"poaches" poems
Although I haven't witnessed
Darfur's eyes run red.
Rivers full of skeletons,
and bodies torn and bled.
I've read about the pigment
of fearful hearts so lost.
A dreaded world within a world;
there are no lines to cross.
Money paid for power.
Power, bodies, bills.
The Janjaweed at noon,
are cleansing for their drills.
Washing down stern orders
with blood on unclean hands.
Babies and their mothers
decomposing in sand.
Weapons worn like diamonds.
Lust and **** colliding.
Torture becomes normalcy.
Living only hiding.
So long as Omar al-Bashir
sees families as roaches,
death is understated.
In greed, he people-poaches.
Pity is for damsels
parading in a tide
of much needed attention
with ego on the side.
To you, my friend
who listens, but fails to comprehend:
Those who live for nothing
are nothing in the end,
I ask you, pray for Sudanese
fed horrors for their lunch,
their bones becoming rubble,
under tires they will crunch.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
I married a **** survivor
She was terrified and broken
Shaken till the last drop of blood
She can’t even face the mirror now
Now she hates herself for being a girl
Just few seconds had stolen her identity
Her respect, Her pride, Her value, Her existence
Corner of a room was now her place
Tears dried heart soaked smile disappeared
Yes i married a **** survivor!
Believing i could give back her effeminacy
I hold her hands when no one wanted her
Society expelled her,Why? Because she lost virginity
Because she lost her dignity
Because someone forced her played her
Because someone snatched her feminess
I don’t care, i love her and i promise to take care of her
I will bring back her pride her attitude her smile
Hoping i could take her to my world of peace
Yes i married a **** survivor!
I can’t touch her i can’t make her feel comfortable
Suddenly at night she wakes up and cry
That night still haunts her
My beautiful bud was plucked
Crushed and trampled her soul was tampered
I gave her home my family my love
Yet she resists inside of her, still her voice trembles
Still the cruel eyes of world poaches her
Still the comments of anyone shatters her
She tried a lot to move on but that cruel laugh torments her
But now she had her peace for she had hanged herself.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
I feel weepy
That house is creepy
Care less to be cowered
No time to sour
I hear a creaking sound
Under the cupboard hound
Is it a roach?
Or self hallucination that poaches?
I am alone
And my throne is blown
I want to hide and run
When the moon incarnates the sun
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 8:46 AM UTC
Preoccupied:
Being alone does not mean anything
there are more important things to utter,
when your Birthday approaches
it makes all memories getting poaches,
enjoying the delicious cake
is a fact not a fake,
staring at the exuberant colours
in those delivered flowers
the least enjoyment in these hours,
there are more important things to utter
spoken about experiences which flutter,
there are more precious things to say
you have your own style, I do it my way....
I wish you a Happy Birthday on the 22 November
This date I never forget, but always remember.
© Sylvia Frances Chan
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 6:48 AM UTC
Run, run, run, run
He stalks in the night
Where children have fun
Run, run, run, run
Be urgent
Take flight
For a monster comes tonight
Run, small children, and hide
For monsters have come
To cast you aside
A mere fairy tale?
Just some old folklore?
No!
No!
Much worse
Much more.
Upon your hopes
I bring my scar
You're where monsters are
Pin the doors
Sharpen your steel
A beast approaches
A new hunter poaches
To feed on children's cries
Place your fears in the front
Lock your hopes in a jar
You're where monsters are
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 8:34 PM UTC