Woman is not born to seal her lips,
Woman is not born to never speak about her rights,
dreams,
desires,
and her songs,
Let her speak,
Let her sing her songs,
don’t seal her lips,
don’t frantic from her songs,
Her songs won’t make you small,
hurt,
and broken!

By; Nida Mahmoed

Even I spend years with my shadow,
But still I don’t know her desires
and destination!

By; Nida Mahmoed

I can see it in their eyes
their disdain piercing through
my ignorant gaze
rolling in discontent
weakening my resolve
as they close to dismiss
my very existence

I can hear it in their voices
with deliberate tones of sarcasm
to destroy my esteem
throwing facetiously coy remarks
to challenge my will
outnumbered in unison
to quell me into silence

Our maths teacher wasn’t amused.

He solved hard problems for us
taught sincerely in the class
but the moment he held the pen
sweats would flood his palm
like a nagging rain
that his army of handkerchief
couldn’t bring any relief
with the dripping moisture
like a school of sharks
devoured our paper’s ink marks
and from the workouts already done
steps were wiped out one by one.

At those times he wouldn’t speak
only looked at us apologetic
burdened as if with guilt’s weight
for the treachery of his ceaseless sweat
that forced him to desist from anymore writing
close his pen and start dictating.

Then one day we saw him bring out a cream
his agony had reached such an extreme
with that he rubbed his palms with glee
looked he had solved a great mystery
said now this would lock all the doors
stop sweat’s pour through skin’s pores.

The monsoon cloud swooped low
to **** her
and the night seemed to wear
the darkest cloak

Three miles down south
she had gone to the weekly haat
for half a litre of earth oil
thru mud as thick as her desire
for a small glow in her thatched hut

When she reached the stream
she paused on the brink
and then like an added note
to the music of rain
her swan little frame
glided to the other bank

The wind was shivering
but she was warm in the dream of
one small light in her home
to **** the demon of dark

Much adored is the dead poet

Within the glass case
Away from dirt
Amongst the books pressed
Rests his heart

Such was the silence he dreamed
When words streamed
Like riverine flow
In all might arose
Seeking the order in chaos

Orderly bound now his name
In peace standing behind wooden frame
Yet with the ceaseless commotion of wait...

Much adored rests the dead poet.

I saw the people standing around me and I heard the angry cries. I felt the cold rain falling down onto my face. I could barley stand because my legs were so weak. I had been beaten beyond any mans ability to stand. The screams and howls could not be distinguished. I only knew that I was at my end. A solider brought me forward then another man stood beside me. I saw the fear that he had. The crowd cheered for him and booed at me. I knew that my fate was sealed. I tried to scream as the put the thorns on my head and the blood ran down my face. I heard the taunts and felt the weight of the beam that I carried as I stumbled along. As I approached a lonely and barren hill, the screaming crowds seem to be filled with laughter. I looked through blood filled eyes and I could see ghostly images jeering at me. I felt the weight of the crossed beams becoming more than I could bear, then another person stood along beside me. He picked up the weight of my load and helped me along, until they laid me down on the cross. I felt each nail as it was driven through my hands and then I looked up at the heavens and tried to scream out why. As I was lifted into the air I felt the full weight of the guilt and shame that was all around me. I tried to free myself, but it was to little avail. I cried out but no one would hear me. Then in the distance I saw someone drawing near, a figure dressed all in white. As he came to me, I felt the pain being lifted and I swapped places with this man. Then I was standing at a distance and I saw him clear as day, he was on the cross where I had been. I then shot straight up out of my sleep and realized that I had seen what they had done to him. I fell to my knees with my heart breaking into a thousand pieces, I cried until the breaking of the dawn. Then when sleep again finally found me, the man met me in a distant and beautiful garden. I fell at his feet and asked why did this happen. He picked me up and simply said to me. You was what you should receive, but what I took on for you. I have forgiven all of your sins and now your free. I awoke with a new understanding of what should happen, the day I was crucified on that tree.

I've felt your knife,
full tilt up til it's hilt.
It splits my heart in two,
yet each piece belongs to you
So please just go ahead,
pretend to be my friend.
I always will still love you,
and that is the awful truth,
which has no bitter end.

Intent on shells
she's a girl
where screech the gulls.

Age she kills
makes sandhills
breaks the walls.