So because I was ‘smart’ in class and a little rebellious, I got away with telling the teachers I would not do any of that reciting poems with other kids in class, which is a bad thing retrospectively, but I mean, utilize privilege when you can.
After ages of avoiding the shore, I went back again. This time however, I vowed not to wait. I got a ship. The sailor had wanted me on it all along, but when the time to sail came, I left the shore. The ship was good, but I wanted better. What is wrong with waiting for a little while more when you have been waiting all your life?
As the year continues to run, the call continues with this month’s theme being “Times!”. We have had many events to mark the uniqueness of this month in our country and beyond and since poetry offers itself as an avenue to let out these emotions, we encourage you to use it as an outlet. As you know, poetry wouldn’t complain. Have you got that one poem that speaks to the heart of our theme? Then this call is for you.
I’d never forget the day he died, Marzuq looked me in the eye and I saw how much pain he was in. He was just nine months old. He was laid on the bed, as usual on his back for his siesta.
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You realized later that life was giving you a poetry lesson. Teaching you that just because the first line came out right didn't mean the rest of the poem would. Sometimes the metaphors would refuse to come through. The imagery, no matter how hard you tried to paint it, would just not appear right. You would look everywhere for the perfect punchline to end the poem, but you would not find one. Life was telling you that just because you thought you were good with words did not mean that they would always come to you whenever you needed them. And sometimes, you just couldn’t write a poem, just like you could not write your life into poetry.
I would tear pages from my books and write what I felt. Unfortunately, my mum found the papers. I was beaten black and blue. I stopped talking and writing. I now write like my life depends on it, because it does.
...meaning, a peaceful day in June is a cold day in July; bullets are like raindrops on the mother of green...
