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Neighbor - Bloggers Unite! World AIDS Day

Neighbor
Stephan Jerrome

I walked daily
near the window of the house
which framed the dying man.

Saw his silhouette
sometimes seated,
usually reclined
always thinner
as the sounds of television,
muted talk of visiting friends
made shadows around his bed.
Once I caught the outline
of a nurse hovered over
his extended arm
heard a twisted groaning
as I hurried, late to work...

In the morning, light
from uncurtained windows
on the far side of his house
would shine across the hardwood floor
stopping at the bed
a whisper-reach from where I passed;
I saw highlights on the blankets,
his young man's sleeping head
cheeks hollow, mouth agape
propped up on pillows --
later, on a rolling bed
with railings high that bound his wrists.

I hoped my routine footsteps,
the gate lock turning
would not wake him
as I went about my day
a little guilty of my health
my freedom, my mobility
speeding past the sports car
sunken, now and dust-brown
with four flat tires.

I was glad to see a cute new tenant
when Rick moved into the house next door
another artist on the hill
would be a welcome neighbor;
saw his photographs
through an open window
large color prints of high-style women
but he never asked me in.

Recently I saw him at a local bar
he kissed someone, it caught my eye
but he brushed past me for the door.
Was I mistaken? Did he not see me?
Was there something
I was not supposed to know?

Now I watched while passing by
shadows of an ominous play,
nurses, buddies, twelve hour shifts,
hospital smells in the morning air
Meals on Wheels each afternoon;
sullen, narrow shoulders
of an oxygen tank
beside the high profile of an IV bag
dangling high like a hanged man,
lights ablaze at four a.m.
as I wake up to take a pee;
the rushing, flushing
commotions of a private war.

I said little.
Went to work.
Came home.
Entertained.
Made the motions
of the walking well.

His friend said in the last few days
he clung to a life
which had become unsustainable.
"Why are you holding on?"
he asked his dying friend.
They were all exhausted
aiding, comforting,
at last facilitating
an uncontestable passage;
there were no more breaths
for euphemism;
the buttress of manners
redundant as scaffold
on a finished building
so the dying man was asked
Why do you linger?
"It must have helped," the friend concluded.
"Rick died the next day."

After that the house went dark
possessions carted off and scattered
his friends all thanked me --
but what did I do?
Took out the trash on Tuesday night
swept the path and kept my distance.
They thanked me, hugged me -- why?
I didn't go to say hello
didn't want to say good-bye,
pretending we were friends'
cause we were not.
We were only neighbors.

Copyright 2000

O' Brothers and Sisters - Bloggers Unite, Refugees Reunited!

This poem is dedicated to the tens of thousands war-weary citizens that have been displaced amid the surging violence behind the Congo's refugee crisis. I hope the powerful message this poem delivers will serve as an inspiration to those fleeing fighting rebel forces and raise awareness for the basic rights and freedom to which all people are entitled.


O'Brothers and Sisters
by Bhuwan Thapaliya

Your eyes, your face, and your grace
they look like museum specimens,
so lifeless and antiquated they are.

Your behaviors and modes of life,
makes me feel that you are
a mere replica of the living corpse.

Your arms, your legs, and your fists
they look like hollow straw
beaten by the frost of time.

O’ Brothers and sisters!
Listen, listen to me please!

“Stand up for what you believe in
and then fight for your rights.
Speak up for what you believe in
and then shout for your rights.

Then those who are weak
will get inspiration from you,
and in the future
they shall rise from their slumber too.

There are millions of unfortunate ones,
who are left behind by the human rights.
Think about these people, and act.”

Brothers and sisters!
Listen, listen to me please!

There is an eternal joy
and a real power for standing up
for what you believe in.

There is a silken pleasure
in doing the thing
that you think is right
for the betterment of us all.

Let the humanity’s will be done.

Let there be freedom amongst the earthly stars.
Let the blazing humanity burn the suppressor’s core.

Let the sons and daughters of this earth
dwell under the perpetual light of the liberation.

Brothers and sisters!
Listen, listen to me please!

Don’t cry, sob, and break out.
Don’t act as a half-starved limping snail
and let your life pass away
in a succession of listless restrains.

Gather strength from within you
Don’t let anybody suppress you.

Believe in yourself, my friend!

Empower yourself
to fight for your rights.

Copyright 2008

Bhuwan Thapaliya

Born in Nepal in the 1970’s, Bhuwan Thapaliya was raised and educated in Kathmandu. He studied economics and finance before turning to poetry in his mid twenties. His writing is imbued with the art and culture of Nepal that he grew up with but he is eminently qualified as an Oriental and as an Occidental poet, for his poetry truly represents a marriage between the traditions of East and West, and in a way that is immediately appealing and cohesive. Bhuwan is not just a poet; he is a man with a mission, seeking world peace. He is a prolific poet and is writing his own Everest, but his writing is not only about statistics. It is about spreading the message of global peace, universal solidarity and love.