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Zywa Apr 2019
Eyes pass me with a greeting
eyes hang still in the streets
and shopping lanes, eyes fly

around the earth
eyes are watching
around important bodies

alert eyes
that protect, willing
to restrict others

I defend myself
and ward them off
with the hand on my heart

an eye for an eye
beware, I look back
even when I'm not looking
Collection “Mosaic virus”

Hamsa = five, the amulet “hand of Fatima”, originally “hand of Inanna” (Sumer, 5000 BC), then “hand of Ishtar” (Akkad, 2300 BC); Jews used the hand against the evil eye
aj kamari Jul 2018
claiming i was yours wasn't the biggest lie
you told me,
giving me false security and sense of hope
i was an amulet for your anger
an amulet for your pride
left on the ground
all broken down
with scars on my side
Salmabanu Hatim Jan 2018
A young man from Srinagar,
Was born with anger,
Which was a part of his manner.
He would flare up suddenly,
Vent his anger violently,
Fume and seethe at everyone,
Friends he had none.
His parents were worried,
To many counsellors they scurried,
But with little avail,
In torment they could only wail.
One day an old sage came to town,
He was well known
To cure people with anger and demon.
He looked deep into the boy's
Anger filled eyes.
I see no demon,
Only anger venom.
He recited some tantric  words a bit,
Young man, take this amulet,
Wear it day and night.
Throw out of the window disparity,
Learn to do charity,
See how others suffer,
With no one their sorrow to buffer.
Go for yoga and meditation,
To control your anger addiction.
That's my  advice,
For good  overcomes the vice.
For some time the boy joined an ashram.He came out a better person.
Scarlet McCall Oct 2016
Thou didst guard me, Amulet--
Talisman, whose destruction I regret.
Thy spell held me in eternal safety.
Alone I was never,  when thou wert with me.
I gave up thy secret to the sorcerer,
for promise of a gift he could not deliver.
Poor bargain, and I am now wiser
and would not trade treasure for lowly desire.
The sorcerer broke my talisman,
and I was broken, and now alone I stand.
Too late I realized my error
and was stricken with mortal terror.
On the bridge I screamed, above the frozen river,
under a sunless sky, facing a void forever.
Don't know why I wrote it in a pidgin version of Middle English. It's a true story.  But eventually I was able to fashion reasonable facsimiles of the Talisman, and they occasionally appear in my poems.
"There's a target on your back,"
said the man in striped white socks and flip flops.
He swung his arms freely and slapped his face
accidentally or intentionally--his illness wasn't mine to name.

The trees wrapped their arms around one another in a huddle.
"Quick she's coming near. The target is close."
One. Two. Three. Birds flew by and splashed my forehead.
I looked back and felt one of the trees wink and point ahead.

A man on a moped waited until my back was turn and I bent down.
Whistle. Whistle. Head turn back ninety degrees.
You'll get in an accident, I thought; I secretly wanted,
his helmet-less head splat flat on the concrete, skin burning,
melting, bubbling, pooling in a puddle.

The red doors whined against my insistent grasp.
When I found my white door, I air twisted the **** that was
pushed back to show the open space inside the coolness.
I didn't live that cold. I didn't know how.
He did. And he reached into my freezer and removed his tongue.
I sank onto the floor and felt ice hit me my cheeks and my eyes and ears.
The blankets couldn't warm me. My tears couldn't melt what formed.

He tossed my key on the mat, kicked back dust into my face;
looked me square in the eyes frozen wide open, mouth gaping for air.

"I put a target on your back. See ya."

— The End —