Ashes in the wind

In a small house in a small narrow lane lived a man
He never often came out into the dirt ridden, piss imbued alley
But lay in heaps of sorrow, drifting in and out of continues dreams of what could
Yet conditions thrust upon him end in cant, thus he has no will so he won’t
The seasons go and come but their presence is but a shadow
The man grew thinner and weaker, year in and year out
He was never forgotten for he was never alive.

Spawned in a land without wind, hindered in complete dryness
Musket men came and went once they had their fill
Attempts to collect the treasures of their tech-ni-ques of life
Failed but prevailed behind a veil of acts of the native brutes
Muddled within tribal affairs, the whisper of a poppy seed came and went, anger rose in a flame, soaked out by the might of the inland sea.

The Man was now in his final stroke of life, lost forever in the demons he found but would not leave him
A great grey beard slithered downwards its width was that of the man
He stood for a few moments gazing at the miniscule grime infested window
Catching glimmers of sun in his eyes, the yells of young children not knowing what would become, his thoughts danced to an fro but paused.

It was just dawn when his father arrived; the sky was shedding its skin
The light dim but bright enough to make the outlines the man shaking him awake
His wrinkles clenched in anxiety
He whispered his son’s name
Telling him to look after his siblings
He was unsure when he would return
The boy’s sleepy daze faded into worry
When he followed his father to the door
He was slapped across the nape
Forced into a tight embrace
Then told to sleep
His father shut the door
The man aged seven sat upon the bed tears travelling down his dirt trenched face
Lost in thought hands gripping his head
He prayed
He begged
That this situation would dissipate into bliss of western wishes
Through the silence
He heard men’s voices
His father’s voice
Screaming
Machine gun fire rattled, his fathers voice fell away
The terrified man took refuge in the iron corrugated cabinet
Boots stepped inside
Men’s voices rang with jubilant tones
Machine gun fire roared
Bullets battered and screeched as they ricocheted off the makeshift walls
His brother and sister were slain as they slept
The Man withheld his cry.


A bang upon the street awoke the bearded man from his trance
He gave a groan of sorrow, of grief, of agony, of pain, of rage
He collapsed upon the bed, his body arched in a graceful curve
His eyes flickered
His breath escaped
The Man was gone
He was never here.