Posted in Free Verse Poetry, Historical Portrait Poetry, Poetry, Sad Poems, Thoughtful Poems, Woman's Poetry

My Damn Powerless Hands



It is hard

when you don’t know

where you are going.

And where

you have been,

is fading fast

for the ties that bind us –

barely lie past

the wounds we carry…


There has been loss

there is loss

there is more loss

than anyone can ever imagine

and though my heart still beats,

it is not the same.


What horrors

Have crossed my path

And what pangs of hunger

Suffering and mistreatment

Has my child had to witness?

My hands to hold

The only things left –

To help him feel safe

In a world that cares not

Our fate,

And even there –

I am powerless.


The sun may rise tomorrow

for some,

hovering in all her beauty

above the horizon

I’ve seen such beauty once,

but I can no longer bear to see it.


For everything I have lost –

I once held

in my two hands

and their emptiness shatters

the silence of my days.


Were I to mourn?

Who would listen?

Were I to cry out injustice

Who would speak for me?

I am but a lone voice

In a wilderness

That has been given

Me no chance

To right the wrongs

That I have borne.


Go back, they say

Yet where shall I turn to?

My weary child

Begs for safety

And though I am capable,

I have been prevented

From giving him a home.


And though I have travelled miles

Through sweat, hardship and tears

There is nothing left to fight for

As they carry my child away,

Arms flailing,

Crying out my name –

And my powerless hands

My damn powerless hands

Can do nothing.


© Sumyanna 2018


A similar poem was written by me in 2016 about Syrian refugees.  The story keeps being retold, and nothing has been learned.  Incredibly sad time we live in.


Image: Courtesy of


Posted in Historical Portrait Poetry, On Life, Poetry, Poetry from the News, Sad Poems, Thinking Out Loud, Thoughtful Poems

Hate Breeds Hate, The Mother of All Lessons

Resist (2)


The land is parched,

the sun reigns down

in fervent, feverish glee

but the rains refuse to come.

The rains have all been washed away

in tear-like repose

that slowly slid across the earth –

unnoticed, uncared for, and forgotten.

The powerful torrents of tears have passed

from years of thoughtless endeavor

they quickly fell beneath our feet

and we cursed their own creation,

summoning gold to fill our pockets

while we overlooked future truths.

The earth wept

for all the hurt-filled lies

the shouted curses

the sounds of boots marching

in weary streets

as indifferent shadows

carried ominous signs written in their soul’s ink.

You can hear them,

crooning repulsive war slogans –

go home

or better yet, just die

but not on our land.

This hatred is how we got here

all tied up in a bow

slung from the hate-filled backs

of protestors on different streets

but the feet were marching

to a similar odious tune.

Chanting whistled through the air

the intent of which resonated

whips lashing at innocent backs

you could hear the contact

and feel the torn flesh beneath its weight.

The result was infestation

and the air was filled with putrid blood

and still, they continued on, unquenched.

They cursed everything separate from them

felt comfort in their own hate

and they slid across the streets breeding lies

and what good did it bring?

Hate is the pestilence

that crawls upon this earth

and the result is death and grief

and then – more hate.

So now, yes – there are no more tears

just a lingering stillness of discontent

a waiting in the false silence

for the howls of war to begin

and each side peers to the next

waiting for the opportune moment

to take another one down

massaging their sleep-deprived skulls

with a salve of malicious intent

because the other side –

are animals

they are not human

they do not deserve

to live in peace

and they’re much better off


and I have more right

I have more right

I have more right

is the nighttime tune

they all use to lull themselves to sleep

only to wake, armed and ready

for another day in infamy

and they dress themselves in degradation.

The truths of history,

we should know them well

for the earth still weeps beneath our feet

in remembrance

but our intelligence blinds us to those truths

but know that there are those of us

who will refuse to take up arms

to fight a war we don’t believe in

and though you may have forgotten the words,

we shall pray for peace.


© Sumyanna 2017


Wonderful image courtesy of



Posted in Daily Post Prompt, Historical Portrait Poetry, Poetry, Sad Poems, Thoughtful Poems, Woman's Poetry, Word Prompt

Sterilization in the Hope to Prune Weeds, A Poem



Does it ever feel uncomfortable?
The sad history that hides
In front of our faces, if we only look
But hidden between the lines
Conveniently swept, beneath the carpet
And we wear our heritage with pride
But who wears the sin of these deeds
For is there no shame?
Our country was the first to argue
For improving genetic quality
Fortunately the program
Was shut down eventually
But after how many
Successful attempts
And who was the target?
The intellectually disabled
The mentally ill
Those deaf, blind,
Or deformed
Is it not bad enough,
To suffer once –
But again and again?
For who chose their shell?
Neither you nor I
And many states,
Yes – many
Sterilized women of
Ethnic minorities –
African American
Native American
For the color of their skin
Without their knowledge
And against their will
In hospitals that claimed
To help them
And in the 1960’s
60% of African American women
Living in Sunflower County, Mississippi
Were stripped of the ability to bear a child
It mattered not, whether married or single
And how many people looked away?
How many people would today?
And sadly enough,
Discussions have yet to begin
Regarding compensation.
And the more I learn
About my history,
The more I am

© Sumyanna 2016


Submitted for The Daily Post Prompt: successful

Beautiful photograph courtesy of


Posted in Historical Portrait Poetry, Narrative Poetry, Poetry, Sad Poems, Thoughtful Poems, Uncategorized

Have You Paid the Price, Dear Master?



You have burned
your lies
upon my skin
the color – dark
your hands now drip
with the blood
of innocent men
and I am but one
among them
and where does
all this glory lie?
but at thy feet
and I – your servant
I beg for mercy
but there is none
to be had
no trace behind
your cool, steel blue stare
and the whip you carry
snaps against the ground
its razor sharp tongue
slaps across my back
and I carry the wounds
upon my flesh
and I carry the wounds
upon my heart
but I refuse
to carry the wounds
much longer.
For the gnarled hand
that holds the whip
becomes frail in time
and the word master
feels heavy
upon my lips
and time – yes time
plays a cruel trick
upon us all.
For once your voice
could move mountains
for once your presence
could rattle the souls of men
and sometimes –
our only hope
lies in the truths
that death does speak:
it matters not man’s station
nor does his power
stand as witness.
No ferry
shall take him home
unattended –
everyone pays a price
whether it be by blood
or wickedness
have you paid the price,
dear master?
for I have paid mine.

© Sumyanna 2016


Gorgeous image courtesy of Pexels.

Posted in Daily Post Prompt, Historical Portrait Poetry, Inspirational Poems, Poetry, Thoughtful Poems, Word Prompt

Daily Post Prompt: Ruby Bridges



Little girl
ready to take
on the world
defiant and a dreamer
she changed
the lives of many
her little feet
walking up the steps
under shadows
of hate
she fought for
her education
to forge the way
and others followed
yet many have forgotten
how difficult the stage
the battle brought to her door
but brave she walked
through howling crowds
and waves of hate
she changed the world
in no small way.

© Sumyanna 2015


Posted for The Daily Post Prompt: Bridge

Image courtesy of Morguefile (AcrylicArtist)

Posted in Daily Post Prompt, Poetry, Thoughtful Poems, Word Prompt

Daily Post Prompt: Gun-Smoke and Tomahawk

They spoke in
shattered whispers
in the dead of night,
you could hear them
their sounds faint
upon the winds
echoing why . . .
our forebears came
climbing mountains
braving the seas
and sadly,
some came in chains
others here long ago
their legacy taken
no time to grieve
Move on, move on
Till the land bleeds dry
And there is nothing left
No time for remorse
Our forebears
pillaged and plundered
gun-smoke and tomahawk
chains and masters’ whips
and the earth still feels
the dull ache of
blood drenched grasses
yet we sing,
stand high, stand proud
and the wind asks why . . .
it is not so much
that pride is lost
nor that love can never
twain us meet
but I wonder
when wounds
will be mended
and when shackles
will be loosened
for many still
have bound feet
and hearts that listen
can still hear that wind
it echoes in the distance
above the smog and din
and our hearts
shall never settle
and the wind
shall never cease
till the time when
what was stolen
is given back
and in one piece.

© Sumyanna 2016

Gorgeous image courtesy of Morguefile.
Posted in Historical Portrait Poetry, Narrative Poetry, Poetry, Thoughtful Poems

Historical Portrait Poetry Series: Thoughts on Segretation

Historical Portraits


All of the poetry I have written for this series are narrative poems based on Historical events, whether in the past or present.


You see them sitting happily
All smiles on the bus
Whites in front
The rest pushed back
And somehow
They manage a smile
Pocketbooks clutched tightly
Against white skin
How can they not understand?
I suffocate at the idea
The world closes in
And the air tastes stale
Bitterness swallowed
How my heart quakes
I know not how
I could have lived
In such a time
My voice raised
My heart quavering
I would have stood up
And despite my white skin
I would have sat in the back
Perhaps hated by those I sat with
And bludgeoned by those in the front
But no matter what
I know I would have willingly died
For what I believe in.

© Sumyanna 2015