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When I see the Haitian flag, tears rush into my eyes.
When I see the Haitian flag, my Haitian heart cries.
Our people have been ridiculed, yet our flag continues
To flow unimpeded. We will never die on our knees.
If we must die, we will die standing like brave soldiers.
We will not bow our head. We will stare at the racist liars,
Because our Heroes died for our freedom, honor and dignity.
Haiti is the most exploited country in the world. Haiti, Haiti
Will survive, and all the perpetrators will rot one day in Hell.
Haiti is the most betrayed country in the world. Haiti, Haiti
Is a beautiful country, in spite of the centuries of disrespect
Of over-exploiting, looting, stealing, and obvious neglect.
Haiti is patient. One day, all the fake and snake goons will rot in Hell.
When I see the images of Haiti, I shake and shake my head and I pray.
When I see the forced smiles of Haiti; speechless, I don't know what to say.
I become sad, angry and numb, because many of us LOVE Haiti,
Our Homeland, which Haiti has been governed by a lot of haters,
By a clan of shrewd kleptomaniacs, who know how to fool the voters,
Which are naïve, uninformed and illiterate. Haiti will survive their hypocrisy,
At the end of the day. When I see the bicolor, tears come to my eyes,
'Cause we have suffered enough and too much. Yes, my brave heart cries.

P.S. May 18 is Haitian Flag's Day (May 18,1803 - May 18,2018) . Happy Haitian Flag's Day!

Copyright © May 18,2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Ma plume pleure les agonies et les souffrances
De mon peuple qui se noie dans la misère.
Mon stylo stylise les lentes cadences
D’un mendiant qui s’égare au sein de la galère.

Ma voix dénonce la vaine guerre et l’injustice
Qui punissent les plus impotents de la vallée.
Un petit groupe se voit maigrement récompenser,
Quelle honte pour un monde infesté de vices!

Mon pinceau démasque l’inégalité et le déséquilibre
Qui bottinent tout un univers soi-disant libre.
Mes 'rayons laser' brûlent l’iris des aveugles
Qui voient très clair le mini-tableau de mon peuple.

Je suis le gendre du poète lâchement exécuté
Et le petit-fils du plus pauvre empereur assassiné.
J’abhorre la vanité et la mièvrerie de l’homme
Qui se croit supérieur à l’hérisson et à la pomme.

Ma plume pleure pour mon peuple
Qui boit l’absinthe comme un aveugle.
Ma voix emportée, par le vent de la liberté
Est pareille aux soupirs perçants des enfants affamés.

Copyright© 18 Mai 2010, Hebert Logerie, Tous Droits Réservés
Hébert Logerie est l’auteur de quatre recueils de poèmes.
Maria Etre Mar 5
Of all the flags
that I have seen
red, green, purple, blue
and God knows what
none did I collect
for I think
the color
I desire
is being
created
Archer Feb 19
O Say, can you see
By the bonfire’s cries
What so fearful we strayed
As our kingdom was vain?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars
Ran from perilous fights
O’er to isolation
Were so anxiously leaving?

And the rocket’s red glare
Was a sign we don’t care
Still we gave up the fight
With our flag draping there

O Say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the “free” and the home of the “brave”
Steve Page Jul 2024
What is it about a national flag
draped over shoulders,
tied at the neck
or wrapped like a toga
that makes me cross the road?
Why do I suspect it covers anger?
Why do I hear a shout of challenge,
rather than a song of honour?
Was it too many urban marches?
Flying London bricks?
And cracked skulls?
Let's put flags beyond reach
on flag poles,
and preferably not at half mast.
#livinginlondon
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2022
Laced with ribbons of moonlight
Bangladesh a touched dream at first light.
Land of my father, my mother
sweeter than nectar.
Purer than the driven snow
brighter than raw gold.
Gazing stars’ bumped up bottom
down the untouched moon.

Men and the six seasons
living in one loving fold
our one fertile sweet home!
O Allah rank our martyrs our heroes
up high in paradise in bloom
brought Bangladesh freedom abloom!

Punters cumulus clouds fly
eyes on the sky blue  
on a spur hanging low tune into wild coo.
Picture independent Bangladesh
step in on the morning rug
rolls out outside the sun
walk through, the moon is inside!
Bask in, take your time
when the twilight adds a shadow
the beauty spot on your broad daylight
escape to more serendipitous discovery.
Eye on the stars or tuberoses on the ground
our free land is inspiring, beautiful even in the dark.

Laughs free from a tulip glass  
across the land, air and the water
upon the reed flute stirred river
flowing downstream to the hilt
from a deep-delved foundation out of reach
her raised high flag flies
over the pivotal banyan trees.

Every flap of our ‘the sun in the green’ shaped flag,
the light of heaven on the evergreen earth!
Ah, sways in the chalice of every flower
on the land cheers beyond the warm South
whispers to our hearts and makes us feel proud.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2021
Finding seed in fibers needed for the humming bird robe.
Thread twisted so,
fine fine fine,
sof-ein
my point in the twisting tale

The book my culture arose from
knowing any rose is a rose.
thank you, Gert,

this book, the book, our culture- global
post
the elec'ric link to steam and steel
and cotton picking
through
assembly line guns, before automobiles, by Ford.

Yes, as an aside, who saw
- pause the prosody, break the lines
- goto .7 speed
- or bullet speed if you know the idea
As handspinners, we indulge our senses with each new yarn that is spun.

From <https://spinoffmagazine.com/a-practical-guide-to-ginning-cotton-by-hand/>

As handspinners,
we indulge our senses
with each new yarn that is spun.
We are entranced and soothed
as our eyes watch the twist travel through the fiber.
We fluff, stretch,
and tug it into every possible yarn configuration
and enjoy that therapeutic zen
that comes with it.
Ginning your own cotton by hand
adds another layer
of bliss
to the spinning experience.

At a glance,
we just pluck seeds
from a nest
of fiber.
You’ll want
to work methodically
in order
to save time and leave your fiber
as lofty
as possible after ginning.
Understanding how the seeds are organized
within a cotton boll and using the best technique
for the variety
of cotton that you have makes the handginning process go much easier.
A link back to an imagine robe formed from 13,392,578 humming bird heads, I assume the hearts from those heads fed priestly beings in some rite of passage.
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