Archive for October 21, 2018

art from google

The Prejudice of Creed and of Racism’s Obscene Blight …

The light in her eyes shone so bright,

dispelling the emptiness of the quiet night,

she took my hand in hers, and held on tight,

I held on to the beauty of her soul, of her heart that infused in me the peaceful calm of love’s delight,

we sat together, holding each other close, as the copper sun was drowned in the pastels of that balmy summer’s twilight,

we sat in silence, as we felt our worries fade and take flight,

to a place far away, beyond the yonder, out of mangled sight,

as we shattered the shackles that bound us, ripping them apart with all of our might,

facing the distaste, the prejudice, the racism head on, knowing we were right,

on that side of history, that always prevailed, however long and bruising the fight,

… we still hold each others hands, though wrinkled by age,

we have held each other close in the midst of the tumult, in the muck of ignorant rage,

of intolerance of religious differences,

of hate for the other,

of the blandness that is sought on the vibrant expanse of our live’s stage,

… always knowing that we were brought together by a love so true,

the deep and abiding love you hold dear for me,

and the unshakeable love I have always held on dearly for you 

the wisdom of Nelson Mandela

art by banksy

a child of war and terror.


as she lies bleeding,

the girl who skipped, hopped to school,

all of nine and a half years old,

with ribbons in her hair and a laugh that was her father’s pride.


as she lies bleeding,

shrapnel lodged in her torn stomach,

she stares at her skipping rope,

blood soaking it the colour of cherries her mother buys.


as she lies bleeding,

she sees human shapes all around, thick in the black smoke,

blurred visions of scattering feet, 

shoes left behind,

hearing nothing but the pinging in her smashed eardrums.


as she lies bleeding,

she slips away and then she is dead,

a mangled heap of a nine and a half year old girl,

whose laugh was her father’s pride.



as she lies bleeding,

even in death she bleeds some more,

shrapnel wedged in her torn stomach,

stealing the light from her bright innocent eyes.

as she lies bleeding …

in jallianwala bagh in ‘19,

johannesburg in ’93,

leningrad in ‘42,

freetown in ‘98,

soweto in ‘76,

beirut in ‘85,

hanoi in ‘68,

st. bernadino,














aleppo still.


as she lies bleeding,

a little nine and a half year old girl,

whose laugh was her parent’s pride,

we know she’ll bleed more,

tomorrow and in many tomorrows yet unborn,

with shrapnel in her stomach,

ripped open and torn.


as she lies bleeding,

a child of war and terror.

art from google

from google

These days …

These days, so jarring and so harsh,

leave us contorted, face down in the vicious marsh.

These days, so painful and so hard,

slice into our souls, sliver by jagged shard.

These days, so defeating and full of hurt,

fragment the pieces of our being, our heart dragged through the cold wet dirt.

These days when we feel slammed down and kicked around,

these days when not a glimmer of hope is to be found.

These days, when our very own, splinter our days and nights,

these days when the ones we love the most steal our sunshine and shatter all comforting lights.

These days are cruel, every moment seems like an internal duel,

these days that reek, of a deep pain that allows a torrent of tears to stream down each cheek.

These days when all seems lost,

these days when our heart feels mangled and tossed.

These days must pass,

these days must leave,

as all days do,

slipping and fading through life’s sieve.

So that we may smile once more,

as we smiled so many times before.

So that we feel solace envelope us within the cocoon of peace,

when the pain and the hurt, relents,

so that at long last,

these dark times may finally cease …

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