my poetic brilliance is nothing to boast about;
it is a curse
because the best poets
write with blood, sweat, and tears.

i hope to grow old,
someday,
and be ridiculed for my distasteful,
unwise poetry;
i won't need praise to fill a void in my heart that is meant to be youthful,
i shan't be fruitless and tired;
i will finally be happy.

She is supposed to get to live to enjoy life
Her birth is in war
with no baby clothing available
but a blanket and a pillow

Her mother screams
higher than loud booms around
higher than the voices of politicians
It hurts to give birth during wars

She is in a tent
donated by good people
who don’t believe in war
but in love

Her little world is a war
The skies are dark and grey
and a lot stands in her way
not only this war

She joins her mother’s cries
wrapped with the grey blanket
Cries of rockets heard as well
emigrants from other tents cry too

Fear breaks into her tent
Smoke coming out of the tent
mixed with cries, screams, and wails
The tent shakes
The tent collapses

Her mattress is rubbles
Her blanket is ash
Her cries gone in vain
Just like humanity
Silence!

You may try to put me down,
With your twisted plots and lies.
You’ve got war history; I’ve got faith.
I hear your mocks; you hear my cries.
I look at you with my heart;
You look at me with your eyes.
Whatever you do, whatever you say,
Don’t think it’s a surprise.
Well, I am telling you this once:
Like dust, I will rise, I will rise.

09-30-2020
Mohammed Arafat

The caged bird,
can seldom see through,
the bars of the cage,
in darkness.
He has clipped wings.
He has tied feet.
He has empty stomach and plate,
but he can sing.   

He sings with fear.
He sings with agony,
but he sings love songs.
He thinks he is heard.
He is not!

Mohammed Arafat
10-13-2020

penning what feels at the moment
with the limited skill with words
to release the pressure built up inside
to embrace the softness that remains....

This World...
is a traveling salesman
that doesn't know when to say when
hiding tricks up its sleeve

This World...
is an infomercial
filled with needy commercials
promising free delivery

This World...
is a picnic
that brings its own ants in
to eat a slice of the pie

This World...
is a mortician
with teeth that sharply glisten
waiting for us to die

This World...
is a New York City taxi
weaving in and out of traffic
overrating the fare

This World...
is a child that is missing
on a milk jug that is empty
with no one to care

This World...
is a train wreck
from which you can't turn your head
no matter how hard you try

This World...
is in need of a medic
with an extensive headache
right between the eyes