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The Telling Smirk (Poem)
the blade turned, the wielder wounded
he blames the knife the edge the angle
the very target that he missed
he’s the only one that brought a weapon
the rest of us brought tools
he doesn’t realize we see he’s bleeding
he doesn’t want any help
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Consequences (Poem)
once again we wonder
alone in our room or in conversations in cafes
when will they come
no need to ask how will it start
the scrawled graffiti the placards the threats the chants
the message no longer makes distinction
the world remembers terrifying lessons
watches as some of us pays no heed
the weight of history falls as a jackboot to our heart
when all burns and disappears, where will the diaspora land
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Pass Onto The Next Beyond (Poem)
on the block where the pigeon died
an irregular bloody smear with a few dirty feathers
all that remained of the unnoticed bird
yet people remembered something
and in the way of the street
turned this into a different reliquary
dropped bitter regrets, each burning a different pattern
cried briny tears, each etching it’s own trace
sprinkled secret joys, each sticking like shiny glitter
soon the pavement was transformed
became an altar to chaotic resilience
and for a moment the clickety-clack of the weaving paused
and the weaver smiled a wolfish grin
