L- Life after dusk

L- Life after dusk

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She grew up with laughter,
At the dinner table,
Holding hands across the street,
Kind of parents-
She was that kid with pink ribbons,
Daddy’s doll;

He was that kid- a replica of
hand me downs,
Wiping mama’s tears and cleaning
After papa’s mess,
He was that kid with barely average
On every test;

Life after dusk brought women-
Drowned in assortments;
Men elated for the peace at home.
Kids cradled- by soft hands
who’ve not experienced,
The touch of labour,
neither it’s sweat.

Life after dusk brought on a stench,
The kids knew too well;
An image they wish-
They could forget.

Life after dusk is different-
In every household,
Some build sweet memories,
Some dim the lights
Of Children, and their innocence.

K- Knowing you

K- Knowing you

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Those ember months brought along a certain feeling of longing and wistfulness I couldn’t adequately describe in words; a longing for the ocean while standing at the shore, watching the waves crash at my foot but not daring to take any step further. Why? A question I couldn’t answer until you arrived, one sunny ember morning.
And a girl who never believed in cliches took one glance at you striding into the parlour with my father and I knew, you would play a big role in my life, which you did… until you couldn’t.

Your smile would light up a room and your charisma made everyone comfortable. You let me be the joker in public with the jokes you enriched me with in private. And you- with your arms which were nothing like those of the future I had imagined, were my home.
Meeting you was a coincidence, knowing was a privilege, and loving you- a blessing

J- John McCrae

J- John McCrae

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Hello to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, in continuation with the a-z challenge I am currently undertaking, today’s poet’s name begins with the letter J, and he is someone some of you might be familiar with- john McCrae. The poem for today is called “in Flanders fields’ and it is about the First World War. It was written after the death of the author’s friend.

The first stanza of the poem talks about the dead lying in Flanders fields, and how the sounds of blazing guns have drowned the noises of the flies. The second stanza goes on to the describe the dead, who have lived and loved, now lain in Flanders field. The remarkable and different thing about this poem, for me, is the third stanza. Here, the author actually tells his mates to carry on with the war for the sake of the fallen, otherwise those dead would not rest in peace. This is a great contrast from several poets, who talk about the futility of war. Below is the poem, and feel free to share your thoughts on it.

In Flanders fields by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

I- I am I

I- I am I

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Have you ever experienced hate,
He asks.

Hate is all I see around,
First for my genes-
For defying the rules,
That schools and books,
Are for one gender group.

Then for this skin,
In which I strut around,
Unhindered by words,
Unreeled by looks,

The scarf on my head,
Hits the trifecta mark.
Judged for the manner
I worship my Lord.

He asks if I’ve seen hate,
It’s all I see around;
I say (to them)-
If you can be you,
Why can’t I be I.

H- Hope (took my hand)

H- Hope (took my hand)

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Hope took my hand
And said-
Let’s walk a while,
At first I was unsure.

It subtly webbed,
Our fingers-
I couldn’t, them, retract.

With the sound of just,
My heart thumps-
We walked for miles at length.

I tried to slip,
It held me back;
Without making a sound.

Hope took my hand,
Whilst despair,
Was wrapped around my arms.

It gently made
It’s way until,
Despair could not abound.

Hope took my hand,
We walked a while,
And that’s made all the difference.

G- Grief

G- Grief

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They’d tell you they’re sorry,
While you stare at the floor;
Wondering how on earth,
A part of you is now gone;
Their words sound so foreign,
Till your love’s name comes up;
Every mention- a drill,
Burning a hole in your heart,

They’d tell you they’re sorry,
And you wonder what for-
It wasn’t their fault,
Heck it wasn’t anyone;
You envision them strolling to
The arms of their love;
Looking down through welled eyes,
At the emptiness of yours.

They’d tell you they’re sorry,
And that they understand,
But you know they cannot fathom
The loss you incurred,
So you nod as they murmur
Words, meant to comfort-
Praying to God, he Is at much
Much more peace, than you are.

F- For my people

F- For my people

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The ground trembles
As one, after another
Drops in succession,
While the night is enveloped
By darkness,
And the residents,
Deluded-
By a false sense of security
Because-
Night is for sleep.
The ground trembles,
And many do not awaken.

Many do not awaken-
The sky turns hazy,
It’s smoky, choky
The kids are crawling,
Crawling towards an escape
There is no escape-
The ground is trembling,
The atmosphere hazy,
Death is overtaking,
While the world is asleep.

In line with my blogging friends Jade (an elegy for them) and Maria (emc2) who have each written a beautiful tribute to the people of Syria who have been victims of a cowardly chemical attack. I consider the people of Syria as my family. My sisters and brothers. And we as writers will keep on writing about their plight and the atrocities against them until the day peace resides once again and we won’t have to.

The beautiful Syrian sunset above was taken by Debra Ellis 

E- Embracing me

E- Embracing me

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I refuse, to
hide myself behind,
a self made wall of
Naivety;
An image of, satin
gowns on empty barrels,
Whose only action is
To agree without question.
To say yes in conformity,
And say no with the majority.

I refuse to,
Betray the brain matter
I have been created with.
A complex organ of sulci
And gyri,
An organ of comprehension,
Not repetition.

I refuse, to be
a machine of pants
And suits,
to betray my femininity,
and mould into,
What they think
Is best for me-

I choose to wear satin gowns,
with myopic glasses,
A functioning brain matter-
I choose to think.

This is a scheduled post. I travelled and wont be able to get back on until after I am settled. Take care and happy reading. 

D- Dylan Thomas

D- Dylan Thomas

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It’s writer’s quote/ Poem Wednesday again. In correlation with the A-Z challenge going on, I chose to share a quote and poem by a writer whose name begins with letter D and that person is Dylan Thomas. Below is one of the most popular poems of his.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

This is a scheduled post. I am away at the moment; take care and happy reading .

C- Colour me earth

C- Colour me earth

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You-
With the red hair and
Pale skin,
Eyes reflecting the cerulean
Sea;
You-
With the brown hue,
And hornets of untangleable
Four C,
Eyes- the colour of the bees’
Produce.

Yes, you-
With darkest of skin,
And you-
With the lightest of hair,
Do not,
let the world convince you,

That you’re-
less genetically blessed.

For blue- is the earth,
And green is the earth,
And black and brown,
Are from the earth;
And all of it-
We know is blessed.
By the one, in whose hands
My soul lies.

Today’s poem Is inspired by a Post I read by Nayana Nair. This is a scheduled post, I’m sorry I won’t be able to reply your comments, I’m currently on a travel. Take care, and happy reading.