you'll learn
to swallow your fears like wine
and savor the burn in the back of your throat

Although, I’m mindful of the President’s tweets
and the pundits’ chatter;
And, while I keep up with the world news that matters;
Amid the pandemic, the politics, and the police brutality;
I often settle my spirit on . . . poetry.

I take some time.
I free my mind.
S l o w l y, I sip from a glass of smooth merlot wine.  
I relax,
I kickback,
and I ride the rhythm of the rhymes.

Because after a bit,
the constant “Breaking News,”
the quarantine,
the vanishing Lysol disinfectant spray amid covid19,
the social-distancing,
the quest for a vaccine,
the protest rallies,
the unsettling maskless scenes,
and the viewing of America’s racial unrest,
just invites unwanted and needless mental stress.

So, during these anxious days of shelter in place,
I retreat to a quiet and pleasing space,
where literature calms all worries within.
I find a book. Take a sip.
And, I warmly welcome fiction like a cherished friend.

In the midst of your sorrow and tears,
Embrace your pain,
Craft it into a sweet wine,
Imbibe it's positive energy.

In the midst of your sorrow and tears,
Make room for a smile and laughter,
Intertwine your agony with a kind deed,
And color it with a rainbow of humanity.

In the midst of your sorrow and tears,
Derive strength from God with a little prayer.
Plant a garden of hope in your heart, dreaming
Of a new dawn, a beautiful day, and enduring sunshine.

Hussein Dekmak

Copyright

She stumbled into her apartment at a quarter past nine,
Flicked on the lights and poured a tall glass of wine.
She clasped it firmly, her fingers intertwined,
And made her way to the bedroom – one step at a time.

Creeping through the hallway, pressing the glass against her lip,
She knew what she was getting into, but still went in for another sip.
Her hands were trembling, the seam slipping from her fingertips.
She was losing control and there was just no hiding it.

Searching for another bottle, and chugging it down her throat,
She drowned her sorrows in wine, and then attempted to stay afloat.
The bitter-sweet taste would then sometimes grasp her by the throat,
And plunge her into the darkness of the ceaseless unknown.

She let out a piercing, blood – curdling scream,
That shook the ground, the sky and everything in between.
Laying on the ground, she didn’t want to make a scene,
So she played with her lighter, in the ruby red bloodstream.

She was sick and tired of being so weak,
Falling prey and then accepting defeat.
The same story would play in a cassette on repeat,
As she’d pour herself a glass, and then beg on her knees.

-- Fatima

We’re all bound together, he says
This little red thread between my fingers
And yours
And his
Caught between who you are
Who you were
And maybe who you could be
He kisses me through the web
Through the tangle of crimson silk
Sipping wine from my lips
Offering blood in return, despite his preference
for
flesh

He’s rubbed off on you
brought your rage to the surface
Which is fine
I think
But you can’t be this angry
when you’re drinking with me

Blood will cut the sweetness
of wine on your lips

Lay your hands on my cold and fragile bottle;
hold the cork and twist me-
gently--
slowly--
don’t stop until you hear me pop;
set my spirit free and I go astray-
into your soul so weary;
close your eyes, smell the earth in me-
herbs, tobaccos, vanillas, trees-
savor the aroma of heavens;
now pour me down in the empty glass-
of love and affection;
touch me with your lonely tongue;
indulge my warmth-
wrapping your delicate heart;
little sips-
after
little sips;
until-
you lose control.