Daily Archives: March 29, 2016

Lahore, Sunday, March 27, 2016 by Debasis Mukhopadhyay

I am not a silent poet

The quiet hour 1

Away from us a koel calls.
I lift my head from the pillow & figure under his wings there ain’t enough sun.
This means my young son will sleep for a few more hours before he becomes himself.
Peace. I breathe him till the bare day comes and becomes what it may become.
Yesterday’s baby soap has not faded yet.

The quiet hour 2

The bloodied walls rise into the quicklime of the sky burning.
The empty swings crackle remembering
The cuckoos that sang out over the park.
The flesh strewn across the ground rethinks
The bodies that flew overtaking thousands suns.
I think I have found him.
It’s almost him.
I breathe him when settles the cloak of dust.
Yesterday’s baby soap has not faded yet.

Debasis Mukhopadhyay lives and writes in Montreal, Canada. He can be found online at

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Easter 2016 by Cath Blackfeather

I am not a silent poet

So, they still come,
Tramping in their thousands
Around the edges of your civilization.

You say HE came among us
And suffered for our sins.
HE died so we may live forever. You sing your hymns and thank your God.

You, standing behind your razor wire,
Did you notice, as they stumble past your jeers,
The crown of thorns that sends
A dark trickle down the sweat of that man’s face?
Did you see, under the bulky
Charity-given coat,
The wound in that woman’s side?
This child, who sleeps under a tree in the freezing rain,
Outflung arms and small body twisted
In a familiar pose.

You still want them to die
So we may live forever.

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My Lungs by Jay Hulme

I am not a silent poet

I do not have the space in my lungs
To combat these words you have said,
My lung tissue is probably dead
But I keep on breathing.


My chest capacity
Is somehow smaller
Than the grave that’s
Already been dug for me,
This symmetry,
Between the giver of life
And my ending,
Is bending time
And leading me back

To where it all began.

I’d say I ran,
But lately
I’ve no capacity
For breathing heavily,
So honestly,
I just walked a little quickly
But he followed me,
And the words that rolled off his tongue
Were an opposing symphony,
An amalgam of “Lesbo!”
And “Gayboy!” and “Tranny!”
I think he was unsure
Of which type of bigotry
Would be fitting to shout at me,
So he just used a bit of L, G, B, and T
And hoped that it would offend me,
But seriously, mate,

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