Freedom is Losing Her Voice, a poem

If only,
there was more kindness…
It is not enough –
to share it only
with those we know,
nor to share it only
where there is a need
but it would be nice,
wouldn’t it
if our thoughts always
turned to…
what would I want
to happen to me?
But instead, our thoughts
are always
inwardly focused
and our hands often open
only for those we know
and words of kindness
often fall from our lips
when we want something
in return.
Curious isn’t it?
That something so simple
should prove so difficult,
yet we wait for others
to solve the world’s problems.
We wait for the warning call
before rising from the couch
and demanding change,
or perhaps we shall wait
till our own kind
are persecuted in the streets
their own labels
neatly pinned to their chests
Freedom is quickly losing her voice
and the evidence is overwhelming.

(c) Sumyanna 2017

Wonderful image courtesy of Pixabay.com

Portraits Poetry #52: I Have Read Volumes

I have read volumes
I have lived volumes
and I have many volumes
left to tell
for the lines have yet been written
and I hold the pen
I hold the pen
poised midair
ready to write
and what –
what will I write today
what tales shall I sew
and sometimes,
upon reflection
which tales
shall I replay
for life is a poem
waiting to be written
shall it rhyme
or slide along in free verse
will the words taste as sweet
once written
or shall they burn
way after the story is told
some days I just don’t know
my pen is raised
ready to write
and my only hope
is to make the poem my own.

(c) Sumyanna 2016

We are Aching for Change, a poem

 

We tarry the pathways of living,

stooped shoulders

unblinking eyes

while bright lights emanate

from hand-held screens

and somehow, we feel sheltered.

It is not without consequence –

for we barely realize,

that history is being written

with every step

and every single word.

We now

find new ways

of communication.

We blaze the scene

in only 140 characters.

So we must now

jump fast the punchline

and leave behind

formalities of the past.

We have celebrated

the death

of common courtesy

as slurs become

the native tongue

and falsehoods

are the new reality.

This is not the America I have known,

it is definitely not

the one that I grew up in,

where we were sheltered

by the principles of

respect

and in our growing pains

I had hoped

we had learned equality.

How could we have unlearned

all of her history?

How could we have forgotten

all of her tears?

How can we look back

at all we have accomplished

and slowly undo them

one by one?

We ache not,

at the consequence.

We study history

but barely realize,

that someday-

our words

our thoughts

and our actions

will be remembered.

How many of us,

want this to be

our final narrative?

 

© Sumyanna 2017

 

Written for The Daily Post Prompt: slur

Wonderful image courtesy of Pixabay.com

Is it Lost in Translation? The Writer asks the Reader.

 

I hear my voice
when I read
when I write
words traipsing slowly
across my tongue
and settling in my mind
and I wonder – can you hear it
or is it lost in translation?
Can you hear the drawl
or the stilted expression
the gasp of breath
at the beginning
the slow exhale
at the end of the phrase
do you understand
the language of my heart?
Does the pen carry it along
suspended mid-air
and you reach, as if to touch –
and I wonder – can you hear it?
the sound of my voice –
or is it all lost in translation?
For no matter when
the words may flow
I hear them all the same
before, during, and after
they are written
I hear my voice
I hear my voice
and I don’t know why,
but I wonder – can you hear it
or is it all lost in translation?

 

(c) Sumyanna 2016

Submitted for The Daily Post Prompt: translate

Gorgeous image courtesy of Pixabay.com

 

Death on a Motorcycle, a poem

 

There are moments like this

that you just don’t forget

they linger deep

and crawl upon your skin

for I saw where the body lay

in the field

surrounded by wild grasses.

The car lay in the ditch

glass shattered

front door open

and the motorcycle

was reduced to bits and shreds of metal

strewn across the highway.

His body lay far off in the distance

unprotected

and the police cordoned off

the edges of the field

they surrounded the scene

and hunkered over tall grasses.

I gasped when I saw it

drew breath in – deep

I still gulped for air

lost in sadness

I could feel the loss.

Part of me is glad,

it wasn’t what I imagined

laying in the field

was just a marker

where his body had once lain

but not long before,

his body was there

his body was there…

Someone died today

just like any other day I guess,

but I witnessed the aftermath

I gulped for air in recognition.

We are never aware

when death is going to happen

or what we will be doing

when we get there.

 

© Sumyanna 2016

 

Submitted for The Daily Post Prompt: aware

Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

Wounded Learning, A Poem

 

I stood there
Watching the fireworks display,
No, not in the foreground
But on the ground
Knees pulled up to my chin
Arms wrapped around me
Trying to keep out the cold.
The sun had not even gone down yet,
But there was cause for celebration
People in the street
Joined the excitement
Some dancing
Others singing to the tunes
Belted out by loudspeakers.
With all of this,
I could still drown out the sound
Almost slow it down
And place it gently
In the back of my mind
It was as if,
I was not really there at all.
I was used to that feeling
Being pushed back onto the sidelines
My new “friends” sat nearby chatting
Staring in my direction
Then glancing at one another
and laughter would ensue,
I was too tired to care.
There were parts of me
That wanted to run away
Escape the loneliness
That I felt in their company
The ostracism
The judgement
But I was told I must be a part of this.
The lights started to linger across the sky
And the night got darker.
Now, you could trace their ascent
And watch their fated demise.
I watched the display
Hugging myself tighter
Wishing there was somewhere to hide
Within myself, perhaps
No better way to escape
Than being right there
And each time those lights
Rose up in the sky
A part of me died
Among the oohs and aahs
Of everyone else
And yes, no one noticed.
Their mouths posed imitation smiles
As they looked in my direction
They clung together heavily
As if not knowing how to breathe
Except in tandem
It was then, that I knew
I would never have
Enough pride in myself
To wound another broken soul.

© Sumyanna 2017

 

Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

Painful Indifference, Because You’re Not Like Me (a poem)

 

 

 

The moon and the night star

Shined in the open sky

At first, they assumed

They were alone,

Overlooking the open darkness

But time made them

Aware of one another.

The moon observed

The beauty of the star’s light

And was overcome with emotion.

She said to herself,

“Nothing I have ever seen,

Can compare to her splendor!”

And each night,

As time wore on

They shined together

Lighting up the night sky.

There was something about

Knowing they were not alone

And realizing, that someone else’s light

Amplified their own beauty.

They rested peacefully

All these years,

Knowing that they had each other

And though silent

Along the stretch of daylight,

They looked forward to the moments

They shined as one.

And one evening,

Caught in conversation

The moon asked,

“What planet do you orbit?”

And when the star

Could find no answer

The moon realized

They were different

And though the star shined

In mysterious ways –

The moon now found them,

Too mysterious.

Over time, they chose to shine

In separate parts of the night sky

But always aware of each other’s glow

And each evening,

As darkness crept upon the horizon,

The moon declared,

“Your beauty I can no longer recognize”

The star sadly turned her face

So that the moon would not see,

And shed a tear.

 

© Sumyannah 2017

 

Written for The Daily Post Prompt: recognize

Beautiful image courtesy of Pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

Autumn’s Footsteps, A Poem

I remember
Autumn’s whisper
The breeze through the trees
Madness that sends hats sailing.
It is a song of sadness
A fleeting farewell
A last triumphant boldness
That lingers, then is gone.
I remember
The crisp leaves beneath my feet
The sound as I walked across the pathways
The quieting sun, streaming through the trees
Holding everything in an auburn glow.
Water trickled at the creek below
And I walked amidst the sounds
Of birds quickly leaving
And squirrels racing
To scatter their hoards of food
And trees gently leaning
Against the weight of the wind.
I lingered there, a moment
Listening to the sounds
Of my own heart beating
Drinking it all in
And then, I continued
On the path toward home
Knowing winter’s harsh cold
Would soon replace
The gentle quiet
I found in Autumn’s footsteps.

© Sumyanna 2017

 

Beautiful image courtesy of Pixabay.com

Why Even Bother to Speak? A Poem…

 

I do it for me
for this is the way
I breathe life into my soul
it is not, for show
nor the ardent display
I just must… write
to breathe.
Though some may seek
satisfaction
in standing ovation
I don’t mind
the silent peep
the ardent whisper
of my words
for they lull me to sleep
just when I need it.
There is an aching
for peace
that stretches across my soul
and though unburdened by expectation
I shall scratch that itch
express the gaping wounds
and seek victory for the voiceless
I need to speak
for if I do not,
I fear the consequences
of silence.

(c) Sumyanna 2017

 

Wonderful image courtesy of Pixabay.com

What Type of Home am I Leaving for My Children?

 

It’s not easy
Being beneath
The boot of someone
Perhaps, you have never known this
And for that, I am grateful
But in many cases
In many times
The crushing is not deserved
Nor is it just.
I remember the time
I held my son for my first time
Being kept in the hospital
After surgery
The nurse, it seems
Did not like my religion.
When I asked
That my son
Not be fed formula,
He returned to my beside
Belly full
Because she held
Power over me
And I could do nothing
And when I asked
Doubled over
With tears in my eyes
For pain medication
Which should have been given,
She refused
During the entire length of her shift.
We brave this you see,
Prejudice
We know – deep inside
That this is not the face
Of every person we meet
But we know the truths
Of inequality
And injustice
That sadly later –
Is blamed upon us
Because we seem detached
But it is often a result
Of what has been done to us
And sadly –
How many immigrants
Have known this?
They work hard
To make this place their home
They struggle
To bring life more beauty
To improve their communities
And for what result?
The door that slams
In your face
The outpouring of sentiment
That you do not belong
And it gives the ability
To those in power
To abuse those
Who are held beneath their boot
No matter whether
Injustice is deserved.
I cannot comprehend
The horrors
So many have witnessed
And the sanctuary
They sought here
Nor what pain they have endured
From their moment of arrival
Have you ever considered
How many are here
And yet only a repulsive few
Have committed atrocities
Unlawfully in our name?
Yet somehow –
They supposedly represent
The lot of us.
It worries me –
It worries me deeply
That the place we have called home
For more than 6 generations
Shall never be the same
And what type of home
Am I leaving
For my children after me?

© Sumyanna 2017

 

Image courtesy of Pixabay.com