Here is the latest installment of Poet’s Corner, presented by the Edmonds-based EPIC Poetry Group.
War
There are armies
There is ugly might
Struck by greed
Brute blindsight
Destruction of a country
Crumbling to the core
As a cruel force rears
its brazen head to roar
The players in this game
They change as years roll by
There will always be a reason
to invade and to deny
Wet tears
Warm blood
It will all run dry
Collapsing cultures
Civilization’s
Simmering end
The stench of death
Once again
I’d like to hear
that it’s always wrong
To kill, to maim
Just because you’re strong
I’d like to hear that
that it’s always wrong
To decimate
Despite who the invader is…
To decide a weaker nation’s fate
Be it Ukraine valleys
Or Syrian alleys
Be it shattered limbs on Yemen’s lands
Or broken bones on Afghan sands
Iraq’s rich culture
razored to the ground
Weapons of mass destruction
never found
So Not just today
War is always wrong
Zeinab Masud
~ ~ ~ ~
Breaking bits of Soul
I remember racing
My heart thudding
Like it would break
Against my indignant rib cage
A skinny child
My bony feet pressed against
the moist, lush green grass
Aunt’s garden
“Catch, catch”
We raced with shameless glee
I had to cling to every little memory
Before Home
would once again
be lost to me
Onwards to foreign lands
I was so little
I only noticed
Strangers
with different colored hands
I remember the soft purr
of Persian in Tehran
The scent of luscious roses in Amman
The winding alleys
of bustling Syrian bazaars
The trendy beat of a (then) stylish Beirut
Formals, Mummy’s silk Saris
Men in dark suits
And then when darkness would drape over my room
I would close my eyes and try and dream
Also perhaps gently scheme
to get to a place I would not have to leave
Every time I moved,
I cried like a lover
who had had no other.
I tasted salty, warm tears
I felt myself shudder.
Zeinab Masud
~ ~ ~ ~
My sparkling city
I crave the smog infested skies
of my sparkling city
In my mind, it shines
It glows
Grander than Arabian palaces
In truth it is filled
with the stench of raw hunger
But on show
Are beaming smiles,
tattered clothes
Tap tap tap on car windows
knuckles grey with grime
Sometimes I will give money
Sometimes fruit or lime
Mostly I will drive through
In chauffeur driven ease
I could not change their circumstance
Still they did looked pleased
We had a small connection
It mattered for a while
In my dust soaked city
A penny for a smile
Zeinab Masud
~ ~ ~ ~
Because/When I was not there
He was shy now
In the face of his waning,
once brilliant memory.
His great mind no longer able to overpower
the weakness of his body
not like it had done over the past some years.
If I was there
I would have seen
The day-by-day decline of determination
where will surrenders
to the passage of time.
His back bent further,
His feet shuffling like they had forgotten
Which foot was supposed to go first
He needed someone to hold.
His frame grew frailer.
I was not there.
I remember though everything he stood for,
the clarity and morality with which he had lived his life.
I remember his incredible love and patience
for his young grandson
Unwavering
despite his own withering form
What good is this now?
My memory
Can it heal his wounds of loneliness?
His fear of empty rooms
With utmost respect he would ask my son, a young child
if he had had a good day
All the while aware of the fading light
which surrounded his own frail self
Sometimes we were there
A last birthday
Still impeccable in a pale, pink shirt
Bending to blow out
A solidly still standing candle
Feeble and elegant
Fighting for the right
To still give light
But if brutal truth be told
While every memory I try and hold
I know that mostly we were not there.
Zeinab Masud
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Zeinab Masud Agha is a trained Humanistic Counsellor and a Certified Tiny Habits Coach. She has a passion for prose and poetry and has had articles published in newspapers and magazines. Zeinab is currently working on her first book as well as a collection of poems. She loves the writers community in Edmonds and the greater Seattle area. Zeinab was one of the recipients of the non-fiction award at WOTS last year. Currently based in Seattle, Zeinab has straddled cultures and crossed continents, having lived in over 10 different countries. She’s still searching for a place to call home.
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Thank you Zeinab for your powerful words
Your work has a tremendous voice. Very powerful.