You senselessly hurt me,
Then, demand I do not cry.
You frustrate me,
Then, unsympathetically, punish my display of anger.
You ridicule me,
Then, taunt me when I strive to win your approval.
You swear long-standing tribal love and protection,
Then, crush my small, unprotected heart with indifference.
You set impossible goals,
Then, painstakingly dismantle my ego.
You demonstrate blatant distain,
Then, draw me inside your dark, secret circle.
You demand the obscene use of my disempowered sheath,
Then, discard the confused Soul indwelling.
Who taught you how to love on the Dark Side?
Were you not once also a child,
Alone, and frightened in the whispering darkness?
Did you not once also smile, laugh and sing?
Who taught you to hide your innocence,
In the filmy guise of unrequited bravery?
A young female child cries hauntingly,
In the background of my dreams.
If children learn what they live,
Who taught you to love on the Dark Side?
Chula Fleming© 10/16 2016
Please let me be myself and
Let me be who Christ
Called me to be even if
You refuse to believe
Are your good conversations
So filled with ignorance that
You were insulting me in your heart
Before you even call me phone
If you're not around me everyday
Please don't bother calling me anyway
Your evil blame games are so played out
That my adulthood doesn't even want
You around
Me anymore that your words are such
A cold sore I've seen what those things
Look like and I hope I never see them
Just like you made every excuse
Every blame not to see me
I've seen you disrespect women Daddy
So how would you know how to
Respect your own female child
You've had children by 3 different women
So how can you show me
What stability is
You've had sex wherever you laid
Your hat
And had me
But you still insult
Treating me as is I was your mistake
When to Christ, I wasn't just
Another one your babies
There has been a joining of an adult male and a female child
Not quite a proud owner of a single pubic hair,
Letting a lamb under the same roof as The Wild
And treating both as “A Divine Pair”
The man’s boyish smiles are a ruse:
The girl hasn’t yet begun to bolted bathrooms use…
Now, there are to be matches between a stout phallus and a hole
Too tender to start conceding a goal.
… As it could burst into flames, vowing to not forget
A treatment not befitting A Nugget.
Supposedly the answer to prolonged spinsterhood
But ironically worse than chaining widowhood:
Aiming to stall a woman’s heartbreak by insincere suitors
But keeping the infant wife constantly with sly mentors.
Paired up are a two owning contrasting tracks
By races audaciously upholding their cracks
Also, the clear encouragement of hateful inhibitions
And a stark support of deaf traditions.
After nine months of pregnancy she was admitted to the nearest hospital with no labor pain so artificial oxytocin was given but nothing transpired. Child laid in her womb position footling breech and finally took birth after caesarean. Baby was looking like a red apple and an ordinary female child with dreams to accomplish.
Power To You
By: Sikolwethu Mthethwa
In the deep dark waters of a lockdown
slouched in a dark corner of despair in quarantine confines.
I watch in vain as a waterfall of tears dominates her eyes.
Her head bowed between her knees.
I am pained as the loudness of her sobs increases.
Hammered by society's labels
that have dimmed her light and
left her soul in shackles.
Oppressed by the obsessed venomous slithering snakes
that claim to cherish her.
Black female child, dear Black Female child,
with dreams so large and thoughts so wild
Never let up, keep your head up.
Let them bare witness to the thunder in your voice
and the lightning in your words.
Blind their sight with your light.
Wear your crown with confidence
and let them acknowledge your very existence.
In envy and astonishment, let them bow before you.
Let your greatness be evident.
Dear Black Female Child, I say Power To You.
When I Didn't Know Pirs Don't Marry Others
O love! How was it before!
When we were free…
That Nature's our yard;
And played whole days, the amusing love-games.
When something like ‘society’ we didn’t know;
When our families had no role.
When I didn’t know your religious father’s as adamant
And your charming brother as antagonistic.
When I didn’t know, I must make money—somehow
And earn you.
When I didn’t know, ‘pirs don’t marry others!’
When I presented you on paper-pieces Sweet fragments, and you Acknowledged with slipping smiles, and chic chuckles, Or loud laughs
And called it exaggeration.
When we thought it as easy
And fought on phone, on naming our children,
I preffered a flimsy female child
And you wanted tough boys.
(Pir is a clergyman in kashmiri) and they restrain from marrying Muslims of other castes.
Rani, I am want to play
as the children to my near by huts
My Toys and friends are calling me
to talk and play with them
My eyes are searching stars and moon
to have my dinner from my hands
I want to sleep in my mom's laps and
want to travel on my father's back
Listen Mom, I want to play
Not to send me to schools and creche
I hate to cry and weep in there
Let me allow to stay in home and
allow me to enjoy my childish days
[It is the Poetry expressing The Feelings and expectations of a Three years female child]
When mothers are delightful to deliver a male child
And fathers feel huge pressure to see a new born female child
The Almighty is hopeless !
When people are busy for more money
And children are growing to destroy their childhood
The Almighty is hopeless !
When political leaders leave to the king of policies
And democratic people are silent for personal interests
The Almighty is hopeless !
When Temples , mosques , churches are captured by communal forces
And religious people forget to their original religion which is humanity
The Almighty is hopeless !
When truth is defeated by untruth
The Almighty is silent and The Sun rises in the east .
I am hopeless !
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
O love! How was it before!
When we were free…
That Nature’s our yard;
And played whole days, the lovely love games.
When something like ‘society’ we didn’t know;
When our families had no role.
When I didn’t know, your religious father’s as rigid
And your charming brother as proud.
When I didn’t know, I must make money—somehow
And earn you.
When I didn’t know, ‘pirs don’t marry others!’
When I presented you on paper-pieces
Sweet fragments, and you
Acknowledged with slipping smiles, and chic chuckles,
Or loud laughs
And called it exaggeration.
When we thought it as easy,
And fought on phone, on naming our children,
I proffered a flimsy female child
And you wanted tough boys.
(Pir is a clergyman in kashmiri) and they restrain from marrying Muslims of other castes.
Golden yellow buttercups growing in the ground.
Dainty little female child, eyes with wonder round.
“Beautiful,’’ the child beamed. Face alight with joy.
“Weeds,’’ retorted Nanny Grey. Foot poised to destroy.
Trembling tears that filled her eyes caught the golden glow.
Mirrored in the child's heart, truth we need to know.
Some see beauty in this world, others may not heed.
Common Lesser Celandine, never was a weed.