UNTITLED
(i)
the bird keeps coming back
to the tree that is dying
why is it so hard
to leave what you once called home?
(ii)
how many ghazals died
trying to teach you to love?
quite a few—
some were from kashmir
some were from gaza
some were from karachi
some were from delhi
yet you chose to repeat
the words dipped in hatred
again and again
every night
Sutputra Radheyeis a young poet from India. He has published two poetry collections — Worshipping Bodies(Notion Press) and Inqalaab on the Walls (Delhi Poetry Slam). His works are reflective of the society he lives in and tries to capture the marginalised side of the story.
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GAZE ON GAZA
Gaze on Gaza; and weep. See the child in A and E, the child, alone, in A and E. See the man who stares, the man who only stares. See the woman who screams, the woman who only screams.
The bloody bandage, discarded limb, the blasted street, all rubble. Thick smoke billowing; low down a tepid sun that strains to shine.
See another bloodied child, the mother who still screams, and a father who only stares. See what may not be unseen. Try, if you can, to avert your eyes. Gaze on Gaza. Gaze on Gaza. And weep.
A DAY LIKE ANY OTHER
A birth of light on the skyline, as keen as a glinting knife, seeps through the sky like red wine, a sweet celebration of life. So the sun rises at its preordained time, the world awakes, night is gone, as it continues its inevitable climb in a sky far too blue for the Somme. And a mutilation of light and sound destroys the day, destroys my brother, shells, shrapnel tear up the ground on a day in France; a day like any other.
Once the days fell gently, like apples from a tree, and all our summers gathered there. Older now, the kitchen, my mother here with me, where burning butter permeates the air. A bicycle on a country lane, church bells pealing, a looming shadow, then a doorbell ringing, a face, not quite a smile, eyes afraid of feeling, a shaky hand, a telegram and the news that it is bringing. And a conflagration of bells and butter destroys the day, destroys my mother. And my time, too, will come; complete and utter. On a day in France; a day like any other.
Stuart McFarlane is now semi-retired. He taught English for many years to asylum seekers in London. He has had poems published in a few online journals.
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Unknown place near Sderot, last swing before Gaza Strip (in the background) Courtesy: Wiki
I, too, have a dream
I, too, have a dream …
that one day Jews and Christians
will see me as I am:
a small child, lonely and afraid,
staring down the barrels of their big bazookas,
knowing I did nothing
to deserve their enmity.
―The Child Poets of Gaza
Published by Toronto for Kashmir, Poems for Gaza, Promosaik (Germany), Irish Blog, Fans of Justice, Zeteo Journal and Kenyatta University (Kenya)
My nightmare …
I had a dream of Jesus! Mama, his eyes were so kind! But behind him I saw a billion Christians hissing “You’re nothing!,” so blind. ―The Child Poets of Gaza
Published by The HyperTexts, Poems for Gaza, Ishmael Gaza, Promosaik (Germany) and Tanzania German Youth
Something
for the children of the Holocaust and the Nakba
Something inescapable is lost—
lost like a pale vapour curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.
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Something uncapturable is gone—
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.
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Something unforgettable is past—
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
which finality swept into a corner … where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.
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Published by There is Something in the Autumn (anthology), The Eclectic Muse (Canada), Setu (India), FreeXpression(Australia), Life and Legends, Poetry Super Highway, Poet’s Corner, Promosaik (Germany), Better Than Starbucks, The Chained Muse; also used in numerous Holocaust projects; translated into Romanian by Petru Dimofte; translated into Turkish by Nurgül Yayman; turned into a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong; and used by Windsor Jewish Community Centre during a candle-lighting ceremony.
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Michael R. Burchhas over 6,000 publications, including poems that have gone viral. His poems have been translated into fourteen languages and set to music by eleven composers. He also edits The HyperTexts (online at www.thehypertexts.com).
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL.
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