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Mohd Arshad Jan 2018
Dalit is black, sure.
He is a human being, sure.
You are white, sure.
Your hate is thorn, sure.
Kuzhur Wilson Dec 2015
Was in the ecstasy
Of realizing that
We were
Those two
On earth
Who liked bitter gourd curry
Cooked with coconut milk ….

Think it was
In the sixth life.
We were
Two nascent bitter guards
On the pandal
Spread in the northern corner
Of the farmland
Belonging to a grandmother
In a village in Mississippi
Who used to attend to the orchards
Sitting in a wheelchair.

We had
Watched earth
And peeked
At the sky
Hanging from the same stalk
The scar left
From your tight clasp on my thigh
After spotting a double tailed pest
Is still there.

The pleasure of that pain
Makes me tearful now.

I am like the faces
In the house of deceased
At times  
Bursting into tears
The next moment
Holding back
After a while.

I am all the faces
In the house of the dead
Tears have
Nothing to do with them.

The wedding house
Will laugh and laugh
Till its cheeks hurt.

Just like you.

My dear bitter guard,
When will we
Go back to that
Pandal in Mississippi
Where we had pulsated
From a single stalk?

Aren’t we the ones
To offer obsequies
To that grandmother
Who looked after us
With pots
Of wholehearted love?

Translator - Shyma P

Shyma P : Works in Payyanur College, Payyanur. Translator and film critic. Has translated poems and articles in Malayalam Literary Survey, The Oxford India Anthology of Malayalam Dalit Literature, online magazines like Gulmohar, Readleaf Poetry as well as scripts and subtitles for short films.
Pandal - natural roof made by plants
solEmn oaSis May 2017
buhay natin ay ano nga ba?
kung walang lagyo ang musika
kagaya ng isang A capella
ang bawat simula
ay may kataposan
ngunit sa bawat kataposan
ay may panibagong simulain
isang prinsipyo na di kayang tuldokan
isang nakaraan na di mapaparam
sapagkat ito ay binantasan ng tandang pandamdam!
kaya naman halina kayo SAGLIT
samahan ako sa pasakalye ng aking DALIT
dahil tulad ninyo...di ko rin nais na wakasan
itong himno ng aking kaluluwa na di ko mapigilan
mailapat sa papel ng aking hapag sulatan
at marubdob na papangyarihin ang taos-pusong koalisyon
ng aking Pag-asa, Pananampalataya at Debosyon
sa pamamagitan ng aking Isang Libo't isang Awit
na pinapag-sanib ng samot-saring kudlit at kuwit
hanggang sa aking maabot ang liwanag sa dilim
at kayo ay aking handogan bago ang takip-silim
What ever happens.... I will continue
what i have been started and
what i haven't yet!
What i am trying to say is...
" some have some while some have no
that's why for those who have most-
this one is also for all of you! "
because for me your Poetry is my Music!
Lone Wolf Dec 2014
You, upperclass, American feminist
Will you please shut up about a sandwich?
And comic book characters, supermodels
Shut up about your first world problems
And take a look somewhere,
Where the idea of feminism Is actually needed
Have you ever heard of an arranged marriage?
It's common practice in other places,
Right after puberty, as long as the ******* are there
11, 12, they don't really care
See the life of a Nepali girl, lower-class,
Lack of freedom
Learn about the meaning
Of the word
Young Nepali slave girls
Beaten and bruised,
Not allowed to be ill

Which are both from india
Dedicated to a goddess at as young as as five
To bring the family good fortune
The tribes girl, forever *****
But with nightly visitors in her bed
They're hoping for some of her luck
To rub off on them
dalit girls
Sold by their family
For next to nothing,
It's called "bonded labor"
And is supposed to pay off debts
But the trap is set
The girl is caught
And if the "bonded labor man"
Feels she isn't of enough use
Maybe she's been beaten or is a little too ill
He sells her off to another man
Supposedly to pay her hospital bill
So yes, feminism is needed
But not here you little heathen
Shut up about your so called freedoms
And help the ones so desperately need it
So, ya. Feminism in America kinda ****** me off. It has gone way past gender equality and has transgressed into female superiority and that's not right either. There's few issues I will actually get worked up about and this one of them.
If you feel the need to be feminist that's fine. Be feminist. But don't ***** about sandwiches and comic book character outfits. Protest something that is truly in need of being stopped. Help someone that needs it.  
Some sites that are very interesting reading material to look into for true feminists:

And oddly enough the one that has so far shown up in my research as a prominent activist is a man. Named Kailash Satyarthi.
Child labor is of course both female and male children. However they are sold in different markets. Males are mostly sold to factories, while females are sold on a more private basis, to men for personal use. Or sometimes a family and the wife "doesn't know" what's happening. Or maybe she does and just doesn't have the authority to say anything. Whatever the situation is, it is wrong. Children shouldn't be sold by their family, and no girl should ever be forced into something.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2019
even a week is sometimes
     not enough to recuperate
from a novel -
    something has borrowed too much
time and expects its worth a miracle of
a penny found on the road of
the eternal walker:
long the road toward a majesty
of the riches...

          whatever novel it might be -
and with it,
   a paralyzing ****** of doubts -
whether sober or intoxicated,
not even when: wine and music
and a book of poetry suffices...

just like now:
Beethoven, kalimotxo,
and the preferred gems by
Frank O'Hara to suit the music...
chez jane and blocks...
if ever there is something
missing in terms of
Beethoven: it's a voice reading
a poem,
  but not reading it,
not like a Beatnik who would
read in the furore of jazz
in the past century...
   anything more than what
is still not a whisper...

and like some farce of
the sword of Damocles...
the pen of Dickens...
        not the labours of a novel,
no... not the month's long
journey into the labyrinth...
music and drinking
simultaneously with a novel
will never work...

but a poem can...
my god... some wine some
classical music and... words...

   when there's music and wine
who needs words like
labyrinths when:
  just on the tip of the hour's
passing: a bird in the form
of a poem...

all i can say in the most mundane
   but i have capitulated
all prior to thrill and audacity
for a novel...
   a month's labour:
and silence...

   a soul in such hiding...
feels hardly a thought necessary
to reinvent itself in its prior
   an mingling of wine
and music and words: come and go...

like all novels:
  as much an accomplishment
of the writer, as an "accomplishment"
of the reader...
and is it so wrong
to not be agitated with emotion
that: a month's worth of
base arithmetic sentences -
the logic of: once upon a time
               as the logic: the end...

sanctity of prose:
  that sensible nature of that
sensible afternoon
  of that sensible life,
   of that: unlived crucifix
      of a shadow's confiscate;
routine and sitting
akimbo on some far removed
  of a sea knocking
on the door of earth -
seeking rhythm -
                          or a heart.

as mundane as this language:
i'm not going
to find a different language
to change this evening,
even though not awe:
or relief... but a paralyzing
doubt has overpowered me...
and, come to think of it:
that's still much more
than a heart's worth of
sitting's comforts in
        the armchair of apathy.

— The End —