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Andrew M Bell May 15
Radio news bulletin in the car
the last item read in those mellifluous tones
is about a seven-year-old boy
struck and killed by a car
in a poor suburb of Wellington.

The protocol around the legal and privacy issues
means it’s “no name, no pack drill”,
but he was someone,
someone’s son, grandson
perhaps even great-grandson.
He had probably had siblings,
definitely friends and playmates.

Somewhere in a house with
inadequate winter heating,
where the household income is
constantly under siege
and life never rises above a struggle,
there is a mother and a father
who bear this greatest grief.

 Andrew M. Bell
The poet acknowledges "The Typewriter", the online literary journal in which this poem was first published.
Safana Jan 21
We fall asleep, under
The bright and blue

And, we are awake
With worst forlorness

In Kano, all our piektus
Are whining severely and
Our sight fluid, running
Torrentially on our cheeks...

Because, we can't justify
The darkness of that...
What had been done in
Infanticidal burial with
No hand to retaliate, and
Words to express and
Mouth to say and fingers
To indicate....

We stand glued all together
We are sisters and brothers
To seek a justice for mother
And the one who's a father
To bring back their feather

A young Hanifa she had gone
And the manslayer is still here

So,

We bow down to all,
Seeking, a justice call
For Hanifa, the tall...

To rest in peace forever
Hanifa, is a five years old who have been abducted more than a month. Now, her body been found buried under earth. But tragically, her teacher Abdulmalik Tanko is Responsible for the scenes...

We seek justice
We seek justice
We seek justice

For young Hanifa who is a future ambitious
Snipes Sep 2021
Who am I too save
My heads out the window
Tell the cops I’m about to get paved
Break feed leaks
And the accelerator
Matches my foot print
I ain’t stopping
Till the tread sparks spread
Believe me
The wind sounds like
Someone else is speaking
Far off and I stare off
Into another dimension
But my prison isn’t
Potholes, broken down off road
No it’s polyhedral capsules
Who cap my soul












Keep me out the window
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, love him so beautiful just like a dream to me:>


when I look at you

take a guess

take a prey

in the ultimate no guarantee of a getaway

drowned on the ears I remember

a sweet float of a sad sad serenade in a mad December

and that carry for lips for the bravery and the thrill

them that of the one that would never be killed

and I know I'm not alone

by these damns I'll be guided and waved along


                                                                                    -------ravenfeels
Lee Aaun Feb 2021
i was a soul whose life was all about
my own blood, flesh and bones.
i never indulge into your flight,
but you envied my sky
which was offer to me, to fly.
it was you, who compared
yourself to me.
then why you are blaming me
for your choices.
i was fine with my imperfections;
my demons and angels.
just because you couldn't
tackle your negativity,
you had no right to raise your finger
at me, as i never caused your problems.
when all i did was pass by
from your life.
i was a stranger to you.
yet you stabbed me with your
poisonous words.
shot me with your negativity.
cut my wings, by accusing me.
if you couldn't achieved your dreams,
why you killed my dreams?.
was i an easy prey—
or your failure hurt your ego!.
Pillu Nov 2020
Broken ‘her’, she cried out hard,
Calling for help,
Falling to the ground,
She had accepted her defeat.
Her body went numb,
He was drunk, but he didn’t care,
Forcing her under his oneself,
Ignoring her tears,
He thrusted even harder,
Breaking her soul into pieces.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Smirking finally, after he was all done,
Slapping her at last, until the soul left her body completely,
She was not ra*ed, she was killed!
There's another **** case in Pillu's country. It's not surprising. But it feels terrible, to know that even a 2-year old baby can get ***** and killed. What has she done? She didn't even get to speak.
Even one of Pillu's not-so-known friend got killed! Why do they have to suffer, for something which is not their mistake? *Pillu cries*
Nylee Sep 2020
How do you **** a life?

But you do it so well
what expertise in
elegies
the choices
tone, words

you mourn too
sweet little nothings
pitiful stare
buttery
and nice
share a piece of cake
so sugary

and cherry on top
all the facts,
I deleted from my mind
restored back
It is the rush of feelings
too many at the same time

You have squeezed my
Soul out
I am empty
Inside out,
executed in precision
I can never mend
my pieces back.


I am short of breath,
You did it so well,
or am I short of me?
Marri Jul 2020
Have you ever washed the blood of another off of yourself?

Standing under the shower’s rain,
Rinsing, and scrubbing the blood off your face and arms.
Staining the tile where you stand;
Swirling hypnotically down the drain.

I shot you;
I’m the reason you’re dead,
And the splatter of blood across my face proves it.

The gunpowder is still under my nails,
Black as ever as if I scratched my way out of my own coffin into yours.
I’m still coughing up dirt, I swear.

I stabbed you;
I’m the reason you won’t wake up.

The blade glimmered as I twisted it into you so fluidly.  
I was afraid to pull it out,
Afraid that a piece of myself was embedded in you too.
The dagger is a shade of red and brown as if you were ***** just like me.

I killed you!
Can’t you see? You can’t.
But, I believe, no, I know you feel it somewhere.
Somehow.

This water isn’t hot enough.
It’s not scalding enough to burn the feeling of you off of me.
But the blood,
Oh, the blood.
A never ending crimson sea, a deep bleeding river of you, slowly, but surely, disappearing from existence.

I run a bath,
The shower wasn’t enough.

I’m still stained.
I’m still tainted,
I’m still bleeding into someone who isn’t me.

The water swishes as I settle in.
Back and forth, up and down,
Over and under the sides of the tub.

The water won’t stop turning red,
A deep red.

A reminder that I killed you,
That I shot you,
That I stabbed you.
That I don’t regret it,

But regret isn’t guilt.
Is it?

It’s ******.
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