Tag: poem
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They sit unsung
we’llneverknow the fearsand hurts you hideyour deeds, like diamonds,sit unsung in shadowsof ingratitude and prideyou forged underdogs into starswith sacrifices of love, Mother,we’ll never know the shed tears and hurts you hide
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a howling wasteland
tied to a treewas the kidnapped queenwincing at the mirage of advancing horsesmirage of a rescue teamdaunting reality of massive losses her chief magician chantshis voice echoing in the howling wastelanda figure in a picture enlarges into a real beinglike a fast-forwarded movieon rewind to a slow motion scene wearing her crown of planetsthe great…
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Isn’t a struggle a story ?
I stare at the picture,wondering what to write,noticing my first lines do not rhyme and have no consistent metre I question my motives.To express, or impress ?Maybe I digressto thoughts with no themes. Isn’t a struggle a story?Shouldn’t this writers’ blockbe time to pause,to see beauty even in what seems sordid? https://wp.me/paf3ao-n9y
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spill your feelings
have your loose lipsbegun lootingyour chances of success,turning potential into worst nightmares? does your intuitiontell you you’re contributingto your slow progressand growing distress? keeping a secret can be toughlike an irresistible coughfor some, keeping a small circlecan be a major hurdle but for your own goodalways confide in a bookfew people really careabout your welfare…
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same sleep unites them
they gave her water and clayand she molded out history and storiessitting in the soil for centuries… they went to bed at different timesbut the same sleep unites them different facessculpted on different daysmolded out of same clay Different beginnings Same tale from dust they camenaked and not ashamedone by one they withered and felllike…
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aftermath
aftermath of warbodies scattered across the streetlike a child’s doodling on a sheeta beast sniffs the corpse of a woman a second beast is sucking her left breast protruding through a tattered dress she worethe remains of what was once a Canaanthe promised land of the nomads
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Filthy, bloody hands
wolves hide in beautiful sheep clothingigniting senseless wars in the Name of God How dare you stain the Holy Name of God with your filthy, bloody hands? God does not hire anyone to fight His battlesHe has an innumerable army of angels at His command His pleasure is to see brothers and sisters live in…
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He is risen -Happy Easter!
never heard of a lambthat served as a lampguiding the feet of men and of women off the paths of hell the prophets of old did predictthat his death will reverse the evil verdictsin has brought upon usif the promise of eternal life were a lieHe would not riseand our faith would be in vainand…
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they’ll see you rise
like the sun they’ll see you risethe fake, foes and fraudsters who sawyou weep, crawl and beg will falltheir faces abraded likemetal gods scrubbed with wire gauze here, no vest is bulletproofjust bodies taking in bulletstill they feel tipsy and staggeran unsettling truthmakes the most vocal stutter but this is the furnace in which the…
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Default mode
when the path ahead is shrouded in fogsome resort to motivation woven into songsor written on wallsto help calm their fearsfor us, inspirationis written on our genesLike instincts written into the minds of insectsnever-giving up is our default modeworking in silence the codeeven when we’re brokewe’re still paying the price of victory
Mowabites Worldwide 