International Poetry الشعر শ্লোক ကဗျာ ליבע ਪਿਆਰ өлүм

with Michael R. Burch

Michael R. Burch

for those who don’t know chocolate!

 

for those who don’t know chocolate

the children of poverty

and the sleepers in the corners of ancient streets

for those who survived famines but are still hungry

for those boys who never dream

because they never sleep

for those who don’t know chocolate

but only heard rumors about its sweetness

the people with half a soul

who lack food and live in imaginary houses

 

for those who crawled on the sharp platforms at mid-night day

     after day

seeking the warmth to live

for those babies who never tasted milk

who stare with wide eyes looking for any help

for the hands of charity

and the sensitive hearts which cry and bleed

for those who gathered in the torn tents around the world waiting      such a long time

for those who don’t know chocolate

and haven’t the ability to imagine it

 

for the innocent faces washed by the rain

for the seekers of the smell of humanity in each dark alley

for those who kiss the sun through their contemplative glances

for those who write with heavy hearts and crushed dreams

the climbers of existence’s shoulder

looking for the face of justice

for the dancers with bare feet on Everest’s peak

who do their best to bring joy and peace

for the sun of tolerance warming our bones

for the bloom of the flowers

amidst the sky’s gloom

 

for those who never tasted chocolate

but have heard about its magic

the crawlers of the earth with their great desire

to make the difference between the past and future

 

for those who draw in the sand

with belief in their friendship with the waves of the sea

for the people murdered in every battle

for the injured soldiers in every war

for those women who haven’t the right to vote

 

for the fishermen in their ships

for the highest star in our sky

and for the rainbow

for those people with disabilities

and for those players with woolen balls

for the little boys who sell water

for the little girls who feed the roosters

 

for the nations which suffer from drought

for the victims of racism

for the dead murdered by terrorism

 

i write this poem

for those

who don’t know chocolate

 

 

Amirah Al Wassif is a freelance writer. She has written articles, novels, short stories, poems, and songs. Five of her books were written in Arabic, and many of her English works have been published in various cultural magazines.

A fallen flower

 

She lingers at the golden hem

Of foliage among a flock

Of yellow flowers clustered

Around an amaltas limb —

Her terminal abode.

Her prayer is to be reborn

As a mother to the bees,

To harbor weary butterflies

And feed them nectar

Till the sun recedes.

But for now as with others,

She must face this decisive

Encounter with life,

The moment she leaps

Down to where he waits

To swathe all, one by one

In a bright yellow shawl

Until he shades it to brown.

Now she discerns perfectly

How the pigment of time

Paints a monochromatic end.

All that efflorescence is Earth —

The fate of her kindred

And us all.

 

 

A journey to hometown

 

It is not a regular morn.

The ‘sunrise view’ alarm

Skylarks its autumn flute —

A wanderer prodding my grave.

The torpid eyes cannot slumber.

An ebony ink of silence

Soaks the glimmering city.

Foofaraw is like a bubble

Rambling under ice;

Its sway fractures my sleep

Like a half-broken biscuit

When dipped in a fervent teacup.

The engine’s demesne is the east

And the moon has promised

To babysit all along,

Bending my worry’s bones

To an enduring malleability

Of the now.

Each second is to sense

Things we should learn.

 

As I pass over the bridge,

Automobiles sprawl along

The city’s branching roads,

Steadfast, like ants

Marching to their obligations.

At a stoppage, I behold passengers

Carrying cheerless luggage,

Bustling around with a dutiful

Childlikeness.

Finally, a sundry chaos carves

My destination,

Where an underfed coolie clad in a red shirt

Looks hungrily to lift

The weight of my possessions.

The revelation of this journey

Is a lesson floating in my mind —

If loads bolster the coolie’s life,

My life should never seem a burden!

 

Richa Sharma resides near New Delhi, India and loves reading and writing poetry in her leisure time. She is a nature lover, an avid sky watcher, and a dreamer.

THE MOORLAND

 

Darkness deepens.

The day is being woven

Between the black and white threads.

From time immemorial,

The restless wind emerges and blows

Out of the ancestral graves.

By the tongues of the leaves

Death murmurs:

‘Life drops and splits like a tear,

Down the moorland where the devil vultures

Flutter with blade-like wings.’

Everyone is betrayed in their sleep

By the dream that makes us smile

Yet leads into the black hole of death.

The world overflows with funeral songs;

Each soul sings a dirge in the tomb.

After the violent fight with the shadows,

We yield with a scream

Echoing from clouds and hills.

It is our dreams that burn on every pyre;

Hope itself is buried in this battlefield,

The graveyard of the lost.

 

 

Muhammed E Rafeek graduated from the University of Calicut, Kerala, with a BA and B.Ed in English and earned an MA in English Language and Literature from Periyar University, Selam. He now works as an Assistant Professor at a private college. He blogs at www.phoenixkoppam.blogspot.com

The darkness reigns

Agony plants itself at my core,

Its seeds rattling in my heart like chimes kissed by the wind.

Shall my heart be forever scarred by your intricately crafted lies,

Their poison flowing like a river inside my heart?

Let me free of this pain, my lips whisper!

Tears course between the floor tiles as love pounds through                   my veins.

Pick them up, my heart pleads to another, and wear them around your neck like diamonds.

But hearts rarely listen to one another, I think in utter misery.

Pick me up and water me until I blossom as I once did,

Only to wither when you bore the sun away.

Spare me the taste of your truths and poison me with the lies of

     your love,

For I only live when I’m with you.

Come for me, my love,

I lie down among my own vines, dark and alone

And craving your taste.

Will you deny me what has been made for me?

I shall wait here till eternity begs me to leave.

I shall curl up among the memories of you until the ground swallows me

Alive and alone and so, so dark.

 

 

Mahnoor Waqas is a Pakistani MBBS student who’s a huge bookworm and a strong advocate of “writing is art.” She is intrigued by words and blogs about them until her friends roll their eyes!

RIPPLING RIBBONS

 

secrets—

entwined with

the curly tresses

of a misty kaleidoscope

that spoke of bright color

and supposed love

 

no keyhole big enough

to fit twisted entwinements

of moonlit whispers

 

the solemn flickering

of blue eyes

 

gentle keyholes—

struggling to give shape

to my subtle self

 

rippling ribbons

of blushed sky

illuminating the agony

beyond the keyhole

 

the solemn flickering

of blue eyes

 

I lace another secret

into my being

with a rippling ribbon

of blushed sky

 

 

Veerangana is a 15-year-old girl who lives in New Delhi, India. Her work has previously been published in the Haiku section of our September 2017 edition, and the International Poetry section of our October 2017 edition.

Gorge