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Sindi 2d
Like a constellation of stars
The walk upon the stage
Smiling and dazzling
In their best clothing

This small event was successful
But if only there were more people
To watch this spectacular happening

The individuals who participated
Proved that they are not fish in the school
But more like a bouquet of daisies
All glittering by
Sixty-seven children have been slaughtered.
Sixty-seven dreams have been shattered.
Sixty-seven beautiful faces have now vanished.
Sixty-seven vibrant smiles have faded.
Sixty-seven beds are left empty.

Palestinian children, like all children, love to play.
Palestinian children are longing for peace.
The children of Gaza dream to be teachers, nurses, artists, engineers, and doctors.
Palestinian children want to breathe.
Palestinian children's lives matter!

(Palestinian children killed by Israel in Gaza in May, 2021)

Hussein Dekmak
s1mpl3po3t May 22
I would rant and I’d rave
I’d bargain and scold,
Till I was blue in the face
And feeling quite old,
Just to get the girl reading
Something more than Teen People,
I’d gladly climb Everest
Or leap from a steeple.

I burned 17 packages
Of incense and sage,
I scouted the bookstores
For tomes for her age,
But what good would it do
If she never opened the book,
She would tell me, dear Father
I don’t like the look.

I loped to the library
And toddled to Tower,
I dashed down to Dalton's
Scanning books by the hour,
All with a longing
And a keen aspiration,
This daughter would read
For a minute's duration.

Alas and alack
All my efforts were nil,
Not a Shakespeare or Keats
Nay, a Jack or a Jill,
Until I admitted
My failure as Father,
All my running amuck
Was an embarrassing bother.

I was forced to succumb
To the wiles of her ways,
She could read fashion mags
To the end of her days,
If only this Father
Would pay the subscription,
Or this daughter would connive
A catatonic conniption.

This tale has an ending
And it came down to loyalty,
I pay her to read
So she's feeling like royalty,
I had to demonstrate
That I was loving, not mean,
I said, "Read in the car"
She replied, "Limousine".

How often it's told
In stories and lore,
That raising one's children
Is often a chore,
But the right application
Of smiles and charm,
Will insure that the Father
Will avoid lasting harm.
Vartika May 17
I miss old summers
barren streets with flats so hot
scorched our faces and tanned
our legs and races.

It was simple simply sipping
mugs of sharbat and aamras
and cool drinks
made under the small roof I call home.

Not much on television screens, we sat
cross-legged on floor
playing games that require no brains
and stitched clothes for the dolls
from rags thrown away by mother.

She scolded us
making us stay quiet
handing down her books, old comics
to read and learn and to stop whispering
stories of action and myths
gods and fairies,
for the heat is too much
the sun is too bright
and the sweat on our foreheads
tickle our skin
for we were incorrigible
and never quiet.

As I sat down and read
I imagine yellows in the land of gold
colours dissolving into swirls
my reverie takes me to future unknown
thinking about how much I'll score
just to go outside, step outside
and make my fortune grow.

But the sun has now set
my friends are all outside
they have stories to tell too
mine remain unchallenged, unquestioned,
oh my mother fake-wept
on my injuries, and her fear
so unresolved of my mind kept in darkness
that my grandma starts to lull
the same old stories that her grandma sang her to sleep
far, far away from the land of gold
epiphanies too much for a seven year old.
It's a throwback to my childhood (back in 00s)
The snapshot of Now
folds in the middle:
me on one side,
kids on the other.

The snapshot of Then
split in the end --
me torn apart --
them with their mother.
Khoi May 11
I see birds fly
from this concrete predicament
faces in ****** hands
I hurt and I cry
my hands are wet
on Pilates plateau
a place where bugs die.
Diesel May 3
A team of four - or more than two
Tappy children waddle by -
To see the lake - with a loon, with
Their mother - looking nigh:

Their funny games, which all they play
Throughout the night of orange suns;
Of tannéd eyes the streetlights bay
And run on home would all of them:

Then father hears and goes away
To other places in a night;
All gone the children, gone today -
Perhaps they'll come another time.
Who will enlighten little Bo-Peep.

On the surface compliant sheep,
Though breading monsters underneath,
and once the sheep have grown their teeth,
Were-sheep will have their share of meat.

****** wolves derived from sheep!
****** wolves from sheep Bo-Peep!
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