The pomegranate garden

Unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

Unbound my hands, I am in search of garden

I am marking with red seeds, this path, mine

Not on your ancient books or shrines

Not on your laws with heavy curtains

Unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

Your morality police lacks spine

My voice, my face etched with burdens

I am marking with red seeds, this path, mine

Searching for my own power & shine

Your cruel blows kill - I can't pardon

Unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

Do you fear that I will get out of line?

I am Eve and Anahita

I'm marking this body with red seeds, mine

With sacred twigs & water from the garden

I'll draw rockets, stairways, freedom

I unstitch my mouth of black threads & brine

I am marking with red seeds, this path, mine

The Pomegranate Garden,” acrylic on canvas mounted on shaped wood panels, 74 x 57 x 8 inches

Inspired by the Iranian artist, Arghavan Khosravi, Colossal.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Join us with your poem when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Have a good weekend!

Red River

I run through heart of the land, muddy, brackish, moving birch canoes, from dawn to dusk.    


i hang a red dress 
its folds billowing spiritual dance 

along grainy shores  
forked by roots of ancient trees 
i burn sagebrush

and i

count the years passing
of voices forever silenced 
stolen sisters, missing daughters-

only heartbeat of river remains-

I crawl with broken bones, washing away blood, footprints, sun-scarred skin under dark moon.   

Based on BBC's Red River Women

Each year, dozens of Canadian Aboriginal women are murdered or disappear never to be seen again. Some end up in a river that runs through the heart of Winnipeg.

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics:  The River, hosted by guest host, Paul Dear.   And Happy World Poetry Day!   Thanks for the visit ~

Women of north, descendants of Adam

Credit to Noell Oszvald

cattle, slave, devil
these are not my names
carved on my desert skin
i am bull's light keeper
looking to free my sisters


~0~0~


i weep for my ancient faith
and sins of all dead tribesmen 
like a lost sheep
i weep for more than
40 days and nights


~0~0~


who hears 
slaughtering of goats
young girl's tears as she is beaten & tied down
burning of old temples
who?


~0~0


before I'm to be sold 
as a gift to black-masked killer, 
i make a death wish 
wrapping scarves around my neck, so tight 
sun razed red soil to ash      




Posted for D'verse - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg

I chose to write about the plight of Yadizi women, who are suffering from persecution under the militant ISIS.  

Haibun: Shark by the Lake

you are the radio star, whose dulcet voice enchants over the air.    you cast yourself a modern cultured man of the city with your progressive views on women and arts.   during a public event, when you noticed me out of all your young adoring fans, I felt like a winner being singled out by the city's brightest light.   

your silky voice
is summer's caress, i bloom
as night full of fireflies 

our second date is perfect  - dinner then coffee invite at your home by the lake.   i lean in for a sweet kiss, but what happens next is forever stitched in my memories.   you hit me, three times on the face with closed fists.    i fall on the ground with knees like water, but you are not done yet.   you put your hands on my throat to choke the wind from my lungs. your eyes are wild with desire.   violence is your opium rush.  doubts came, festering my confidence into silence. i felt like a loser for falling for your ego-sized games. 

your eyes, teeth are red
on my neck, your hands blacken - 
what animal are you?

This is the day I had looked forward to after 10 years.   You in the courtroom being charged by the police for sexual assault.  You have been fired from your job.  Your dark eyes are filled with worry.    An animal in the cage, caught and restrained by law and negative public opinion.   You hired a good defense lawyer to save you.  I read that she is the celebrity's shark, out to destroy all the witnesses, (including me).  No matter what the legal outcome will be next year, the real winners are the victims who are speaking out against the rape-culture mentality of our time.

above bony trees
hawk glides sleek as ivory sky-
I find my voice 

Toronto Star

Jian Ghomeshi leaves College Park court with his lawyers on Wednesday, Nov. 26, 2014 after being released on $100,000 bail. This image - the accused flanked by his lawyers, surrounded by police, who are in turn surrounded by media - was a striking and revealing one, writes Christopher Hume.

Background:    This is our local version of USA's Bill Crosby story.   However the man in spotlight, Jian Ghomeshi is a celebrated CBC radio star, accused of sexual violence against women (15 stories), without their consent.   In Canada there is no time limitation on sexual violence; you can still be charged & sued even after 10 or more years has passed. You can read more here and here~

For D'verse Poets Pub - For Mary's prompt of Winners and Losers ~  I have not been around due to my studies and on-going home renovations.    I have one more week to go before my exams, and the renovations should be done by then ~   Thanks for the visit ~

From ashes to bones

Time slips between the stones
& falls on the water

My lungs are drowning in salt
I offer no resistance to lack of air

I am so tired of fighting
for every breath, for every fitful sleep

Death sits on my chest
with tyrant coat, ever a watchman without a name

What coins can I give to him
when I think nothing of myself, a mere shadow 

that wants to vanish & hide
beneath the deep tunnels of the sea 

But somewhere your hands
come in a burst of light

Is this a dream?
Your stranger eyes are kind

As if you understand my pain & shame
You lift me up on your shoulders

and say my scars are worthy
of a warrior

Do I have wings?
The air pounds of energy, I am drawing

a phoenix in bright colors
The sun is my birthright

Under which I will build my ark 
with my other sisters 

I will be the language of my making
From ashes, I write my name anew:

life-giver, protector of children:
Woman

Phoenix

Photography:   Brooke Shaden

Posted for the D'verse Poets Pub- Passion of Brooke Shaden - We are getting inspiration from photography and inspiring words of Brooke Shaden.   Cheers to all the women who rise above abuse, injustice and discrimination and have been victims of human trafficking. Also my admiration goes to everyone who give women a chance to gain their own dignity & independence.   

In the kitchen where it all started & ended

Coconut pumpkin soup

it is not his words solely

but the way he spits them to her face - 

hiss of the blade, sharp upper cut 

that makes her cringe like a

disemboweled rotting pumpkin - 

scalp torn open, carved bleak

candles all melted inside-




she slowly stirs the pot 

kitchen is messy of peelings, 

seeds & sweet golden pears 

& rich coconut cream-

she once was like this  - cream

puffed, silver-glass slippered girl,

riding a carriage made out of pumpkins-

now, she feels trapped under a lantern's

ghostly smile & empty 

   


of autumn's colors,

she scoops red chili paste

slowly staining the yellow puree    

hiding the tears crawling down her chin   

like ants, crimson as her hands

breaking into leaves,

soundless, the arc of a falling knife 



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Talking about pumpkins and/or issues - Happy Saturday ~