The Radioactive Man

The Radioactive Man

This is my humble tribute to the radioactive man,

Who returned to the nightmare from which everyone else ran.

And for 4 years, he's been working hard,

In a region from which everyone is barred.

The Fukushima incident  brought great suffering,

Yet the survivors had someone for their comforting.

But what about those who were left behind,

Living souls like us, their salvation denied?

A great population, pretty much like us they were,

Then what? They were left all alone to suffer.

Some were left as they were, in cages or chains,

Others roamed helplessly, scouring the drains.

This was the plight of the animals of Fukushima,

About rescuing them? Neither a  plan nor a schema.

Their road was more or less heading to a dead end,

But there just happened to be for them, a luck bend.

By the way, who said heroes were young folks?

Naoto Matsumura is worth dozens of those blokes.

At 50, his family are the pitiable survivors,

Of the 12.5 mile radiation zone with no supervisors.

He'd returned for them, knowing the risk,

Whose effects on his body'd be quite brisk.

In a city where nothing's left but standing stone,

'The Guardian of Fukushima's animals' he's known.

Lives in his farm, surrounded by animals,

He being the admiral, they his generals.

Alone he takes care of not only cats and birds,

But of dogs, rabbits even cattle and their herds.

"I couldn't have cared less" he casually says,

When people point out radiation and his ways.

Redefining love and affection here comes a man,

We proudly call him, 'The Radioactive Man of Japan'.

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Dreams

Dreams

Close your eyes! And get ready to dream,

Light 'em up with your imagination's gleam.

Create an intricate mystical world of your own,

Fill it up with all the quixotic stuff you've ever known.

The closed door that's blocking your view,

Gently knock at it and just walk through.

It's the door of imagination, of fantasy unheard,

Which as a rule would seem most absurd.

Take a walk in the gardens of fantasy,

You shall come to face with a reality.

The reality of dreams, so profound, so true,

It's sparkling beauty, hiding in plain view.

Dream as though you never could have thought,

Of all the beautiful places you ever sought.

Of open fields, warm sun, and the unending sky,

But, most important of all, never let them go wry.

For they are different, original like people's views,

And now as such I'd quote Sir Langston Hughes:

"Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die,

Life is a broken-winged bird,

Unable to fly."

"Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go,

Life is a barren field,

Frozen with snow."

Thus, dreams are precious and now you know why,

So wake up every morning but don't say good bye.

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Introspection

Introspection

The Brain

The brain always found its human weak,

Impractical, sentimental, emotional. Meek.

Yet the human preferred over it its counterpart,

The unpredictable, unworthy organ. The heart.

The heart would make him laugh and cry,

'Encourage him to set futile goals sky high.

The heart would warmly console him then,

As he'd fail to achieve his goals time and again.

The brain had no feelings towards the pitiable soul,

And felt that it alone should be in control.

Of his body, his actions it'd be the supervisor,

As it was more practical, therefore wiser.

The Heart

The heart was a gentle, humble piece of flesh,

And unlike the brain, it'd constantly need to refresh.

Yes, it was sentimental yet it'd feel strongly,

Against any deed done to a person, wrongly.

It felt sad that the human favored the brain,

And yeah, the brain's maturity it'd never attain.

But nonetheless it toiled hard and more it would,

To keep it's human happy and everyone it could.

The human tries to find the logic behind everything,

Love and compassion means to him nothing.

He lives but to fulfill his unending greed,

Yet the heart would be there when it he'd need.

The Human

The human felt neither of what the two said,

He'd try to stop their arguing till he dropped dead.

Amidst brain the practical and heart the sentimental,

Was stuck someone. Human the judgmental.

Was always at the loss of words and deeds,

Owing to the two viciously arguing fiends. 

At times he was firm, cold and practical,

And at others, he'd be overly sentimental.

Each would draw him towards its worthy self,

In an effort to completely merge him with itself.

The human would resist, but sometimes he couldn't,

When some trouble got the better of him, he wouldn't.

With the heart breathing fire in his veins,

The brain tormenting him with losses and gains.

He eternally chained each one of them, utterly rebellious,

Each to the other's view competently impervious.

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The Philosophical Kid

The Philosophical Kid

The world was a strange place for a little kid,

He used to feel accountable for all that he did.

There was no evil in that world he knew,

Only good. In everyone. That was his view.

Yet, one thing about that child was really odd,

That clothing of all sorts, he'd label them as fraud.

It was a strange fact, very strange indeed,

But the little brain had an explanation for the deed.

For it would change the people he'd recognize,

Not people exactly, their personalities to be precise.

The way they'd walk, and how they'd behave,

It would all confuse the little child so naive.

From casuals to fancy suits and dresses,

Their behavioral changes met his guesses.

Expensive clothing had a serious effect,

The clothes themselves demanded respect!

The child went on and on with his imagination,

He concluded. It was all an act of domination.

With the clothes ironically, the masters,

And the people; slaves of their captors!

People could only behave, he admitted,

The way their fancy clothing permitted.

And obliterated was the idea of men born free,

Enslaved they were since their first clothing thought he.

And while fancy clothes stood by waiting to be adorned,

An innocent little kid, into a philosopher had transformed.

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Countryside

Countryside

Across the meadows, over the fences,

Every inch therein is a feast for the senses.

To describe it to perfection where do I begin?

Well, it's a perfect worldly abode to dwell in.

It all starts with the first breath you take,

As the first rays of the sun wash over your face.

Illuminating all that there is to see and behold,

Having left nothing for the darkness to withhold.

Open fields, as far as the eye can see,

The blue sky above, stretching endlessly.

With the birds chirping and the flowers dancing,

Trust me, it's all quite mood enhancing.

As the day progresses, several scenes unfold,

A farmer boy and his flock of sheep strolled.

Water was drawn and fields were irrigated,

While at the local store, a short queue waited.

The weather was perfect, landscape picturesque,

Horses trotted and would happily spree.

The entire scenario was so lively!

With the sun at a corner, shining brightly.

Soon it was afternoon, evening thereafter,

And in the air there was a distinctive laughter.

Of men coming home, having toiled all day,

All in a light mood, though they'd been away.

Finally, the chapter closes as the last rays,

Fall upon the countryside, assuring happier days.

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Dual Personality

Dual Personality

Ever wondered that behind a sincere smile,

Might have lurked intentions that were vile?

Or behind the curtain of anonymity,

Was a heart dripping with enmity?

My intention is not that through this rhyme,

Should you look at everything as a crime.

And at everyone with a suspicious glance,

As if they're ever ready to take their chance.

Every chance they get at depriving you,

Robbing you off all joy, leaving you blue.

Unfortunately, that's what it has come down to,

And nobility today is only found in an elite few.

The people who abstain from hypocrisy,

Are lambs amidst wolves in the society.

For today, if by the rules you were to abide,

You would find next to no one by your side.

Fake friends, fake relatives, fake people,

But on the outside they'd seem to be feeble.

They'd talk to you looking in the eye,

If only you realized that it were a lie.

It is a frightful disease, if not more,

But like everything, to it there's a cure.

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As If Time Stood Still

As If Time Stood Still

It was as if the time stood still,

 Down the valley and up the hill.

Across the fields and round the corner,

Van Gogh's works did him great honour.

It was as if the time stood still,

When the peasants tore down Bastille.

When they marched in, chanting slogans

Death upon the king was their only notion.

And yet again, time stood terribly still,

As the atom bombs made their first kill.

Vaporising all there ever was of happiness,

Bestowing upon them profound darkness.

Stood back and patiently waited  time and tide,

As the first man-made bird stretched it's wings wide.

Made up of but spruce and canvas,

Effectively clothing it's wooden truss.

Time must have stood still and watched,

As humans, one small step up we notched.

But that small step was one of its kind,

It was one giant leap for mankind.

Caesar fell as the time watched,

Some say that it had even stopped.

Bursting through his heart was a  dagger,

His once most loyal friend was his attacker

Clocks of that room stood still in a silent awe

As it was the single greatest thing they ever saw.

Having cracked the Enigma, stood a team of men,

Hitler and the Nazi were defeated only then.

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