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I’m a Bengali in sombrero
An Indian from Kolkata
I live at a stone’s throw
From where flows the Ganga.

I speak in Bengalee
For me the sweetest language
Like the Ganga flows freely
Has Sanskrit as lineage.

Rice is my staple food
So are dal and fish
A cup of tea is too good
With two biscuits on a dish.

Around me spreads green countryside
Where grows all the foodgrain
Rivers flow wild and wide
Their banks home joy and pain.

I was born and reared in this riparian land
Where soil is tilled in peasants’ sweat
Sparkles in moon the Bay’s white sand
Weaving dreams for many a poet!
.

*If I were a poem
I’d ask you to fold me up
and put me in your pocket,
then at the end of the week,
toss me in the wash
with the rest of the clothes

And when you find me later,
smudged and smeared,
ripped and tattered into
little unrecognizable pieces,
don’t worry about it,
I was already like that
I have been notified that this poem was plagiarized and posted on Poetfreak by someone using the name Blurry Face. I can assure you, this is my poem.
Color is light. Color is grace. Color is a garden.  

Since when was white not a color.

Since when was white the other.

Since when was white not your brother.

You are no better than us. We are no better than you. You are a color like us. We are a color like you.

Color is a gift. Color is magic. Color is our skin.

Color is divine. Color is no mistake.  

Color is just a color.

Color is a window.

Color is bliss.  

Color is the Lord’s stage.

Color is alive. Color is eternity.

Color is noteworthy.

Color is original. Color is a story.

Color is extending.

Color is our breath.

Color is sunshine. Color is our life line.

Color is captivating.  

Color is our wings.

Color is love.

Color is beautiful.

Color is you. Color is I. Color is he. Color is she. Color is us.

by: Najwa Kareem

February 2017
The same corner bends beneath us.

The ground gives, then takes,

like it knows we will fall again.

We call it learning,

but the sky calls it forgetting.
Last week before Christmas holidays, can't wait.
I of Africa, Africa for i
Are my ancestor, my future generation
My grandfather, my grandmother
My father , my mother
My brother, my sister
My nephew, my niece
My uncle, my aunt
My cousin, my neighbour
My son, my daughter
My root, my stem
My spirituality , my beliefs
Are the air i breathe,
Are the water i drink,
Are the food i eat,
My seasons, my memories
My happiness, my love
My experience, my wisdom
Africa you are me and i, you
I think we are past the warming up stage
Things have heated up,
And going to the extremes
The cooking has begun and we still chopping down ingredients
If we dont stir down this heat we going into deep fry
Cooling off is for meta the dish is done
All this heat from the fires , we about to have coal for breakfast
All we doing is demonstrations,
And talking about demonstrations
While the globe is riding on a wave of heat sweatlessly
Using resources to budget for ourselves,
While we are economising on economies of scale for the planet

And they revenge is best served cold
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