My Thoughts are with a Summer’s Day

My thoughts are with
A summer’s day
Where sunlight
Barely peeks across the sky
In silence
She spreads
Her wings to fly
Across horizon
Down the vale
And lights its path
Upon fields of white daisy
They raise their weary heads
Shake off sleep
And reach
For the warmth
Of summer sun
The day has just begun.

She spreads her wings to fly
Across the mountain peaks
Where aspens sleep
Pale white soldiers
Stand at attention
And their slender limbs
Reach for her beauty
They seek
The  summer sun
The day has just begun.

She spreads her wings to fly
And streaks of sunlight
Fall through parted curtain
House cat smiles within
Circles, then turns
To plop –
In sun’s embrace
And sleeps a gentle sleep
Dreams of chasing mice
Internal motor running
And the day has just begun
Beneath the summer sun.

© Sumyanna 2016

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)