Red Stripe, my 11th posted poem, was written after staring at an empty notebook, red pen in hand. For an hour.
I remember fidgeting and twirling the red pen between my fingers. I was trying, in vain, to think of a theme to base my next piece on.
After seeing countless red stripes on my own hands, the idea clicked. A stripe on our person can resemble high stature: like a headband or sash.
A stripe can also be used for valor in militaries around the world.
But I also thought of red stripes symbolizing fatal wounds.
We tend to worship people more in death than in life. Should we place valor in death? Even our own?
I hope the poem below has some relevance to you. Enjoy!
I look within
So deep within…
A jackal in this spiritual wasteland
Chasing a warrior without a headband
Chasing me within
So deep within
With yellow eyes and pointed fur
From a distant past, a moving blur
Distortion and echoes are its thirsty cackle
So long are these years, fleeing from this jackal
Hand me a gun
The stripe will get colder
As it goes down my shoulder
A red stripe runs past my hand
A red stripe bands across my head
The headband of a warrior, ever so valiant
I look without
So far on out…
A false idol, an empty suit, atop a pedestal
A hand full of barbed-wire strings to pull
I’m looking out
So far on out…
A fist of gilded iron, far away as the sky
Never saw its face, and I’ll never know why
Exerting pressure, enforcing tight boundaries
They nip these rosebuds, wilting in the breeze
Hand me a knife
With the stripe down my wrist
I’ll end this madness post-haste
A red stripe belts across my waist
A red stripe runs down and away
A scarlet sash for a king, ever so divine
Flowing like a red river, to a sea far away
To a red sea so far away
So far away…
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