming rain

deceived by breezes knowing the moist air

is filled with promise and that it must bear

more than mere fruitfulness that much is plain

as we await the changes and explain

to eager watchers just how much our care

has been to guard lest each of them despair

and hold inside the messages of pain

this is the boundary beyond which none

but foolish folk will venture without charts

yet we have come here eager to press on

being certain now that this game has been won

by each of us through mastery of arts

that gave us certainty and have not gone