Rudimental Ruminations Against Rumours of Ruination

I sang a sonorous sorrow song for snivelling Solo.  And then breathed the lilt of life into his cancer-ed bones...

Shall I then not drag your private fear into the public gaze?
Shall I then not lift veils off your  fears of the dying of the day?
Shall I not break through the cordons of conventional proprieties
And cry your familiar pain into the complacent noise of the vulgar market place?

Trainee, I got your heart-beat soul-thirst spirit-zeal letter today
And in it I  also read your multiple doubts in streaks of multiple red signals
I read of the dread of myriad moons casting dreary shadows on your day-dreams
I read of the perpetual feel of the underdog lid on top of your  reluctant head

I read/felt it all because it is what we all know in the insistent ardour of this kill-dreams space. What we all must wake up to on Monday Morning and go to sleep with on Sunday Sundown. The booming blasts of the muezzins of impossible-lore. The cacophonous melange of die-quick prophesies from  prophets of doom who  have given up on life and embraced death-wish as their only salvation from challenges that the human spirit must rise to must loft on must transcend finally...

Familiar strains Trainee familiar strains of the debilitating masterpieces of darkrooms of fear/doubt/death
Familiar strains oh Trainee familiar strains because I too have heard them before I too hear them everyday I too will hear them tomorrow
Familiar strains Trainee familiar strains because they seek to kill the primal songs daemonic songs destiny songs that we must sing
Familiar songs Trainee familar songs because they are ubiquitous roadblocks that insist we carry the burdens of our yes-we-cans into the eerie silences of sinister cemeteries...

But Trainee oh my Trainee of the Nights that rock the hope-boat
It is not true it is not true what they say about underdogs whose villained voices must stray away from the mellifluent rhymes of greatness
It is not true it is not true what they say about of all of us being lost generations whose voices scatter untracked like lost planets lost from the Milky Way
It is not true Trainee it is not true in spite of all that a thousand naysayers in their hallowed follies pronounce

So go out there and sing and dance and fly and touch your skies
You go out there and dream of days of drudgery and nights of passion and victories that must follow
Go out and shout over and over I know in my heart I can do it I know in my heart I can do it...
Benevolences of our universe will echo you we know in our hearts you can do it...you can do it...do it...
And then you will do it you will do it you will surely against all the odds do it do it do it


I wrote this for you, Trainee, because I too believe in my heart that you can do it/you will do it.