Wounds Poems

Entrapment, on Bob'

Reporter advised do not go.'
On whats already known.'
Known to rile; big Bob Katter
Yet he pushed it hell for leather.'
Pushed it right back to Cloncurry
Seventy years blurred..To Bob in school
It was not funny.'  I'd say here i'm on the
Money.)

MENDING PEACE IN WAR

MENDING PEACE IN WAR

Wounds of war bleed,
Healing needs our helping hands:
It’s time to stitch peace:-

The wound that never heals but continues to grow

Skin broken cannot be repaired 
Healing is possible but trauma stays their
Invisible to those with a privileged eye
Visible to those who still ache and cry
Skin will cover what the heart won't show
A pain felt by those who know
What it was like to be named ghetto

Time can heal but what if it don't 
When the glue

Wounds of heart then heal well

To soul’s discourse when we deal well,
Wounds of heart hitherto heal well.
Let whole world see no good in you,
Clouds once clear, sun-moon reveal well.   
______________________ 
Epigram | 03.08.2025 | self, heart, clouds, sun
Note: Apart from being a Muktak, this could well be the first two couplets of a ghazal.  

Old wounds surfacing

under the shade of a cyprus
my lover whispers sweet and tender nothings
revealing glimpses of a splintered heart
where wounds are still fresh
~ a healing process underway



AP: Honorable Mention 2025

Sisterhood of Scars: now with audio

Each wound I have suffered in my life so far
Has taken so long to form a battle scar
But what doesn't kill me, they say, will make me stronger still
And every wound I suffer will eventually heal

Pre-chorus:
This is the silent language of scars
You can read my soul like Braille
And for each sad story, for every sad

Wounds

A vicious rehearsal 
has forked out. It is a flame that 
bothers but borders on the 
essence of life—the 
survival of a community 
searching for answers 
after the quake and 
the flood. I gather 
         these rhymes like 
firewood 
as I piece together the lines 
only legible

Wings and Wounds

Like birds flying high over the world,
Words of love never unheard.
Loud voices echo through different phases,
No mistakes.., Just choices in these mazes.

Walking threads, edge tight like a judge,
 Told me, “Be strong. Don’t budge.”
 They speak of light at tunnel's end,
 But what about the road we defend?
 The morals we bend,
 The lives we

Probably,Forever

This poem speaks for voices smothered by silence and those who returned home to find safety was another room for disbelief.


They were climbing stairs—she and her brother,
bags rustling with homework and hunger.
A man on first floor leaned on the rail,
with stinky eyes and a grin too stale.
He said something foreign—they did not reply,
just quickened their

Bitterness now worshipped as religion

In Ankara and Moscow,
the ground is crimson red ~
a carpet spread on fields once green.
Life’s fluid, like red gold,
flows as scarlet runoffs into Ottoman rivers –
lifestreams of Rossiyane and Turks
spilled from their inner oceans.
Their bones ~
lifeless as strings of dead fish,
litter seas once full of life.
The tears of fatherless children fill the Black Sea,
their futures

Wounds like windows

Wounds, like windows,
when opened,
let in light and the breath of something new.
But it takes courage
to unlatch what pain has sealed shut.

We board them up,
plaster the cracks,
pretend the draft isn't there—
but silence has a smell,
and you can only hold your breath for so long.

Sometimes, healing sounds like wind
whistling through what broke—
a quiet reminder
that damage doesn’t mean

Elegy for the wounds that raised me

Do I fear you, thank you, 
or hate you for hanging round. 
I fear I'd been somebody else
who stood on solid ground. 

I thank you, cause you made me this, 
but I hate the reasons why. 
I fear it might just free my soul
when you finally say goodbye. 

I hate you for staying here this

Some Wounds Want Witness

My darkest needs 
never beg forgiveness—
they crave a mirror.

One that fogs
with your touch,
not your abandon.

You Are More Than Your Wounds - A Whisper of Strength

Pain refines, 
but grace restores.
This is the whisper 
of strength.

There are days
when the world feels heavy, 
when the echoes of yesterday 
press against the walls of today. 
You walk forward, 
yet the past lingers like a shadow . . . 
a silent presence 
reminding you 
where you’ve been.

But hear this: 
You are not bound 
by

Cobblestone

Wounds once buried beneath soft steps,
now echo through me, stone by stone undone.

Contest: Crystalline Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: June 14, 2025

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