Daily Archives: June 20, 2018

Silencing, by Jose Varghese

I am not a silent poet

Bullets find targets
slower
when all talk seems
harmless.

Words, when
let out on a rainy-day,
dash for a while,
stop to scamper
through charred wood,
pant, bark,
craving for a real pat.

Guns don’t
take aim at them.
A poke on
their butts in jest
is all that’s done,
to see if
the creatures
turn around.

Some do,
wag tails and jump up
to catch what’s
thrown upwards,
munch it, in
mindless meditation
before running
back to their masters.

Some run for life.

But some
piddle on the barrels,
quench all the fire,
before running where
they were headed,
not looking back
even once.

That’s when
their masters
are searched out,
and it takes no time
before guns get
positioned promptly
from the dark,
and bullets come
swooshing,
destined to meet
the target
before it’s late.

..

Jose Varghese is a bilingual writer/editor/translator from India. He is the author…

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America is not great, by Colin Davies

I am not a silent poet

I once aspired to be you
or at least just like you.
You were cool
rebellious,
you stuck it to the man,
man.
You gave flowers to soldiers
and young men to wars.
But your hamburgers were legend
and your cities…
They were so tall.
I never knew the history
only the Hollywood statue.
Dreaming of walking on your land,
being invited in for apple pie,
and root beer.
But now,
I look over at you
and what you have become.
Cruel and detracted.
Give me your poor,
no more.
Tired huddled masses,
yearning to breathe with the free.
But the flaming lamp,
by the golden door,
has long been extinguished.
Refused at your teeming shore.
No more dreams,
not from me.
I long no more,
for the land of the free.
I long no more,
for the home of the brave.
As I don’t see bravery,
In keeping kids…

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34,361, by Fiona Allen

I am not a silent poet

It is not necessary that they might have been future Nobel Prize winners,
a latter-day Mozart or a new Rodin.
They might not have made apple trees grow from stony ground,
or created a place where tigers roll unhindered in patches of sunlight.
It is only needful to know this;
someone fathered them, gave birth to them,
loved them, hoped for a better life for them,
and set out across a cold dark sea with a mixture of hope and terror in their hearts.
And each of these deaths is another drop into the
waters at the bottom of the well of sadness.

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