280.
No to Bloodshed!
Behold the 1 you want to become more
In your eyes I am a hateful wild boar
But in truth, I can even never be a melee warrior
My physique is not fit for a gladiator
Nor for a bloodthirsty matador!
-11/20/2014
(Dumarao)
*My Bloody Poems Collection
Borders are lines drawn in dust,
but the wails of war ride the wind—
no map can contain a scream.
War does not choose a side;
it is a fire that devours both hearth and forest.
One body may bleed,
but the other's soul turns to ash.
From far behind velvet curtains
and polished screens,
war looks like a chessboard—
moves, strategy, gain.
But at the front,
it is the breaking of mothers,
the hollowing of eyes,
the earth drinking youth
like a thirsty beast.
To desire war
is to kiss the mouth of a storm
and expect calm.
It is to strike a match
and pray for shade.
To crave war
is to summon violence,
and violence
has never cradled peace.
Violence is never the solution—
it is the echo of failure,
the shatter of reason,
the road that leads nowhere
but ruin.
Glory is hidden
once again
She had bidden
And created a din
Glory is there
Ahead of me
Horribly fair
Says I made her free
Glory is gone
But not dead like me
The veil has been drawn
I didn’t know to flee
Ah, but what does it matter
Glory lied to me
Yet she caused blood to splatter
Creating a Red Sea
She told me I was great
And so I slew many
Told me it was my fate
And I would get plenty
But what can I do
I can’t tell the living to ignore her
To make the choice they’ll rue
For Glory is not worth murder
Lord, I know your love,
but show me Your justice.
I know the day will come
when probation is done,
and everyone will see
their eternal destiny
justice meted out in judgment reality...
I know, I know that day will come
But...what about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the mothers who mourn
for their children war has torn
from their breast
What about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the young ones who wail
along the bomb strewn trail
of a orphaned future
What about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the homeless who sigh
while their politicians lie
about shelter and supplies,
and no know wonders why
What about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the genocide's dead,
and all the senseless bloodshed?
What about the survivors, unfed
reduced to begging for bread
living lives laced with dread
their heartaches left unsaid
Lord, I know of your love,
but show me your justice
before my faith fails,
and every doubt assails
before this evil prevails...
Step....step into the fray
Please...do not delay
Show, show Your justice...
TODAY!
Eileen Manassian
It was blood-red;
it should have been a pretty sunset
but it had a too open, too inflamed eye
It should have been spectacular,
yet that blood, it ran downwards,
it dripped into our own open eyes.
As we looked,
as we saw what the blood saw;
that silent voice of our hidden blood
cried out
like one wounded animal.
In a way it may have been beautiful,
the way death can be when left alone to be unseen
but that blood kept pouring
and the sky kept smearing its blood
over all the wounded animals.
Always there, something that I dread;
Tired of emotional bloodshed;
Tightens and unravels the thread
inside my head, inside my head;
Keeping a serene habitat,
grabbing a close friend for a chat
quick to lower your thermostat;
Imagine that, imagine that.
Seventy five years to the day
Where the country celebrated
And memories were made.
A day of happiness when the news
Came through, cos emotions were high
But feelings were blue.
Soliders lost friends, comrades they
Called family, our country remembers
The sacrifice that they went through,
the fear, and unhappiness.
So has the Soliders came home, crowd's
Lined the streets, with bunting and flags
Draped from windows in every city.
V day was victorious and our country
Is proud, generations come together
Even though were on lockdown.
We raise up our glasses, and have our
Two minute silence, we remember the day
And what it means to all of us.
Written by Bornfromthesoul
The blood that flows everywhere
It can also pass through your house
Holly with the fresh blood of little bones
Can also be played at your home
Whom these bloody beasts are squeezing
That skin may also be of your mother or sister
If you don't throw water on neighbor's fire
That fire can also visit your home
Awakened authors with sorrow and grief
It could also be a new enemy move
You are happy on a brother's humiliation
You may also be disgraced tomorrow
A Muslim goes to the foots of infidel
What could be worse than that?
God forbid, but O people of the Arabs think!
The sacred ground may also be disrupted tomorrow
I wish! May this nation of my Prophet be one again
Could there be another such shield ready?
What is called Paradise on earth, Imran
It can be worse than hell tomorrow...
lone bugle laments
their bloodshed and sacrifice
ne’er forget their feat
Premier Contest Sen-ru (rather than hi-ku)
Sponsor Brian Strand
4th PLACE
BLOODSHED
HIS BLACK LIFE ON CANVAS
HIS BLACK LIFE ON PAPER
PAINTED BLACK AND RED
8
I TRIED HARD NOT TO LET
THE RED LIFE’S BLOOD SPILL
OFF THE CANVAS
8
I WANTED
TO PUT IT BACK IN HIS BODY
AND MAKE HIM WHOLE AGAIN
8
TRY TO RECONNECT WHAT WAS
LOST FOR HIS BRIEF TIME HERE
8
SO MUCH BLOOD SHED HIS LIFE
GONE GONE TOO SOON
8
WANT TO HEAL ALL HIS WOUNDS
FOR THE MOTHERS AND FATHERS
THAT HAVE LOST ONE
8
WHO CAN’T PICK UP THE PIECES
AND START AGAIN
8
I TRIED HARD NOT TO LET
THE RED LIFE’S BLOOD SPILL
OFF THE CANVAS
8
I WANTED
TO PUT IT BACK IN HIS BODY
AND MAKE HIM WHOLE AGAIN
Remembering the time of fragrance
Now everywhere spread is gloom
Vision is blur, nothing in vein
Flames are set by those insane...
Kids swayed under canopy's light
Their noise was sweet and sound
Now still is all let it move someday
As all has turned to burnt hay...
Every drop of tears are saved
For children to gratify their thirst
Suppressed are the uproar of cry
To not let the caravan descry...
Get this babel away from here
It keeps us wary and vigilant
Even lullaby cant make us sleep
Like a nocturnal we just weep...
Efface this agony at once
Even the fern wants to stem
Hidden are the figurant and finch
And ceaseless are we of the lynch...
Cant even glimpse through the window
Fearing for a shot coming by
To know who are alive and dead
For not being a part of this brutal bloodshed...
This cold wretched war was too much for our waking nightmare to even compare, compare to the horrid bloodshed that ran deep into the ground as our men and women of this nation fell, fell too hard for our weak knees and diminished hopes to ever see such a light in our future that would turn our faith in a hopeful world, our wounds were just half of the gruesome agony that our bodies had to endure, our defeated souls were almost completely snuffed of any glimmer of fire that might arise in revolution, BUT our hearts were not so easily shaken, our hearts kept beating... Beating with fury that could fuel the heavenly armies of God, and we rose and we rose and we fought back and we triumphed over our poor excuse of a foe! And in the end we look behind us with a smile and confidence, a confidence that would defeat our future enemies with the simple ease of a glare into their God forsaken eyes. They have caused their own share of bloodshed, now they will taste what that have wrought upon innocence.
The sky is red by the blood being shed
The conscience of civilized world asleep
Where in the world is humanity being lead
Here is a corpse there is a throat cut deep
Vultures are feasting, dogs devouring
Devils dancing, angels clamoring
Monsters feasting, demons dancing
Guns tottering, weapons wielding
Is Muslim blood thinner?
Easy to be shed without remorse
Palestine, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Kashmir and now Myanmar
And existing Al-Qaida, Lashkar-e-Jhangvi and Taliban’s curse
Tortuous perils and vulnerability,
Fanatical sectarianism’s brutality
The two-edged sword of bigotry
Parochial savagery and barbarity
Religious teachings innocuous
Be them of Buddha, Muhammad or Jesus
Where are your wits, where is the focus?
Insensitive, vicious and callous
Await the leaping Hell-fire’s tentacles
----
blood drops
falling skyward
and down again
causing pillars of blood
and dirt of maimed reddened figures
scattered across the land
the bloodshed continues
on sides of good
and of evil
pillars of skyward bloodshed
form.
How sad is the day
when we celebrate the death of a man?
Good or evil,
is justice so blind that it lets us know
wrong from right?
You kill a man
but not an idea.
You celebrate a death,
you create more enemies.
Is there any justice done in killing
regardless of the actions?
Tell me how blood washed away blood?
A.N: this is a rough in the making.
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