A Quiet World

Sits in
Of a melting 
Burning, solstice strain
As daggers of time pierce
The fortitude of her wounds
Tainting the purity of her
Coherent thoughts, she sews her bruises
With the sharp edge of poetic pressure.

Speak of hurt
That runs too deep
To articulate
Is easy face to face
Strength of words guides the lonely
To ink pages with threads of breath
Like the sweet comfort of long lost dreams
The certainity of an absolute love.

# Etheree poem.

Von Smith’s spontaneous response to my Etheree

A Silent End

Stands by
For the first sounds
Through winter's darkness
Thinking of spring to come
No longer feeling hope for now
In scars of yesterday's failed dreams
Though they bulge on his face flaming red
He closes his eyes to the memories.

His impulse
His first instinct
To cry out in pain
For all others to see
When his inner dark chanting
Leaves no trace of his cold sad path
No tragic footprints they can follow
To the edge of the cliff at his heart's end.

We The Men

I write and then I delete because i feel quite inadequate not knowing how to put into words whatever I want to say .
And whatever I mean to say will fall short.
I want this post of mine to be about all you men out here on the blog, chivalrous men who have read and commented on my last posts, we the women and catch 22.
So i thought its kinda selfish that we women keep talking about ourselves and what we go through but i know for a fact that its not easy for men too, being a man in a man's world is mighty tough. And i have seen that most men don't say a word even though they are the recieving end.
So in a way, this is a tribute to all the guys here, my way of saying thank you for carrying the me too message forward.
We couldn't have done it without you.
I feel sad that most men do not talk about what they go through. I was surprised when Terry Crews of Brooklyn nine nine fame came out and spoke out his experience and if he went through something like that, I am sure there have been other men too , who never opened up about theirs.
This is a little thank you note to all you guys. 
my way of saying I appreciate you all for reading and voicing your thoughts.
A safe weekend to all of you.

Night Sky

Sapphire figurines sequin sky
Embroidering velvet darkness
Festooning vault to beautify
Sapphire figurines sequin sky
Embracing a virgin crescent, shy
Stardust trails the ebon chasteness

Sapphire figurines sequin sky
Embroidering velvet darkness.

# Triolet poem

Catch 22

Marriage has come of age
Till death do apart just an adage.

The bitter half need not forever be your solemate
Marriage need  not seal your fate.

Controlling the mind, raping the body
Break shackles of human foibles shoddy.

Caught between the devil and the deep sea
Nowhere to go and no place go flee.

The sword of damocles hanging over her head
The sacrificial  virgin is about to be wed.

I dedicate this poem to all women everywhere .

We The Women

Everytime I hear about a rape being committed, i die a little inside. That is when I read it on the internet, or watch it on the television. Or the papers.
But what happens when you really meet victims of rape or their parents.
i broke down. 
The courage these women have shown.one young woman that i met had been raped, thrown across the railway tracks. She survived to tell her story and still fights  it out inspite of losing both her limbs. 
She is way beyound brave..these women are the real heroes 
This is just one story in hundreds of others.
I can't write . I am too overwhelmed and lost for words.
Its a battle that all of us fight because the law is corrupt and the people who run it are Democratically elected .

#we the women

The Bambouti

Port Said, bustling with activity
Sounds of the cheerful, whistling Bambouti
Singing Egyptian folklore tales
Little bum-boats adding to the scenic beauty.

Haggling with tourists, on the ships that dock
Against gigantic hulls, the bum-boats flock.
Selling khan El-khalili products
Trivia of an ancient historic epoch.

In a hale and hearty voice, the bambouti shouts
Twenty *bounds*$ for genuine pashmima, have no doubts
Wooden statues of King Tutenkhamun, little pyramids
Delivery, payment by rope, the bambouti tows.

The bum-boatsman's days are numbered
Let the bambouti be remembered.
As the exotic smell of burning incense
Wafts down the quay, he's happy with little earned.

# Rubaiyat poetry