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ConnectHook Nov 2019
Sullen she sits
in her shimmering fabric
scowling at her adoptive nation.
Listlessly scrolling
for soap-opera news
in her language.
Half-hidden behind the register
where she sells something every few hours
to someone from her country
purchasing those weird snacks:
dried minnows with mango,
fish with curried betel-nut,
tamarind-flavored dried shrimp . . .

Hey lady, you look funny
with that white paste
smeared all over your face.
You look like a ghost.
Did Buddha make you put it on?

Hey lady, don't you know how to smile
and serve the public?
Maybe you should learn English.

Why did you come here, anyway?
'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat - jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o' mud
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay...

(lines from some English poet)
Rizna M Rameez Aug 2019
Did you buy the air for money, perhaps?
Or your lungs by labour?
Why is it that you feel entitled to be privileged to live, yet you
Deem for me no worth of life?

Was it not the same God that gave you the air and the lungs to breathe it by?
Then why do you consider the ground you tread deserving of my blood sacrifice?

Why is it that you feel entitled
To live,
While me,
To die?

In God's realm there is no majority nor minority,
Only that there is the one who hoarded pleasures,
And the one who was robbed of it.
And one day,
One day,
You will answer for why you thought the lungs and air
You and I got for the same price
Was only worthy of yourself.
Again, the plight of the Uighur, Rohingya, Syria, Yemen and Palestine etc, does not cease in torture. (Also, I am back from a half-year long writer's block, guess I lost the inspiration and passion, and eventually interest).
Sharon Talbot Aug 2018
I never knew until now,
Dear Dad, though
I listened to the stories you told,
Of War that re-ignited after the one supposed,
To end all wars, or so it was proclaimed.

You went abroad, your Varsity
Stalled, dreams put aside,
Long before I was born,
Before you met my mother or I was named.

Instead, you wanted to fly,
High above the Bay of Bengal
And the Andaman Sea,
Above the carnage, or so you said.
And that must have seemed a way to save
That sanity
You needed to take you through,
To come back and marry a beloved girl.

I watch the newsreels now,
They are old, with time and victory ingrained.

I can see you flying that high,
Himalayan peaks shining in your eyes,
Cold death above and horror below.
You told me stories, I recall,
Too young for me to imagine.
Now too old for me to hear them all.

You never piloted again
Except in your nightmares.
On a road between moon and sun
In your own history you flew
The infamous, undying path
Of The Burma Run.
My father, an Army Air Force Captain, put off college and piloted cargo planes over "The ****", on the Burma Run from India to China. He wasn't prone to tell stories, yet sometimes he would talk about his flights, the wonder and danger of them, being fired at, watching his friends' planes crash into mountains and land in a war zone. He was proud of his service, yet damaged by it, as is so often the case.
Mane Omsy Sep 2017
Dozen military attempting crimes
Some didn’t expect it on children
When they wear religious Kasaya
Holding swords daring the police
Meant for protection but witness
In front of them, being slaughtered
Will they ever step forward?
Yes, but without their body parts
I’ve seen pictures of red rivers
Seen bodies of babies floating
Here we quarrel about border issues
There they don’t ask, just swings
Flesh into fragments of butchered meat
Like it’s a tradition, they *****
Left the bodies unburied, as trophies
As lessons to teach who believed
For their choices, for they were free
For they expected independence
For they believed to live with peace
Recently after a small silence, the Burma Buddhists acted again against the innocent minority (rohingyas) Muslims by slaughtering men, women, children and even they drowned little infants on the rivers. Turkish president has decided to talk about it in the US assembly and step forward by sending a troop to defend these poor people. We all pray for the victims.
Mihir Kulkarni May 2017
She doesn't think
I'm much of a guy...
I meant much of
An interesting guy.
I did say "interesting" before...
Didn't I?

Why does it matter?
Oh I love her I think...
We will go well together,
Like bread and jam
wait.. a better rhyme...
Like bread and "butter".

I must tell you...
The amount of efforts I make!
Even wrote her a poem to which
She said "For God's sake!
We are not in 19th century. Get new..."
It made me feel like leftover cake.

"Swag", she said
Something you lack ***;
I opened net and googled it
After our short conversation.
The guys must do this and that
Looking at it I went into depression!
(Have you seen the latest trends?
I'm soooo far behind. oh good heaven!)

Back home I sunk in my sofa low
I was ****** exhausted,
Nothing I did pleased her
Didn't get her one bit excited;
She wanted someone bad and strong
And all she got was a guy *******.

Why is it that...
Her crush drinks a bottle of whiskey down,
In one gulp and calls her cutie pie.
And I can't even pull off a leather jacket,
I'm just a ******* teetotaler orange juice guy.
In this world full of jibber-jabber,
I look at her as if She's my only high!

So I'll love her silently and pray,
Like how Earth keeps Moon
Neither too close nor far away;
A miracle is all I hope for
(like the guy she loves shifting to Burma)
Then she'll have no other way!

I know...
I'm not a bad boy!
Why o God you've made me this nice?!
She loves to play with fire and you've
And you've...
Made my heart outta ice!
Sometimes you feel bad that you're a good guy.

— The End —