The price of colour-

The price of colour-

IMG_6046.JPG

I read in the papers
Today,
A young boy and his father,
Under the blanket
Of night,
Hitched a boat, set sail
Across the ocean;
Behind them- the ground
Waiting, waiting to be
Stepped on and triggered into
Explosion-
(A boy and his father escaped).

Across the ocean,
to a land- the land of the free,
Where freedom comes
With no price, and life
Is valued.

A young boy and his father
Arrived- thrilled- alive.
Two years down the line-
August 11,
The newspaper reads;
A young boy shot down
On the street,
The young boy who escaped
To be free,
The young boy thrilled
To live,
Gunned down, for the colour
Of his skin.

Facebook page: words of a random. let’s connect!

Advertisements
Hands of man-

Hands of man-

IMG_5989.JPG

Because children are dying,
And women are dying,
And men and animals
Are dying,
And women are killing,
And men are killing,
And we-
Are the cause,
Of the death in our surroundings.

The climate is changing,
For we are polluting,
Then we complain,
The heat is unbearable;
The land shores are flooded,
And that’s not the problem,
The dirt they flow with,
We had thrown-
with our own hands.

The trees- are cut short,
New ones are not planted,
Animals tortured,
For simply ornaments;
Their forests are burnt out,
The animals homeless,
And yet we are
Mortified,
When they visit our home lands.

Children are dying,
Animals are dying,
At the hands of,
Men and women in our society.

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!

the above image Is courtesy of My word wizard

Writer’s quote: W.H. Auden

Writer’s quote: W.H. Auden

IMG_5718

Hello there! Welcome to another writer’s quote/ poem Wednesday where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s poem has to do with the overwhelming feeling of grief and mourning. I just realised that last week poem (O captain, my captain) was also regarding a similar theme. But despite the similarities in theme, the way the poems and the emotions are depicted in the two poems are completely different.

Today’s poem- stop all clocks, talks about a person who has lost someone dearly close to him. What I love about this poem is that it requires little analysis, written in simple clear words with vivid imagery. The first stanza describes what the character wants to occur now that he has suffered a terrible loss. In the second stanza, the grief is so overwhelming that the character wants the world to mourn with him. In the third stanza, he describes what the person who had passed away means to him and then finally in the last stanza, the character is so blinded with grief, he sees no light past it and wants the entire universe once again to mourn with him.

This I find so sad as the poem ends with the statement- For nothing now can ever come to any good, I pray no one dwells in such a state for a long and may we always believe in at least an atom of good to come.

Stop all clocks by W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Indulge me dear readers. According to W.H Auden, poetry is the clear expression of mixed feelings. So I’m putting this question out to you all, “what is poetry according to you?” 

The thing about grief-

The thing about grief-

IMG_5571

The thing about grief is-
There’s no time stamp attached;
The hours seem heavy,
And the days all crawl by;
You’ll remember their laughter,
Like it’s just minutes past;
You can still feel the warmth
From your skins’ last contact.

The thing about grief is,
It demands it’s due right;
An overwhelming emotion,
Which demands to be felt
It demands to be lived,
As a passage, a rite;
In order to see past,
The darkness of death.

The thing about grief is,
There’s no time stamp attached.
And like most things in life,
It doesn’t last forever.

Writer’s Quote: Ella wheeler Wilcox

Writer’s Quote: Ella wheeler Wilcox

IMG_5542.JPG

I found the above quote while scrolling through my twitter feed and had to share it. Why? Because the atrocities going on in this world are so much that we may sometimes forget there is kindness in this world,

Because, young girls are dying and children are dying. Because, the current generation which are the future are grieving; they’re mourning; their innocence dimming as they see murder  happening around them everyday, it may as well be classified as normal. Because the upcoming generation, and not just those growing up in Syria or Iran or Kashmir, but all around the world- in Nigeria, in Turkey, in Bangladesh, in Palestine, in the United Kingdom, in the states, deserve to have a sky devoid of air strikes, a crowd devoid of bomb blast. They deserve to have peace.

I hope to convey my emotions by sharing the following poem by Ella wheeler Wilcox as my writer’s quote/poem Wednesday submission. I may not be in the North-Eastern part of Nigeria where the boko-haram insurgency has crippled their inhabitants, I may not be in Syria and Palestine where their lives are under constant terror and little seems to be done about it, I may not be in the United Kingdom where a coward of person takes the lives of innocent citizens. But in the words of Ella Wheeler, I echo your cries and I echo your sorrows.

The little white hearse by Ella wheeler Wilcox

Somebody’s baby was buried to-day–
The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back,
And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay
As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way,
And a shadow seemed drawn o’er the sun’s golden track.

Somebody’s baby was laid out to rest,
White as a snowdrop, and fair to behold,
And the soft little hands were crossed over the breast,
And those hands and the lips and the eyelids were pressed
With kisses as hot as the eyelids were cold.

Somebody saw it go out of her sight,
Under the coffin lid–out through the door;
Somebody finds only darkness and blight
All through the glory of summer-sun light;
Somebody’s baby will waken no more.

Somebody’s sorrow is making me weep:
I know not her name, but I echo her cry,
For the dearly bought baby she longed so to keep,
The baby that rode to its long-lasting sleep
In the little white hearse that went rumbling by.

I know not her name, but her sorrow I know;
While I paused on the crossing I lived it once more,
And back to my heart surged that river of woe
That but in the breast of a mother can flow;
For the little white hearse has been, too, at my door.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/the-little-white-hearse-by-ella-wheeler-wilcox

Flash Fiction: In the moment

Flash Fiction: In the moment

IMG_5478.JPG

D.I Lucy was led through a snow-covered narrow pathway which led to the penthouse’s door. Both sides were bordered by a variety of flowers consisting of chrysanthemums, oleanders; those were the only two she could identify under the blanket of ice which formed thorny cushions on the plants.

One in particular caught her gaze. Slowing her pace, she tried to place the flower in her mind. What was it called again?

It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
D.I Lucy’s thoughts were interrupted by her guide who wasn’t much of a talker, which suited Lucy just fine.
“I noticed you staring at that flower a little longer“.

D.I Lucy managed a weak smile in return as they arrived the house door, making a mental note to check out the guide later on- she was observant. D.I Lucy made three sharp knocks on the door, bracing herself for the worst part of her job- breaking bad news.


Word count: 154 words. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge where each week we are given a picture and are to write a 75-175 word story surrounding it. Thank you very much @loniangraphics for this week’s photo.

J- John McCrae

J- John McCrae

IMG_5413

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.

The girl with the black veil-

The girl with the black veil-

IMG_5353

Yes she will smile and,
Yes she’ll say thank you;
But only when needed,
And that’s all she uttered.

Yes she would walk and,
Go into classrooms;
But thats all she went to,
And only when needed,

She walked with her head high,
Her blue eyes looked downcast;
A black veil her trademark,
We named her dark widow.

But no one, yes no one
Even once tried to get her,
To open the world, we all
Knew she held within her.

Her frail body floated,
Under layers of clothing,
The nickname travelled fast
But she walked on unbothered,

Until the day she didn’t,
The girl with the black veil,
The news came as a shock,
Our dark widow had passed on.

We found out the reason,
She hid behind a black veil,
Leukaemia- they called it,
Her cells were killing her.

We prayed for Azmeena,
We wept for her departure,
She fought all alone,
And we did nothing to help her.


This is something I wrote as a free-write literally now, Just to keep the muse going. If you are not a fan of rhyming, feel free to ignore this. 🙂

the above image Is courtesy of  Emaho magazine.com

Day 3: I stand with them-

Day 3: I stand with them-

image.jpeg

Let your voice be heard above the cries of
those living in the midst of violence.
The sight of blood- a daily occurrence,
In grief and sadness their lives are engulfed.

A moment of thought for our fellow men,
Our Sisters, mothers who are war besieged,
Unaware of when they’ll get their next meal,
Their world is in chaos- I stand with them.

Let your voice be heard- for the ones whose land,
Once filled with greeneries of different kinds
Now turned, a graveyard- a horrendous sight
Of bodies in layers, a burial ground.

So, I stand with the ones whose blood is shed,
Mercilessly and their cries go unheard.


Day 4: A sonnet. Oh my, I didn’t know writing a sonnet could be so hard, what with the rhyming and the long syllables, but then again, I am glad I did it. This post is in response to DecemberPoetryChallenge.

the above image is courtesy of Third force news.org.uk

On Grief-

On Grief-

image

I would tell you loss gets easy,
But I’m sure you’ve felt that pain,
An aching dull sensation,
In the middle of your chest;
Hands tremble uncontrollably,
With the phone gripped to your ear;
Sorry we couldn’t save her,
Is the last statement you hear.

The world spins all around you,
But the truth stares in your face;
A soul you loved, a part of you,
Gone from this universe;
To tell you loss gets easy then,
Wouldn’t take away your pain;
So weep my love- unburden
Grieve if it keeps you sane.

The above Image is courtesy of Brokengypsy.tumblr.com