Noel Negele- Three Poems

A True Story

It was 2007

a sweltering summer

as if the sun had leaned

closer on the earth

to take a better peek

on that day

and he was twenty two years old

and few people knew him,

his girlfriend had left him

and he had realised that

she would never come back to him

so he took a gallon of gas

went to a park in the middle

of the day

poured it onto him

got his light out of his trousers

got himself on fire

and stretched his arms upwards.

People gathered and in horror they saw

the sight of the burning young man

and a homeless man tried to save him

by throwing his only winter's blanket at the boy

but the young man threw the blanket

back at him, now also burning.

He stretched his arms upward again.

He stood there shortly, then fell down, decayed

and he was so deformed when the flames

finally gave way and the stink of burning flesh

dispensed in air and nostrils,

that you couldn't feel bad for him anymore.

He never made a sound.

Good People

There’s this large homeless woman

That sleeps on a bench

in an open shed of sorts

Behind my street’s bus station—

The fattest homeless person you’ll

Ever see, and she is a mad one indeed,

She snickers constantly, and at times

She completely shrieks with laughter,

Sometimes pointing at random people waiting on the bus

Always with her toothless mouth gaped open

Showing the back of her throat at us, that red

Tunnel into the darkness of her viscera…

And, understandably of course, the people

Waiting on the bus wear this familiar look of

Repulsion on their faces, sometimes they even

Hide their snouts inside the collars of their coats

Because of the tremendous stink suspended

But I think to myself that this person was once

A child, and this thought always seems to soften me.

Yesterday morning, I was waiting for the bus

To take me to a job interview and there comes an old

Lady, more like an old hag, you know the kind, one of those

People that through the course of their vainglorious living

Have accumulated a lot of disdain and detestation for lesser people

Or simply people that have ended up living a life not as great as theirs.

This old hag was glaring at that homeless person

Sleeping inside the open shed with a hatred so obvious

That it stunned me, I couldn’t fathom the lack of compassion

That was almost pronounced by those black eyes sunken

Into that aging face, with the stockpile of a life time’s hatred

Displayed clearly on each and every wrinkle—

She too was a child, I know, but her innocence was lost

And buried under a landfill of snobbish upbringing.

Who makes these people, I thought, why do we

Go along with it instead of pushing them off a cliff

With a discreet elbow on the back, while looking elsewhere?

But the most beautiful part of this

Was in the bus when we sat opposite to each

Other, she gave me the same look

Probably because of my disheveled hair,

The black pockets under my eyes,

Or my cheap clothes

And when we came across a church two

Blocks away, she crossed herself thrice

Like the good Christian she is.

The Rain In The Morning

Your words hit the spot

at times, she said,

she said I made her feel

strange, when I talked

her eyelids, she said,

felt heavy when she 

heard me speak

she was now used to

being around places

she hated and places

she hated less

around people she disliked

and people she disliked

less

she is fond of madhouses

something in them draws me

in, she said

there are no guilts for your

condition there, she said

she went to hospitals about

kids with mental issues

but not for the right reasons

she asked me personal questions

only to satisfy her curiosity

and I am without the energy required

to interact with her

and she said I sounded smart

and that she needed that

I said I was tired of saying

Smart things

She said she needed good friends,

I told her I don’t need friends anymore

She said that I was telling that

To myself mostly, that I haven’t founded

The things I once valued again, which

Makes me really sad

She said I made her both sad and happy

At the same time

She talked about effects I had on her

While I felt none from her

She said , you are very numb

Inside

I said, maybe you

Are right

She said that’s either power

Or weakness

I told her I didn’t know

That it was probably neither

She said she liked rainy

Mornings, I agreed with her

She remained silent

Asleep again or hearkening

To the rain

I focused on the silence

Between the drops

I worry for your sadness

She said

I said I was used to that too

I also said that love

Her love, or any love

Is temporary, so don’t invest

Too much on me

Your sacrifices should be very

Little to none, I said

She said she would try

She fell asleep

Or hearkened to the rain again

It was steadily soothing out

And the silence between the drops

Waited for it all to end.