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Mohith Feb 2019
When the grey shades creeps
I fly , fly high
I never see the leaves fallen apart,
The dwindling light.
I just fly, high and above
To the zenith.
EJ Lee Jan 2019
I feel as though I am walking on eggshells
I am surrounded by people who
Pride themselves in tolerance and diversity
Voicing their opinions loud and clear
Walking on eggshells
My opinions and views differs from them
As it does not align with theirs
Holding my tongue to
Avoid confrontations
I want to speak my mind
So I can stand up for myself
But I stay silenced
Walking on eggshells
Narrowly avoiding certain subjects
For fear of being treated horribly
I want to make friends
That accepts me
Respects my opinions
Walking on eggshells
I feel oppressed and afraid
In my community
Trying to survive
A community of that is not
As tolerant as they preach
I am walking on eggshells
Trying to avoid being called names that
Are not true
I don’t feel safe
While everyone else has
Their safe space
For two years I’ll be
Walking on eggshells
EJ Lee Jan 2019
We exist
Our voices may be small
But we exist
Our art might not be political
But we exist
We might not be controversial
But we exist
Our opinions might be ignored
But we exist
We, the voice of the most oppressed,
Work in the profession remaining the most humble,
Throughout histories, as slaves our lives still remain tumble,
With our strangled necks, we are deliberately suppressed

For the centuries, our voices remain unheard,
Like a weeping fish at the sea,
We are treated zombies at the rush of a blood,
Collecting by hand, the human society’s poops & pea

Things for us got intensely worse,
We work as a group with an isolated curse,
For our livelihood, go into manholes as bare-bodies
Mostly get out as dead-bodies

From pathology to oncology,
We are treated untouchables, even by the modern technology
We are the oxygen-offering trees that remain green
Hurting ourselves, collecting excreta making this world neat &clean

With our hand-cuffs we shout and fight,
Rulers remain drunken-deafs to our plight,
Hell with your knowledge, to those who go to college
And keep pushing us to the drainage,
We remain living dead and frustrated, to get our right

When asked about work, we remain dumb and blind,
Fearing the responses to our ***** revelations,
Because humans are unemphathetic and unkind
To get our life some elevations.

Our mind said us “Please think! Please Think!”
When we revolt not to work, societies stink,
We warn, Witness your locality *****,
To our sufferings, if you keep blank & empty.

We are a collective voice,
Representing inhuman humanity,
That keeps the society on a poise,
So raise your voice, with a clarity of choice
To get us work with the utmost dignity!
Manual scavengers is a decent term. People who collect human and animal excreta on bare hands are the manual scavengers. The quality of these people in the south-east Asian countries like India remain pathetic. Their voices are often neglected and ignored by the rulers. They remain struck in a state of vicious circle, where poverty and untouchability keeps chasing them continuously and push them towards this work. This poem is a pain of the masses that had been engaged in manual scavenging for centuries immemorial that continues unlikely, till the present day. Rulers don’t offer the mandatory occupational standards and technological support to the manual scavengers. The motive of this poem is to voice their concerns to help them work peacefully and offer them a dignified life. This poem is written in the style of a ballad.
Denise Uy Sep 2018
how can such hollow words fool you?
how can you not see from your point of view?
you let them pluck you like a fragile lute,
you let them **** on you as if you were the ground.
stop letting them smell you as if you were foul.
just fight back and start with a growl.

don't let them move you around in a chess game.
let their every advance not allow your mind to sway.
you could be losing but don't toss the board yet.
stay even when all seems to go downhill,
stay and don't let your losses shake your will.
just fight back, break yourself free, and live with thrill.

roar even when they can barely hear
and know that they're not the ones to fear.
do what it takes to amplify your lion heart.
you can borrow my light to see through the dark.
aim carefully like you were shooting darts.
just fight back, shield your person, and make your mark.
learn to listen and stand your ground. g'night mga doi
Sam H Jul 2018
i'm surrounded by familiar faces
some are warm, some are cold
all with love for me
yet i still feel so alone

i usually wear a mask
i hide behind my smile,
my jokes and my childishness
but my shadow reveals
the true pain and sorrow i contain
for it is filled with nothing but darkness
the first smile i force out everyday
screams for help, freedom, solace
but i hide it so well, no one seems to notice

i want be seen and heard
with the respect and love i truly deserve
i wish i didn't have to hide who i am
a colored spirit without limits nor end
Jasmine Aug 2017
I am the shadow of trayvon martin
Lying on the ground just as he did
I'm black just as he was
I wasn't planning to die that day either
I wasn't threatning nobody either
that day
The gunshots echoed
just as loud
when I was shot down as Mike Brown
yet his name echoes through the streets years later still
mine followed me to the grave
They don't care about me it seems
If I cried "what about me"
Who would ever see?
because my hashtag has even been drowned so deep in the depths of R.I.P's that I can't barely breathe anymore
When we think black brutality
Why do the names of trayvon
Rush to our heads just as fast as blood once rushed to theirs?
Does my black life, too, matter?
I can't blame you
That there have been so many deaths due to oppression and police brutality that they all seem to sound the same
No matter how loud we scream Black lives matter
We will never be seen as the living
But the potentially dead
We cry for justice to a system that's no longer built to accept us
A president that tries to forget us
A black voice will always be too loud to a world who never intended on listening
Who am I?
Besides a hashtag and a t-shirt with my face on it?
A black lives matter sign and a melanin fist?
A statistic?
I am black excellence
Regardless of how much sin you may see in my kin
A piece from the perspective of Black oppression victims unheard
Carrillo Aug 2017
My vessel has been anchored, attacked, and conquered
Leaving the pieces shattered and somber
Stranded within a dynamic society
My lifeless bones still dance with gaiety

Misguided, unrequited, i have lost my light
And here i lie undecided
if sinking is a reward of being silent
Lost in a sea composed of
stringless, seamless puppets
I'm reluctant, broken, cracked and sewed in
Posed and told how to blend within
The flawless flaws of retrospective laws
Oppress what others call a
“Suitable demographic”

My vessel has been anchored, attacked, and conquered
Leaving the pieces shattered and somber
Stranded within a dynamic society
My lifeless bones still dance with gaiety

Attach the wires and deem yourself my master
Superiority begets a systematic wrath of
Powerless demons with a potent strategy
Demand my steps to guide you into the perfect victory
Media-- social media socializing the roles like ghouls of anesthesia
Taking the control, then providing a hole of grief, anger, less goals and lost souls.

My vessel has been anchored, attacked, and conquered
Leaving the pieces shattered and somber
Stranded within a dynamic society
My lifeless bones still dance with gaiety
My name is Geoff May 2017
A butterfly stays
in a king’s bush, laden
with blush roses—
an orphan of the garden.
Home of the yesteryear,
now thorn whips cracked
By old wardens.
Flee, you blossom flapping.
Flee, for your proboscis
seeks for sanctuary,
Not a casket.
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