Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Traveler Dec 2020
The largest mass ****** machine that ever existed!
We make a profit off of death!
Traveler

This is an atrocity
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Songstress
by Michael R. Burch

for Nadia Anjuman

Within its starkwhite ribcage, how the heart
must flutter wildly, O, and always sing
against the pressing darkness: all it knows
until at last it feels the numbing sting
of death. Then life’s brief vision swiftly passes,
imposing night on one who clearly saw.

Death held your bright heart tightly, till its maw—
envenomed, fanged—could swallow, whole, your Awe.

And yet it was not death so much as you
who sealed your doom; you could not help but sing
and not be silenced. Here, behold your tomb’s
white alabaster cage: pale, wretched thing!

But you’ll not be imprisoned here, wise wren!
Your words soar free; rise, sing, fly, live again

Keywords/Tags: Nadia Anjuman, Afghanistan, Afghani poet, poetess, death, martyr, hero, heroine, voice, freedom, equality, justice
Harsha Jun 2018
I lack complete memories there exists but fragments
From incidents that took place sometime ago
Like ricochets left behind in the wake of a fired bullet
They contain no context nothing tangible to recall  
But abstract retentions from the distant past such as my father’s voice
Or my mother’s smile intertwined with my brother s laugh
My company psychiatrist diagnosis is PTSD
I whole heartedly object and resentfully disagree
It was like this before the second Gulf even before Kandahar
Ever before the war broke my bleeding heart
The immortal last words of Andy to his best friend Red
Pretty much sums up my infatuation on lost time and absent reminiscences which I won’t evoke
As I choose not to because I rather not; hence I quote
‘’You know what the Mexicans says about the Pacific
They say it has no memory
That’s where I want to live the rest of my life
A warm place with no memory’’
Ellison Mar 2018
Shed some light on the smoke covered town
That breathes nothing but the bombs from the sky coming down
Shed some light on the shadows of the dead
With the swing set squeaking softly as the sky turns red
Shed some light on the bodies never meant to be seen
Expelled from society; their lives never being clean
Shed some light on the hand
That draws people in the sand
Does it belong to a child?
Broken dreams they have piled.
Spread awareness and encourage contributions to aid the crisis in the Middle East.
Peter Balkus Aug 2017
Do you like it much
killing every day,
do you really think
they'll pay you on death?

Do you enjoy
living on the war,
don't you seek for peace
happiness and bliss?

There's always a way,
even more than one,
like there's more than one book
to open a mind.

There's more than one God
to find and to love.
There's always a way,
if seems like there's none.

Can I touch your hand?
Can I hug you, please?
Don't be scared, I know,
I know how you feel.




*Poem written shortly after learning from the news about today's Taliban suicide bomb attack on Afghan forces which killed 13.
Next page