W- When a girl is born

They say-it’s a girl,
And a chicken is slaughtered,
When a boy graces the earth,
A cow- he deserves.

They say- it’s a girl,
With one glance and their backs;
A boy breathes first air,
And is enshrouded by a crowd.

They say- it’s a girl,
and their shoulders feel burdened,
Cost of marriage is high-
Faces clouded with grief.

They say- it’s a girl!
In the 21st century,
The women curse their stars,
For birthing their kind.

They say- it’s a girl,
And ignorance comes to fore.
But without girls in the world,
There will be no men.

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V- Victory

There will be days,
When you’ll think that you can’t;
You’ll gaze all around you,
Not a kind eye you’ll find;
You may wish that the ground,
Should split into two,
Pulling you into an abyss,
Where you’ll be understood.

There will be days,
When you’ll think to the past;
And the memories locked up
Would surface to light,
You’d search for solace,
In the arms of your kind,
Not a shoulder would hold You,
While you wither inside.

There will be days,
When you’ll think that you can’t,
But you will; don’t you give up,
victory is at hand.

T- To the one who curses time

Take heed my friend,
And curse time not;
The hands of the clock,
Move the same for all.

It ticks and it tocks,
With each passing dawn,
Allotting 24 hours
Regardless, to all.

The time I waste,
The time you make,
The best of use-
Is all the same.

Take heed my friend,
and curse time not,
For time is faultless,
We humans are not.

R- Rape, there I said it

 

The Shock on their faces,
And the line of their lips,
Spoke much more than words,
Ever uttered could speak,
When she stood up
Gallantly,
On a 9 am
Assembly,
I was a victim of rape,
There- I said it.

Enshrouded by shame,
And Shadowed by fear,
For five years I wallowed,
Under the victim’s umbrella,
The word- I couldn’t utter,
Four letters of terror,
Hidden by society-
It happened to me.

The shock on their faces,
And the silence abound,
Fuelled up her drive,
As she spoke on her life,
She mentioned statitics,
And looked at the crowd-
Rape- Is a crime,
And shame is a lie.
You’ve a right to your story,
Your body,
Your mind.

S- Success

If I could do- half the job,
My mother did- in raising me,
For the young ones I am yet to birth,
Who’d look to me before anyone else,
In the matter of life,
In the matters of death,
In the matters of love,
Or religion, I’d be first.
If I could instill,
Half the morals she did.
Then- I will know
I have indeed succeeded.

No, there is no glitch in timing, today is indeed supposed to be letter Q but I opted to post on letter S. The reason is I have already written this a while ago, its just been sitting in my draft waiting to be posted. And also, I am exhausted, it’s been a filled up day and I haven’t had the chance to write a poem. As I type this, I’m on the bed and ready to drop off any moment from now. Good night.

M- memories of past

Lets rewind to
Say- 150 years ago,
When my people’s
Wrists and feet,
Glinted of iron sheet,
Under a scorching 45 degrees.

When the sea,
Was a place of terror,
And the shore- a land
Of no return.

When rulers, entrusted
With the right to rule,
Gave it all away-
For miniature return.
Like the lives
Of their men, was nothing-
Nothing but mere goods
To be traded,
Used and abused.

Until the tables turned,
Patience and resilience
Paid off.
Tears and sweat,
Blood and death-
Accumulated a victory.

That-
Is the history of my people
Your people.
Ingrained in their bone,
A will to not give up.
So don’t you give up.

Two weeks of the A-Z challenge done, two more to go. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to reply to all of your comments, it’s been a busy few days, but will Get to them. Thanks and have a lovely week ahead. ❤❤

L- Life after dusk

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.

I- I am I

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)

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.

F- For my people

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