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My pen is mourning the agonies and the sufferings
Of my people, who are drowning in the sea of misery.
My keyboard' strokes are shadowing the slow rhythms
Of the wandering beggar, who's lost in the sanctuary.

My voice denounces the filthy cholera and the injustices,
Which are punishing the weakest souls of the valley.
A tiny oligarchy is meagerly being rewarded;
What a shame for a man-made world corrupted with vices!

My daring pen defaces the inequality and the imbalance,
Which fool the image of a so called free world.
My laser beams burn the iris of the blind peasants,
Who can now see clearly the mini-sketch of my people.

I am the brother-in law of the cowardly executed poet
And the great-grandson of the poorest assassinated emperor.
I abhor the vanity and the lowliness of mankind in horror,
Oh! Lord, I'm going to read aloud twelve psalms, from my seat.

My pen is mourning my beloved people,
Who are innocently digesting the giant toxic apple.
My voice is seduced by the wind of liberty,
Which echoes the piercing screams of the hungry babies of Haiti.

P.S. Translation of 'Ma Plume Pleure Du Sang' by Hebert Logerie.

Copyright© November 2010, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of four books of poems:
A pattern emerges,
Beyond the seems.
It cries,
It screams.

Some are friends.
Some are foes.
Some revenges.
Some sew woes.

It screams to be recognized;
It screams to be.
It is the pattern,
On an apple tree.

Abyss as eyes,
Once it sees.
If one stares,
It will be.
Faith Cubitt Feb 8
I wanted to scream....
and
scream
and
scream....
I'm sorry! I'm sorry! god, I'm so sorry.
but I couldn't, I was choking, and crying.
silently dying.
every word I spoke killed, my touch shattering.
everything is my fault.
who is this person I have become?
I really am a horrible person, aren't I?
Antonia Feb 2
anxiety attack
sweat down my back

sleepless nights
and walking nightmares

I am being followed everywhere,
my own shadows are ahead of me

they lead the way,
and have me doubt
each step, each word, each thought
they crawl from underneath my skin
they mock, they push, they scream

“not good enough “
-again, they bluff
every time I am getting closer to being the person I wish to be, time and time again they reappear, and try to drag me back, into my endless self doubt pits.
celeste Dec 2024
everything feels so achingly far apart
my hands outstretched, grasping what once existed before me
time flies, they said—
but this much?
this fast?
so soon?

it was just yesterday,
or was it years and years ago?
when i was just a kid—
“when i was”—
where did that line come from?

it follows me,
creeping into my dreams,
where echoes lay
the cold sweat wakes me,
my words spilling
into the mouth of the toilet bowl

another day passes
where i try to do everything
but scream
Debra Lea Ryan Nov 2024
I've grown tired
Of words flooding my mind
That I struggle to explain
The emotional storm
Keeps lingering on
Where thoughts get in the way

I guess its kind of strange
Thinking out aloud
What I choose not to face
I know I'll be okay
Because there is hope
Beyond my haze

Maybe I need to scream
I don't like this  scene
And I want to run away
Or maybe I need to accept
There will always be something
I'll never ever change

I guess its kind of strange
Thinking out aloud
What I choose not to face
I know I'll be okay
Because (you know) there is hope
Beyond my haze

© Debra Lea Ryan
23.11.2024
☀♥ƸӜƷ✿♬
The Words in Song too @ You Tube >  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJvokPKFFhU < Thank You Hello Poetry Friends x Love Stuffs/Hugs, Debs
Valentin Eni Nov 2024
These words
should scream out loud!
They should howl in pain
and weep with tears.

These words should run,
jump,
bend in half,
spit blood,
grind their teeth
and curse!

These words would kick,
grab throats,
bite,
scratch,
pull hair,
and gouge out eyes.

These words would want to curse
and hate.
These words could die
of venom,
only to rise again
and die once more.

These words would go mad...

...if only they could spring to life!
The poem explores words' raw, unbridled potential—what they could achieve if only they had life. It conveys the speaker's frustration and yearning, who sees words as vehicles of emotion and action bound by their inanimate nature.

The theme revolves around expression, emotional intensity, and limitation, portraying words as powerful and helpless.

Each stanza escalates the emotional weight, starting with screaming and weeping, progressing to physical violence, and culminating in madness and resurrection. This crescendo mirrors the speaker’s rising desperation and frustration.

The closing line, "...if only they could spring to life!" is both a ****** and a resolution. It starkly contrasts with the vivid, animated imagery preceding it, emphasizing the static nature of words. Highlights the ultimate limitation of language: no matter how powerful or evocative, it remains inert without human action.
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