Boom! go the guns
and Boom! go the shells
as I run through the mud,
splashing and sploshing,
Boom! goes a bomb
and I see the guys go down.
Squelsh! go my boots
as I run through the mud,
through the dead and the dying,
pleading for help.
But I can’t stop to help,
I’m just an infantryman.

Then suddenly,
I round a corner,
and come face-to-face
with someone other,
someone from the other side.
He raises his gun,
I raise mine,
oblivious to the sounds of shells that drop behind,
Never met him before,
never even seen him,
but I’ve got to kill him,
One of us has got to go,
and I prefer to stay,
to see my friends again some day

Bang! goes my gun,
then suddenly he’s down,
groveling on the ground.
Then it’s all silent,
and I realize,
this is no video game,
this is life,
and who knows what dreams and hopes I shattered?

But it’s not my place
to question why,
it’s my duty
to do and to die.
One of us had to go,
and I preferred to stay,
but can I just ask,
Isn’t there another way?


Four To A Cafe Table: a meaningless story


I had to write a descriptive writing during spring in my English class and decided I might as well put it up here.



The Monday morning crowd rushed through the cafe doors in a breeze. The Monday morning crowd consisted of the same people who made up the Friday night crowd – businessmen and businesswomen, interns, news anchors, college students, teachers and professors who were as late as their proteges  – one and all came to the cafe for their morning fix of coffee and doughnuts, coffee and cereal, coffee and pop tarts – what came with the coffee differed from person to person, whether it was black coffee and honey, coffee and creamer, coffee and milk, black coffee and Stevia for the health nuts or creamer and sugar with a tip of coffee for the sweet teeth – but there was always coffee and sometimes only coffee, no matter what.

The Monday morning crowd was very large, which meant that four people had to jam themselves at one tiny cafe table, and that meant fights for space would start up. Squalls broke out in nearly all parts of the cafe, and hot tempers had to be cooled by the waitresses, who handled such matches with a coolness that said “I’ve done this a million times before”, and several obliging table sitters who threatened to attack the other rioters with scalding liquid shells from coffee cup cannons.

But let us now go to a corner of the cafe. Here the noise seems to disappear, because of four coffee-drinking folk who sit around a tiny black table that is much too small for them and the things they have on the table. The four coffee cups are at constant risk of spilling their contents. The laptop seems aware of this fact, for it looks down at the cups with a mixture of fear, displeasure, and impatience. These four have not said a word to each other, and this is their first time having seen each other, yet there is an amiable spirit around this table and there is no fighting for space.

The woman sitting with the laptop is undoubtedly an introvert, as we can see by the thick headphones, the focused air about her, and the aura of Calliope, Clio, Erato, Melpomene, and Thalia, the five Muses of epic poetry, history, lyric poetry, tragedy, and comedy, which all scream “writer” at the top of their lungs.

The woman opposite her is intently looking at some papers which have to do with the latest trial in the city. This, and the legal air she has proves to us that she is an acclaimed attorney. She wears a beige suit and, even though she doesn’t seem like a proprietor of folly, wears a pink coat. Strangely enough, she has something of Terpsichore, the Muse of dance about her.

The young lady sitting at the end of the table which is closest to the door is an eighteen-year-old, fresh out of high school and enjoying her few months of freedom before she is swept into college and into the rigorous schedule of classes, tests, studying, parties, burning the midnight oil, and thick textbooks.

The twenty-something guy sitting opposite the young lady is obviously a nerd, which is shown by his nerdy hairstyle, his glasses, and that detached look in his eyes which shows that he has perhaps spent too much time in Lord of the Rings Online, Rift, and the Elder Scrolls, and is likely to get Varian Wrynn mixed up with Barack Obama and Northrend mixed up with Antarctica

The Monday morning crowd begins to rush out with a breeze and our specimens rise, leaving their payment and tips on the table, and then rush out with the rest.

The waitresses wander through the cafe, gathering dirty coffee cups, bowls and money. And outside, the Monday morning crowd disperses and gets mixed in with all the other Monday morning crowds. Each of them enter his or her own car, some catch buses, taxis, or subway trains, while others exercise their legs and walk. But with all of them, life continues.