This Life/Oh what has become of us?

janetremembering

This life

for Ahlam

 

This life so various

so coloured

familiar    and strange.

Like the river

it will flow

or be damned.

 

Today the water in the dam

is muddy.

I look to the watery moon

and cry out:

oh what has become of us?

what has become

of us?

 

An orange-winged Sitella* sings

from the apple tree.

One of her legs is dangling.

She can no longer climb the trunk

of the tree that would feed her.

 

Oh what will become

of her?

 

I call to you:

make her a nest

dear friend

that she may be safe-

surround her with songs.

 

Sing

 

for me   and for her

and for those whose nightmares continue

even in waking.

 

Listen dear friends

to that quiet voice-

the beat beneath the beat

the harmony whispering

to the side of the song.

 

Find your…

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Poetry by Somali women in Dadaab refugee camp

In Kenya, over 500,000 refugees take shelter at Dadaab Refugee Camp, making it the largest camp of its kind in the world. However, the camp’s massive size does not come close to the extraordinary strength, determination and courage of its people.Meet 18 year old Koswar Asad Warsame. Like many young girls around the world, she loves poetry. In the videos below, Koswar reads her extraordinary original poetry – poems of both empowerment and sorrow.

via Inspiration and Hope on World Refugee Day.

work in progress – ‘ no exceptions’

‘There will be no exceptions’

1.

You used to write to me:

‘Thank you Dear’.

‘You know I am here.’

‘I used to think all Australia hates us.’

‘God made us black we accepted.  Why others cannot accept.’

‘I miss my family.’

‘Someday I will be free and I will sing thanks to all the worlds.’

It has been five days since I heard from you.

This sudden silence scares me.

2.

We sat at a white table. Our eyes cast away. I had to leave.  You could not. Despair

silently slid down the legs of our chairs and pooled on the lino.

3.

Catatonic and incarcerated

the four year old child will take nothing more into her body-

neither food nor sound.

Her screams too are frozen.

Bitter brutality slices her psyche

into thin slivers

petrified

they adorn Scott’s* blood-soaked soul.

* referring to Scott Morrisson: Minister for Immigration and Border Control =  child abuser, murderer, war criminal

written by Halhal and Janet

Dimitris Troaditis, By a red raising

To Koskino

This long march
towards death
must be halting
the dark blue
jet-black signs of dizziness
need to change color

this unwavering pain
above the rooftops
of our hearts
must be mutated
into an explosive thinking
obsessive and fiery
glowing
on the anvil
of the class struggle
as expected as a sunrise
hot like a tear
on our cheek
after the day’s wage
of terror

this wild path
towards death
must be stopped
by an exquisite dawn
of those dispossessed
by a red raising
of our soul
that will not allow
the preambles of injustice
to be done volumes of analgesia.


*The original Greek poem can be found here http://tokoskino.wordpress.com/2013/07/07/%CE%B4%CE%B7%CE%BC%CE%AE%CF%84%CF%81%CE%B7%CF%82-%CF%84%CF%81%CF%89%CE%B1%CE%B4%CE%AF%CF%84%CE%B7%CF%82-%CE%BC%CE%B5-%CE%BC%CE%B9%CE%B1-%CE%BA%CF%8C%CE%BA%CE%BA%CE%B9%CE%BD%CE%B7-%CE%B1%CE%BD%CE%AC/

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