Raja and Brone

As comes with all writing, this was inspired by RedSweetheart’s diary, since there was an arrangement of one entry that sparked an idea….thus I must give credit for the style of much of this poem…..thanks!

Raja spins in tiny snowfall circles,

Dancing with invisible partners,

For Brone can’t dance and thus he hates,

Instead, Brone looks with sullen eyes

And takes another drag off his cigarette,

He puffs out plumes and sighs: “Done yet?”

Raja laughs as they arrive at the usual

Red-white checkered booth, number four,

He hops onto the plush of cushioned seat,

Sends a sly and charismatic word or two

Straight to a waitress as she passed:

“Here we are, here we are at last!”

Brone rolls his melancholy eyes quite slow,

Slides in his side with labored breath,

Thanks the waitress with apologizing smile

Half-turned then back and another drag,

Smoke rolls in tapestries, in Brone’s way,

Then down fall the remnant ash into the tray.

Raja:

“Ah the sun’s outside today, so bright,

It must be summer I do believe by the heat,

I’m thinking of running today, how bout you?

Brone:

“It’s summer, of that I’m sure you’re right,

Yet clouds loom and rain I find no treat,

Thus running won’t be for me, it just won’t do.”

Raja:

“Fine fine, good friend, the clouds do appear,

What unique shapes of flowing design they make,

That to my eye looks like soaring bird, how bout you?”

Brone:

“Why dally on clouds, they remain all year

Yet rarely do they do but nothing, for god’s sake

Let’s fixate on something more important, please do.”

Raja:

“Then how’s work and how is pleasure?

With so much money from accounting for New York firms

I’d think you’d have stories grand to tell!”

Brone:

“All I do is work, no time for leisure,

Logged down with numbers that twist and always turn

It’s like I’ve died and gone straight to hell.”

Raja:

“Sorry, friend, my mistake, but at least you’re rich,

I barely survive on my tuppence yet I work like hours,

Though I believe math is harder than pumping gas!”

Brone:

“Riches make not a happy man, oh how I wish

That it wasn’t true, but time makes man’s life unsour,

Time to do the things he wishes to before he’s past.”

Raja:

“Then I be as rich as any, for I do what I love

And have good times, many, I hardly have time to think

Upon the sadness of poverty and life without point.”

Brone:

“Funny, indeed, how hard and long I strove

To do whatever I like and now I reach the brink

Of throwing myself to booze, whores, and joints.”

Raja:

“A wreck you are old friend, I wish I knew

How I could help to make life for you a joy,

But I have problems of my own, indeed, much worse.”

Brone:

“Then enough of my hedonistic failure, onto you,

What weighs down your mind, with me don’t be coy,

Tell me and if I may, I’ll help with overstuffed purse.”

Raja:

“Love of life and nature have I always had and still,

Yet true love escapes me and my dreams are fading, too,

All I ever wanted, as you know, is to be a music star.”

Brone:

“Hush up! I can’t believe you lament over false ills,

What you desire all you need is a will to pursue,

Sitting upon your ass won’t get you very far!”

Raja:

“Come now, friend, those are harsh words to deal,

If you really think me the loser of this pair,

Then I’ll gladly exchange your life with mine.”

Brone:

“Have it that way! My life is sure to have less appeal,

I’ll surely take you up on your stupid little dare,

You’ll come begging to return to a life so sublime!”

Thus Raja with devil’s smile stood and shook hands

With Brone’s angry stare and triumphant smile,

And so the two departed to return in two years,

Spending time living each other’s lives,

In different ways wealthy, in other ways poor,

And two years go before the two return to booth four.

Thus Raja marches through the door and hits his seat,

He checks his golden watch and rubs his stubbled cheek,

Finally, ten minutes late Brone does stroll in,

He smiles harshly and slides into the booth,

He waves his hand and makes an order with a wink,

Catching Raja take a swig from a brown-bagged drink.

Brone:

“Friend, you look a ragged mess, save the pressed suit,

Looks like you got more than you bargained for,

Repent and let me have my life, I won’t trouble you.”

Raja:

“Hardly, Brone, dear friend! I have more loot

Than I could ever dream for, why should I be poor?

I may be a little busy and tired, I admit that’s true.

Brone:

“Come now, don’t tax yourself doing things you hate,

Money doesn’t buy happiness, yet I still be your friend,

Thus I’ll give you back the time that makes life good!”

Raja:

“You always were an awful liar, Brone, you can’t wait

To take back your life, my life was hard to stand,

Admit it and we’ll switch back the way we should.”

Brone:

“I don’t hate this life! This life is absolutely grand!

It seems to me you just can’t face the fact you lost,

My grace is fading quick, concede or I walk away!”

Raja:

“You are such a foolish, stupid, waste of a man!

This life may be hard, but the reward is twice the cost!

I won’t give you back this life, no how, no way!”

The two stood-off in cat’s game for hours,

Til all words were dry and all feelings sour,

And neither side would concede that both life’s hurt,

That riches alone did not make men wealthy,

Nor did all the time in the world make life grand,

Thus Raja and Brone, sat, both poor, both lost, both sad.

And after days passed they finally broke away,

Each taking the other’s life without another word,

And off they went and both died, oddly, at midnight,

Just as the clock chimed the new year in, both died,

A bullet in the head celebrated the year 2001,

Thus ended the lives and stories of Raja and Brone.