So I know I haven’t posted anything in a while, and I had promised this poem back in March, but I’m back! That’s good, right? I’ll write an update tomorrow so you guys know what I’m up to. I feel like there’s some big stuff.
Anywho this is the second poem that I had prepared for the Poetry Slam at York University. I did not qualify to the second round, so no one has really heard this. Or read it.
Matches and fires, sticks with barbed wires;
Chaos and fear run happily and free.
Great big men in suits, and other liars,
Will be the first amongst you who will flee.
As some of you know, there was recently a shooting in Peshawar inside of a Mosque. The news is tragic, but someone recorded footage of the entire incident on their phone. It was almost impossible to watch; it’s the kind of pain that digs deep into your skin. I really wish this sort of violence would stop. It’s not fair to anyone in such a situation. My heart goes out to them.
I sit in a Mosque, my hands held high
Praying to God that I could live another night;
That I don’t become a ghost or a memory forgotten,
That five years from now my skin won’t have become rotten.
Because in such a place of peace can still be infiltrated by hate.
Ratatatatat; caught in a surreal state.
The carpets are stained, blood on the window panes;
A bullet doesn’t touch me, so how can I still feel pain?
And yet God has covered me in a blanket;
I can go home to my family, not home in a casket.
In celebration of National Poetry Day, I’m releasing this poem. It’s a poem I wrote a while ago and stuffed away, and have only really looked back at it today.
I don’t know why, I’ve been feeling very morose.
I could take something for it; a pill, I suppose.
But I prefer the high I get off of life,
Like forgetting the feeling of a dozen mice
Whilst they scatter along up and down your skin,
Or losing the thought that everything you do is a sin.