Journals | JD DeHart
I’ve got no less
than three running
simultaneously
as if this is a race
of thought and hand
across a page and
heaven’s the end.
poetry web
Fallen to Rise | Indraneel Choudhuri
I thought i was ready to go toe to toe,
And beat every obstacle, challenge and foe.
That was however a big mistake of mine,
Not just a mistake, my biggest crime.
To my knees I was brought crashing down,
I looked like a fool and felt like a clown.
I was torn apart and ruthlessly destroyed,
My soul emptied and of any passion devoid.
Then within myself I found an ember burning,
A tiny spark and the gears started turning.
I pieced myself together slowly back,
And started searching for a plan of attack.
I now spread my wings of hope and fly,
Like the mighty eagle in the sky .
I have come back; back from the dead,
To take revenge for every word you said.
You wrote me off, that was unwise,
Now like the Phoenix I shall rise.
When Shall We Stand? | Ogunsanya Enitan Olalekan
Take a look at our crawling minds
as they walk on their fractured knees
hands knitted to the earth podium
all on the journey to move on.
Tell it to Papa
to pass the message across
with his dusty rusty gong
round the nooks and crannies of men’s hearts
the message to stand up to the challenge.
Sound it into the eardrum of mama
to inform her mates-market women
to tie their wrappers round their waists
with loins to fit
for the fire is about to be kindled.
Blind Destiny | Art Koulakani
My mother came from a blind destiny.
From periods of unjust cruelties.
She lived through a time of an old oligarchy to the new one, only the golden crown was replaced by a black turban.
She lived through the periods of human against inhumanity
My mother was a Persian gypsy and sang her freedom song so long in
dark alleys till her voice went blind like her life.
Locus | JD DeHart
this is the location
from which ideas
are born
tethered to one or two
theories
tied to a way a knowing
clustered, coagulated
around a question
from which more questions
are ultimately born
Coming to Earth | Zarrineh
Coming to Earth was a privilege for selected few, even up in Heavens, no one knew,
When it is your time to join the flight crew, not even a single clue,
A particle in a pile of clay, I wondered when it would be my day,
Rumi’s word on my tiny mind, “Love is a phenomenon of no other kind”,
I hear the flutter of wings; angels selecting different things,
Afterwards, it is quite blurry; there is a commotion and a flurry,
I am in a sack of water; from outside I hear laughter,
I see this young man caressing a woman’s cheek; his voice trembling and thick,
Somehow, I feel his touch, between us there is connection as such,
They dance to a series of songs, breathing happiness to their lungs,
My world is dark, limited and stark,
I am fed with a tube attached to my belly, unable to bounce freely,
No difference between my day and night, I am missing The Light,
All of sudden, I sense a stir, everything is fast and blur,
She cries of pain, his hand clenched to hers like a chain,,
I am going down; I am going to drown,
There is no hope in this darkness, oh what a mess!
Wait a minute; in unison they say, I love you, welcome to our crew,
I open my eyes; I see lots of light, things I don’t recognize,
But, I smell love; it was worth it, the push and the shove,
The road to love is pretty intricate; believing in love is significant,
I grab his finger really tight, sucking on her breast with all my might.
When…How…Why…? | Akinbode Israel
The veins of our children,
Lacking blood…dried pipes.
Swimming in dehydrated waters,
Drowning in sweats of shame.
The eyes of our children,
Lids are glued…scary sights seen,
Little eyes have seen rotten bodies,
Why won’t they choose to die young.
The robes of our children,
A carpet for hungry termites,
A hide and seek for rats,
Loosing out their skins to nakedness.
Our children’s palms,
Older than their minute age,
Is nature wicked?
Or our leaders are broken ladders?
When…
How…
Why…
…our children like this?