Some Day All Our Doing Will Be Undone, A Poem

I have to apologize
for those who may not know
but passion courses through my veins
and despite my genteel smile
I would be willing
to die with the best of them
so yes, my words rage –
no less than the fires in my heart
for it matters not,
that we are not one and the same
nor that distance may keep us apart
WE ARE ONE
WE ARE ONE
WE ARE ONE
and nothing – will ever stop
the words that I speak
for nothing shall prove me wrong
these truths emblazoned on my heart
and they were woven since time began
nothing can separate this beautiful tapestry of life
save the indifference of my fellow man.
NO MATTER that they look away
NO MATTER all the words they say
NO MATTER all the hate they breed
for this world – truly has no need
for any more words of hate and greed
Just know our history speaks truths
that you will never understand
from the very moment woman and man
first dwelled upon the land
and all the moments in between
truth has struggled, never timid
and though some may say
they speak the truth
just know real truth speaks not meekly
some day it shall find you the fool
and when all is said and done
one day sleep shall find us
and all our doing will be undone.

(c) Sumyanna 2016

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Such Violence Must Be Stopped, A Poem

Such horrific crimes against humanity should stand as a lesson to us all.  Today, too many children are struggling through wars they did not start.  Too many children a finding death and destruction their greatest teachers in this world.  Let’s not repeat the same mistakes.  All of humanity must cry for every injustice, or what is the point in having a voice?

 

We are the survivors
and somehow, I can’t help
but feel guilty,
for others-
have suffered greatly
at the hands of men
in manners unfit
for anyone
and all for the crime
of identity.
No matter the color of skin
tribe, caste, or religion
someone is always
in command
and someone
is always underfoot
and all too often –
we hear not their struggle
or perhaps we don’t understand
the gravity of their situation
for had it been
our own kin
you would have heard
our thunderous cries
shake the earth beneath us
we would have fought for change
welts upon our backs
nothing left but skin and bones
our shame tattooed upon our skin
but you would have heard us cry
and cry – they have
over
and over
and over again
till the clouds threatened
to shower down rain
from the weight of all their tears
but still, we do not listen.
Here, mothers smile –
fathers smile –
children play in the streets –
and in other places
mothers lay dead in a pile of rubble
fathers are killed in the streets buying food
and shoeless children,
bellies distended in hunger
find their only entertainment
playing in a field of landmines.
Little are they aware the danger
for there is no one to tell them
but here,
mothers smile –
fathers smile –
children play in the streets –
Little are we aware the danger
for when young children grow
only knowing hatred and anger
death and loss
what will become of them
and how will it affect us?
By then, it will be too late to care.

© Sumyanna 2016

 

Image courtesy of Morguefile (wintersixfour)

Not a Racist, A Poem

Go ahead –
find comfort in drawing
lines across the sand
this is yours
and this is mine
and you are yours
and I am mine
and this is the way
it has to be
because I refuse to
feel community
no, I find comfort
in pushing away
everything that is different
that speaks in foreign tongue
so I push
and I push
and I push
and I squeeze deeper
into my own kingdom
assured that I am king
and no, you are not alone
there’s many more
that crawl in the weeds
waiting to strangle
the life from earth’s garden
and there’s more hate in this world
to fill the oceans and seas
but know, dear sir and madam
that we’ve not given up yet
and we still stand united
for while you are busy
drawing lines in the sand
we hold strong together
holding each other’s hand.

(c) Sumyanna 2016

 

Image courtesy of Morguefile (pippalou)

Lament of Homeless Mother, A Poem

Poor mother
Hugs her child closely
Baby’s head lays on her chest
His breath falls gently on her neck
And mother winces
In recognition of her situation
They stand in the cold
No blanket to protect him
She cuddles to bring him warmth
And she begs for mercy
From passersby
Hand outstretched.
Her other son, still young
Hides behind her skirt
Shy and pained
Perhaps ashamed
For Daddy left them
Not long ago
And they have to fend
For themselves
Mother’s skirt in tatters
Like the depths of her heart
And her eyes shelter tears
She holds them back
Struggles to stand tall
But inside she cries
Where no one sees
And she holds out her hand
Begging for mercy
From passersby
And they look on –
As if problems don’t exist
When we look past them.
It takes all her courage
To stand there
Holding what she cherishes most
For all the world to see
She feigns a smile
And speaks to her children of hope
She tries to weave them dreams
But inside she dies,
Every time she holds out
her hand.

© Sumyanna 2016

 

Image courtesy of Morguefile (rajeshkrishnan)

The Desert of My Thoughts, a Poem

There is a stain
upon my heart
and the rain
won’t wash it away
with dry, parched lips
I rise and wither
against the backdrop
of dark, grey sky
but the water lingers
in protest
Upon those gray laced clouds
they refuse to lay
upon my landscape
yet I beg
yet I beg
fill me up –
swallow me whole
drown me in your nurturing drops
for I have lost my way
and I have lost my peace
and I linger here,
in the desert of my heart
as sands of disillusion
fall beneath my feet
the winds blow mightily
and I cannot see
for a wall has been raised
and a canyon carved
miles and miles
my soul has searched
my legs ache
my heart sears
with lonely thoughts
I am alone
And nothing
Shares this landscape
Save the dead earth
And the bleached skulls
Of yesterday’s torments
I continue on,
In search of rain.

© Sumyanna 2016

 

Image courtesy of Morguefile (Maxime)