Nomad Gone Mad

Words are refuge. Poetry is solitude. Mind take me home.

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We Are Here

Uninformed and uniformed Conned to conform Death reborn Brown becomes broken Bullets replace vocal chords Wrists release broken swords Pawns on a chessboard Brown became broken To shoot is to be heard To be heard is to be shot A hashtag is all we’ve got Brown becomes broken Brown became whitewashed. Brown became demonised. Brown became forgotten. Brown became broken. But brown is beautiful. We always have been and we always will be History doesn’t forget and neither do we Brown is beautiful. You are afraid That we’ll wake and take back our stolen history as you should be We have been patient and patients to an empire that never cared for us made us feel inferior in our own lands but our eyes are opening where your hands never did So should that door We do not want to have to break it down. Brown is beautiful.

[nomadgonemad-blog]

We Are Here

Uninformed and uniformed Conned to conform Death reborn Brown becomes broken Bullets replace vocal chords Wrists release broken swords Pawns on a chessboard Brown became broken To shoot is to be heard To be heard is to be shot A hashtag is all we’ve got Brown becomes broken Brown became whitewashed. Brown became demonised. Brown became forgotten. Brown became broken. But brown is beautiful. We always have been and we always will be History doesn’t forget and neither do we Brown is beautiful. You are afraid That we’ll wake and take back our stolen history as you should be We have been patient and patients to an empire that never cared for us made us feel inferior in our own lands but our eyes are opening where your hands never did So should that door We do not want to have to break it down. Brown is beautiful.

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Martyrdom

Shadows and their puppets War without trumpets Are you gone or still going? Growing thoughts still buoyant Bayonets dyed potent The rodent draws the first cut with his last word It’s a world of cats and he’s played his role Bought lies, truth sold Highest bidder can have his soul In an attempt to stay warm ending up cold Dying over blood that never boiled And soil that was never home Sail alone, sails gone Sun dawns, swords drawn Ignore the drawing board We’re drawing home We’re drawing closer towards home Smell the victory Drag the daggers closer to the belly They will not have my soul Trample our temples and loot our temple If only your salvation was that simple Betrayed but only dented like dimples We do not fear death. We do not accept less.

We do not accept lies.

No boarding up doors Just foreheads to the floor We pour tears for the poor We ask guidance for the rich We don’t know who’s who Or which witch is the wickedest We’re getting cast with spells from all directions Time tells we’re way past any elections Way past what you’ve preached - More war cries; more crows circle Their swords circle We hold hands in a circle The world drifts in a circle Time a circle Come closer so you can hear our last prayers Before you strip off my earthly layer And I ascend to God’s lair.

[nomadgonemad-blog]

False Gods

Walking amongst false gods playing the game of odds On the way to see Oz ‘Cause yellow bricks don’t seem as odd no more Am I warmer or still cold broken souls refusing old Is it fire or the coal or something hidden behind open doors Is it open for the poor? Or designed for your service and only for your purpose Are you the serpents that tried to come before? Are we just tools for your war? I don’t have any answers We’re both armed with symbols but while yours are designed marks mine are just question marks So I ask Are you the poet or the prophet or the man just making a profit? I don’t understand what you’re standing for ‘Cause I see hate more than love I see plates full of donation yet no mercy from the above Is it just too much that I’m asking for? Or should I ask for more? Should I ask the Lord? How much can we afford and what can’t we It’s elementary to expect the answers through a running commentary It’s common sense to ask and now it seems normality to wear a mask So does the truth lie anymore? Or is that it? Does the truth lie?

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Outsider

Standing, straight faced and still in chaos amongst those who run to find masks and face other masked men in the place labeled “everything is fine”. But it isn’t, is it? I’d rather place a hood over my head than live in that falsehood. False hoods with real wounds. Maybe I was as false as the rest of them, delaying my own growth into my skin in fear I was growing the wrong skin because it was so different to them. Fitting in but not feeling in felt like a splinter. It was being told the music of your culture is backwards and inaudible noise. It was being asked why you are wearing certain trainers when 4 years later I saw every one of you motherfuckers rocking the same style. It was being completely unashamed of the colour of your skin or your political views but being ridiculed for not following the white version of historical events. I’ll never apologise for telling you your empire destroyed my homeland. Fuck you for making me feel insecure. I think about those times just like I thought about them at the time. An outsider who was always in the crowd but never part of it; a bystander who’s standard of fun fell way off the drunken stories of things everyone claimed they couldn’t remember yet recalled with unerring accuracy. I craved company but not their company. And loneliness pushes you to act like someone your not. I can’t knock some of the people I met along the way who were wonderful in their own right but friendships are a lot like a puzzle. Some pieces click and some don’t, and some you force but the picture looks like it doesn’t belong. From the friendship group of many, I left school with less than a handful of people I kept in contact with. When you find yourself, you realize why things were the way they were. And out of uncomfortable times, the most powerful talents can be unearthed. My talent came from the words I wish I could have said but rarely did in fear of finally making that transition from outsider to outcast. Funnily enough, one of my closest comrades came from the “freaks and geeks”. The fear school society creates at that vulnerable age can damage many and molds most into something they were never supposed to be. Of course, in the latter years I did say those words. But I would never have possessed that courage had the page not listened to my rage and pains first. In that position of outsider, you observe the workings of the inside, from the center of attention to the crusts begging to be included. All surface conversations with the boys making puddles out as oceans. You observe the idiots for who they are; you see the clever for who they are not. You observe group mentality in action. Most of all, you see the falseness in the cracks of walls everyone puts up in fear of being judged. It was in those cracks I wrote my first sonnet. It was on top of those walls where I spat my first verse. Once the shackles come off, you find the key to your own voice. And that’s when you realize that’s all you ever needed. You see, real doesn’t have a definition anymore. Neither did it then. Real is you. It always has been. 

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Tongue twisted and tongue tied Alive feelings masked by dead eyes Turn 180 or hit the bullseye by going straight for the thighs She’ll resist.  Yet not question the fact that love exists rather persists The lists of things she wants I tick bar one but all it takes is one At an arms length and all that A punch from one inch and back on my back It’s back to basics Three words so simple yet with so many faces The mind traces what hands used to Loneliness it could never get used to She managed to push through and pull out the treasure amongst the many shields and forts Now lies an empty port waiting for her to dock back home

NomadGoneMad

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We were happy. Yes, past tense but I’m past sense. I asked my father what love is. He said heaven. I disagreed. I still think it’s you.

NomadGoneMad

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I broke your past. You broke my chest

NomadGoneMad

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Her eyes were shooting stars looking for home

NomadGoneMad

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Mirror

Sometimes I pick up the pen and I don’t quite know what to write about. Usually, I just let my heart play puppet master to my fingers; it inevitably ends up being about you. But its been 3 years since you left. So tonight, this time, I’m going to use this page as a mirror and write about me. 23. Skinny with a fashion sense covering up more than just a body. I’m hardly a poster boy for anything but I post about everything. A mind either driven crazy by thoughts of revolution or left lonely by being a bit too in romance with romance. I’ve been to 29 countries in the last 2 years. Searching for the sake of searching - running from you only to realise you can’t run from yourself. 6 months ago, I made an effort to finally move on. 

Last week, I cut it off with the 5th woman I’ve seen in that time on the 4th night we were together. You see, I said everything she wanted to hear. My words were rainbows and gold dust and roses, splashing her heart with an image I’d never be able to back up. My paintbrush was a shard of heart. A shard of heart to open her chest just to put my restlessness to rest. I did warn her, I’ll take more from you than just sex. And I didn’t even give her a reason when I left.

Truth be told, this sin is my redemption. My exception from the hurricane in you that had washed parts of me into areas they didn’t belong. If I had been honest, I would have told her I only made love to her because she looked like you. You. You with the heart made of crossbars and crowbars. You with the eyes which made the sky vacant of stars for they could never match your glow, your beauty. You that stares back at me every time I look into a mirror. And eyes might lie but mirrors never do. And I find myself using everything as a mirror just to see if I can still find you. If I can still find me. Where did we go? 

Where do you go when the only one to mend your broken heart is the one who broke it?

Nowhere – so I wander aimlessly on late night walks amongst those who drink too much and laugh too little, in beds where lovers are replaced by frauds who merely imitate cupid and his arrows, in solitude with nothing but a spliff , a pen and my best proof of god. A nomad gone mad. A nomad gone mad with a soul searching for permanence after you stole it’s calm and left it in turbulence. I used to have ideals of life and philosophy and a thirst for knowledge which went further than covering up scars and an excuse to not think of you. But truth be told, you already gave me the answers to why we are here. Lost and broken I may be but I’m searching for us again. I’m not a fool. I know that life isn’t a movie, no matter how many times I close my eyes and hope to see you there when they open again. But love. Love is very real. Love will take me home.

[nomadgonemad-blog]

Dishing and dashing like fishing and fasting It’s patience or a fast thing Are you finished or lasting? Social classes clashing Asses becoming assets and we’re slashing the worth Don’t quite know what comes first - the bargain or the purse Gone far from what hurts Saying sentences like blurts Whatever thoughts descend Skyscraping views on the descent all residue, no curfew just gibberish, self punishments and soul searching for permanence - the turbulence Stick with the turban or ban the sticking And go forward without a purpose Trees and serpents Its seas and mermaids I fear the resurgence of the 6th Far from a gift When myths shape shift and lift into reality They cause rifts in preset formalities Casually panicking - partially turned mannequin Silencing like harlequins We’re all just Harley Quinns Maddened with carousels and sugarcoated sins Disguised as thick or slim Sink or swim And so we Float.

NomadGoneMad

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Hybrid Minds

We’re running, we’re running, we’re running. We don’t even know what we’re running from - algorithms and sums and some. Sons lost in the sun. What have we become? Something we never could have predicted Predated memories feeling scripted and re wrote and re played this is our play but not ours to play Can’t even find the button to play Puse ain’t working either I want never never land Netherlands and nether lands I want everything that’s banned I want ray bans blocking spray tans and water cans doing the can can so we can go to Cannes Crash the festivals and screen our testicles We’ve seen enough of yours We’ve seen too many closed doors We’re whores and we want more so spread your legs out on this checkered floor and take me to dimensions I aint ever seen before

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She had the world in her hands, and let it go for a hand

NomadGoneMad

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She went to see if the grass was greener on the other side. I'm still waiting here with our picnic

NomadGoneMad

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I’m as different as the rest of them Going by life without arresting suns Arrested development and a resting gun for a heart I’d rather get to the end than know where to start And that’s why its one nights and playing a part but staying apart No shared apartments; just rented compartments Give them back to me when you’re done ‘Cause I’ve already lost some and tryna make new is far from fun I’m far from saying look how far we’ve come, I’m still learning sums And 1 plus 1 only equaled 1 once in my life

NomadGoneMad

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Red blues A purple bruise The fool cried he was too cool to be schooled Drowned in a wise man’s drool for a swimming pool No rules on which tools you use to be ahead End up battling your own head Its alive posing as dead Diamonds posing as lead All that glitters is soul But all that matters is gold All that matters is grey A world full of Jean Greys X men and ex men Genius hidden in the past tense Mind’s dense - lost sense Sole sold for pence The devil’s fence Fake grass Fake class He who laughs first laughs last And we’re left last With a shotgun or a shot glass Phased through phrases Lost in mazes Which never amaze Just set ablaze crazes And hazed dazes Product placements And misplaced products Ripped tear ducts Only one trigger needs to corrupt For the volcano to erupt Exit door shut Scene cut to the entrance Losing balance Juggling chance and the chalice A dance with the damaged Romance with the famished The heights live lavish The lights switch off Criss cross between what was meant to stay lost And what was meant to be found Sound clouds what streams down And what does streams down Is not a pound of pounds But a pound of flesh A pound of flesh

NomadGoneMad

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Fidgeting for her camera phone My face lights up her camera roll She treats me like her cannibal She’s my cannonball Her eyes are my canopy Where we can both see Love is blinding But she never puts up any blinds She shines even through the lies Even through her thighs She takes me to see skies even though my wings are shy I say I can’t see limitless, she closes my eyes and says try Say bye to highs and hi to fly And so we fly In nightgowns and underwear Our hearts wear under what we wear But we swear on crashing stars and meteors That we’ll meet with boats and oars On one of the 3 rivers If we don’t stay one now, we’ll be two forever She says I’m too clever for my own good I close her eyes with my hand and say meet me in the woods Where we can be lost bears bearing all that never lies bare.

NomadGoneMad