Posted in Daily Post Prompt, Free Verse Poetry, Historical Portrait Poetry, Poetry, Poetry from the News, Sad Poems, Thoughtful Poems, Word Prompt

Building Walls, a poem

wall

 

You assumed

I was not strong enough

You assumed

I laid bare my heart-

And found unworthy,

I’d slink my way

Into the shadows

Unseen

Unknown

Unheard of.

Yet the traces

Of my existence

That you found so

Bereft of meaning

Barely scraped the surface.

You knew not my tears,

Nor their circumstance

You could not bare

The pangs within my heart

The longing reach for meaning

The painful truths of uncertain beginnings

Nor the iron will to make a difference

No matter if anyone cared.

I will not relinquish my right to exist.

You continue to sneer the truths

Of your unfortunate stance

Shout names into the streets

Tear apart, with your own assumptions,

The very decency of the fabric of my heart

And though I should be angry,

I shall let all the rage fall within your lap

Refuse to give home to your aversion

And allow the labels to fall by the wayside

Unseen

Unknown

And unnoticed.

For I know,

No matter which eye you see me with,

It shall always be tainted

By your own disgust.

You underestimate

The breaths

Which give birth to kindness

The hand, held out,

Believing another worthy

The power

Of different stories

Interwoven into a new narrative

And the difference

We could make,

Were we only working together

Instead of building walls.

 

© Sumyanna 2018

 

Written for The Daily Post Prompt: assumption

Beautiful image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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

Skewed, a poem

tunnel-3385624_1920

 

 

Nature desires

Clear vision

Open with wonder

Awake

And alive

No determined lines

No prescribed interpretation

Intentionally aware.

Yet along the passages

Of experience,

We learn

To skew our view.

Beauty is defined

Delineated

Proscribed

All else fails

To interest.

Like ants

Scurrying

Toward a meal –

We have no time

To notice

The harm

And we rush

To scrape

To mold

To angle our curves

To please,

Leaving all else

On the cutting room floor.

The earth exhales

An exhausted breath

As we overlook

The capacity of ourselves

And everything else

Upon her canvas.

 

(c) Sumyanna 2018

 

Written for the Daily Post Prompt: skewed

Fabulous image courtesy of Pixabay.com

 

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

to counteract the silence

silence

 

There are some

that lost mothers

there are some

who lost brothers

and there are some

who suffer

in the sadness

of their own minds.

It is not for me

to judge,

to place a

sliding scale

of tragedy,

to measure

their suffering.

Is it not enough

that they have wept?

that they have struggled?

that they are in pain?

And who,

of all of us

has not shed a tear?

Yet many

seek indignant tone

when hands are held forth

when tears are shed.

When tears…

are shed,

and the suffering

ask for humanity

to counteract the silence

to feed as they have been fed

and to weep in kinship

as they lay their dead to rest.

How well does it go

taking care of our own

polishing our own shoes

as others go barefoot

stuffing food in our full mouths

as others

salivate at the

thought of scraps,

(if they are lucky)

for some

may have had nary

a morsel on their tongue.

How can we remain

unchanged?

And when will the winds

of transformation blow

in their direction?

for if it were

up to us –

we would

chain the wind

to ensure its course

never left our own.

 

(c) Sumyanna 2017

 

Amazing image courtesy of Pixabay.com

 

Posted in Daily Post Prompt, Free Verse Poetry, Historical Portrait Poetry, Inspirational Poems, Poetry, Poetry from the News, Sad Poems, Thoughtful Poems, Woman's Poetry, Word Prompt

You Don’t Decide the Definition, a poem

Freedom

 

 

Sometimes,

the world speaks

in darkened tongues

of lingering discontent

the airways

full of longing

to pick apart each victim

piece by innocuous piece

while praising their exceptional

mastery of empathy.

Our marrow seeks

the kindness of strangers,

but we have fallen

into the abyss

forgotten the ways

that caring hands

once held our own

how we sought

the warmth

the strength

in numbers

over the divide.

Instead,

today –

a new voice speaks

while loud and

thundering voices

echo in reply.

Their disdain

of what has –

so long ago held us

together

they choose to divide.

It is the humanness

beneath our skin

that seeks shelter

in the rain

fearing the storm

the quiet before the storm

and the lingering aftertaste

of hate.

What we have

so long ago

fought for

strived for

bled for-

we shall never forget.

The yearning for

TRUE freedom

(an acquired taste

for the oppressed)

shall never be quenched,

no matter how long

their forged nationalistic song

desires to whitewash

what true freedom means.

You can live your own way,

but you don’t decide the definition.

 

(c) Sumyanna 2017

 

Written for The Daily Post Prompt: exceptional

Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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

Flaccid, a poem

These days, it is all too common to hear of violence against people just based on the color of their own skin.  A long time ago, I somehow assumed that the world had gotten better – that these types of things no longer occurred.   Obviously, I lived on the wrong side of town, because my view had been skewed.  We see it now all over the internet.  For all those children without fathers, for all those parents without sons – I pray that things will change.

 

Flaccid
How do you explain
To a child
That their father
Is never coming home
That he shall no longer
Carry them on his back
That he shall no longer
Bury them in kisses
Nor hold their hand
When the night is cold and dark
That he shall never
Assure them
That their fears
Are just that –
Fears.
And what if
Their fears are
That it’s just not safe out there –
For the color of their skin
Is a death sentence
And their last breath
Shall be untimely –
And displayed
Across the vast horizon
Of cyberspace
And despite what we see
We are told – it isn’t?
What future
Do we grasp
With our own hands
So tightly
That our grasp, over time,
Has become flaccid?
And when we are finally
Brave enough to open our hands
We see that nothing is left?

© Sumyanna 2016

Posted in Daily Post Prompt, Free Verse Poetry, Historical Portrait Poetry, Poetry, Sad Poems, Thoughtful Poems, Word Prompt

Children Cried, All the Way to the Gas Chamber (a poem)

GasChamber

 

Little hands

That should have known

Kindness –

A sweet smile

A pat on the head

And in return,

The sound of merriment

Should sing from their lips

Joy should dance beneath their steps.

Yet a mother’s soul,

Put on display,

For all the world to see –

Lines up for the gas chamber.

You can see the fear in their eyes

And though they do not speak,

You can hear their screams

And their frightened murmuring

What did I do?

What did I do?

You can still hear the sound

It reverberates here

When the wind is just right

You can hear the moaning

Through the trees

A savage reminder

Of what man can become

Yet there is nothing

You can do

To silence the sadness

That looms in this place

It speaks of the loss

It speaks of the terror

And there is nothing left –

Save a monument to their horror.

Had I been there,

I would have

Held them in my arms

Silenced their fears

And held brave

Even though my heart

Would wail in utter sadness

I would have shared

One last kindness

One last smile

One last kiss.

But the past

Has become the past

And my heart

Has become heavy

With the thought of this.

That any nation –

Could not see the crime

And still how many,

Looked aside

While children cried

While children cried

All the way

To the gas chamber.

 

© Sumyanna 2016

 

Submitted for The Daily Post Prompt: savage

Written upon seeing a memorial for the children lost during WWII.

 

Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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

dead

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 Pixabay.com