Moment
Wakey wakey, rise and shine...the weather is fine...if you don't wake up...you will get confined

There is a deep feeling of satisfaction when your work is accepted by the International Library of Poetry. They've agreed to publish my stuff and have entitled to me the sole copyright for my poem. Been writing for years, but never felt my stuff good enough for anything until now...it's certainly some form of Divine encouragement

"You're a boy...." she said. I really do not not understand this fixation I have for her. Yeah, we haven't been talking for a really long long time, but we still hear from each other through close friends. I can't use the L word on her because that is exactly what I don't feel. She is a challenge of the wits and heart. Sensual, smart, spohisticated, and wilful with a touch of class. Sigh...the equations still don't add up, especially when she's a tall nymph, whose waist seems to grow an inch bigger every year...So what what if she's turning fat? I still think she's beautiful. When friends ask me about her, I just know my taste in women is exquisite

She's the goddess, I'm justa young lil punk desecended from the leprechauns. Remember those cute little creatures?? Their smart, fun-loving, elfish smallies who live in a world of fairies and magic. I admit that I'm like a monkey, but they say my ears are way too sharp for that...haha. We popped champagne and I chased my friend round the table. Bloody smart ass...knew I wasn't gonna let him off for pouring the whole bottle down my head, took cover right behind her. I was about to flung it all on him, unitl I saw the glare, "Don't you dare..." I felt like taking the whole bottle down on myself. The ferocity written on the eyes of a younger girl who thinks I'm a child. What a turn on...

My name is John Hope, and I am an antique dealer residing in Temple street, Reading. On the 10th of May at approximately 5pm a young Arab migrant by the name of Al-Masad came to my house. He brought with him ancient tablet, with inscriptions probably of Akkadian origins. Based on my observations, I told him that it was a rare find, as the archaic writings could have predated the dawn of the first civilisations that dwelled by the Euphrates river. He smiled, and revealed that this was indeed one of the oldest pieces of written history ever discovered on the face of the earth- the record of the tower of Babel. 'The Father of all languages' he said in broken, but audible english and proceeded to take his leave.......

Tower

10th day of the 10th month, 100 years after the Flood

Our settlement at the cresent of Shinar had flourished under the blessings of the Holy One. We had domesticated livestock, developed crop farming and contructed irrigation channels to feed our women and children. The people built magnificent cities of brick and mortar. Rulers wrote a systems of laws and codes for religious rites and daily living. All men spoke a common tongue, wrote the same form. The Earth was God's gift to us, and we were to lord over all that dwelt in it.

On the 1st day of the 1st month, Cush, supreme leader of the Akkadian council, made preprations for the construction of the Tower of 'Babel'. It was the Gateway to God, the high priest Umistiphar told me, a mark of a century of peace, prosperity and unity for all mankind. I was his scribe, and all records of the matter were delegated to my charge. It was a massive structure. The tower had a square base with dimensions of 500 miles. Sides were layered by steep slopes, forming a ziggurat. At the pinnacle of the tower a shirne was to be built. It would be the communal snactuary for the priests to seek the voice of the Holy One. We knew not the height of the tower, for the Council had intentions for the peak to touch the heavens, the Forbidden City of God.

Five hundred housand men were mustered. They worked endlessly on the site, horses and bulls were used to bring the piles of raw materials there. Slaves layered brick by brick upon the foundation, architects drew scrolls of plans and sculptors engraved ancient writings and images upon the walls. The men were divided into two batches, one to toil in the day, and the other to continue the work at night. We shared a common, divine purpose, but knew not its end, for mere man could never understand the complexity of the heavens.

On the 9th day of the 10th month, dark clouds covered the sky, heavy torrential rains impeded the advancement of our work. Eber, prophet of the clan of Shem predicted our devices would incur the wrath of God. The High council debated his clause, and overruled his appeal, denouncing him as a heretic and treacherous rogue. He was exiled along with his family to the unkown lands, never to set foot on the City gates again. Such a decision pronounced our doom, for at the setting of the sun, a great wind swept across the earth, and men broke ito sporadic babblings of incoherent words. One knew not the thoughts spoken by his brethren. The workers at the site of Babel fled, for panic and confusion had taken over our hearts and minds. Man turned against one another, women were raped, children were brutally murdered. Those speaking a common tongue banded together and indulged in looting, arson and all other vices of condemnation. The palace of the high council was deserted. The leaders, fearing the mob, had fled. Lord Cush had abdicated and had given the scepter to his son Nimrod, who took the remnant of the people preserving Sumerian tongue and escaped. His father was impaled by the rebels shortly after the Diaspora*

Babel was in ruins. Together with the people of Nimrod, I passed the through the debris, engulfed in thick black smoke. The rebels had destroyed the place. We searched earnestly for Umistiphar the priest, but all we heard was the wailings of a tortured soul beneath the hidden walls' of the tower.

*dispersal, a great scattering of peoples

Went for chemical defence training and took my IPPT this week...realised that I've grown a lot fitter since my school days...nah, I dun have arnold's body...neither can I run as fast as the africans...but it feels good...to know you have managed to break your own physical limits...

The Cell

They pushed him inside. Four towering figures, wearing dark blue latex suits, faces covered with gas masks. The door slammed behind him. The room was empty, no window for him to see the world outside. He sat down, eyes fixed in panic and confusion. A prisoner, without a memory, without a cause. His mind could hear the echoes of his own heartbeat, it was draining away his senses, taking away all mental images...
A scent, out of nowhere. He took a deep breath, deriving momentary comfort. Fatality, it took to his veins, a million ants eating into his flesh from within. He spun into a tunnel of convolutions, gripping his abdomen, ears weeping in blood. Blinded by the torture, darkness was his companion. He screamed, calling out names, howling curses at long lost entities buried in time. His nails engraved on his palms were melting, leaving an empty layer of flesh that dissolved deeper and deeper, seeping into the bones. Coughing white liquid emmitted out of a mouth with dried lips, the skin had finally disappeared. He closed his eyes...
The four men went in again. The air was clear, and they took off their masks. A solitary skeleton stood at a corner, kneeling towards them, a faceless skull, emptied of everything it was.