Not Guilty by Sheila Jacob

I am not a silent poet

The crime would be, Ashraf,

if your words spat hatred

in the name of Allah,

set a people against itself.

..

Your pen weeps blameless

blood, writes your truth

across our hearts.

..

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#thejourney

sonja benskin mesher

The Travel Guide

Here we have deep apprehension about what I am to share, and the manner in which I shall write.

It can be a daily thing, slipping out when all the chores are done when there is a break in the weather. We have some unremarkable weather here. You may disagree.

We use the back door, avoiding the front lane as we wish solitude. There are permissions from my neighbour, he is a farmer; casual most days, tidy at funerals.

Walk past the graveyard, pausing a while knowing they are all dead now. The boy confirmed this some time back. Move on knowing there is nothing to be done.

Down the track to the old bridge, used to be the main road with lights and passings. Now there is a newer road, bridge and roundabout over there. The track comes overgrown.

Pause a while, watch the wind blow.

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