Silence bleeds

This silence bleeds,
And I cannot tell you
it is okay,
That it exists
between bombs;
Or that ceasefires are,
written in the blood
Of children,
As they break bones across lines,
drawn like borders,
In a place where our dead,
Scream, still.

I cannot tell you
it is okay,
That there is silence
between the trembling breaths
of a young mother,
calming her child into sleep.
Wishing her fingertips,
could hold back the next bomb,
plummeting through eardrums,
So that no child would know,
the blood of severed arteries,

But today the screams,
Of earth trembling
as bombs plummet through
her surface;
Of distressed loved ones
piecing together torn limbs
like hands could grow back together,
the broken flesh of babies born
into this chaos,
Never leave us.

And we teach our children,
A geography
defined by these scars,
Strong cities line bullet holes.


We once had enough fingers,
to name the dead.

But then they dropped shells,
upon our history.

This silence bleeds,
And I cannot tell you
it is okay,
That it exists
between bombs.

3 thoughts on “Silence bleeds

  1. With all due respect, I really don’t know why this is classed as “poetry”.
    I see no attempt structure, form, rhythm or rhyme. Of course not all poetry rhymes – that is an amateur view but most, if not all, of them here are lacking consistency or form.
    Poetry used to be the peak of language and expression. It has its own set of grammatical rules which *break* those of prose, but this has gone too far. You cannot just write a somewhat coherent stream of extravagant metaphors and call it poetry, which modern culture leads people to believe.
    I appreciate your attempt to voice something on this heavy subject, but its important for us to try direct methods of helping as well, which I’m sure you have and continue to do so. Maybe this helps you relieve your sadness, and that’s fine, it’s your space.
    Perhaps you should attempt a Sonnet or a Villanelle where *every* single word, and its place, is chosen meticulously. Check out Shakespear’s 129th Sonnet for a start. A devastating look at Lust – the first “deadly sin”.

    I’m no poet, nor have I attempted it because it’s one of the highest forms of art which I can only admire. I think respect has been lost for genuine poets of the past. Basically, I believe it should be left to them. I don’t mean to hate, hopefully you consider this to be “constructive criticism” as it was meant to be.

    Salaam, and may peace be brought to our oppressed brothers and sisters.

    “What Happened to Poetry?” – Shaykh Hamza Yusuf.

  2. I posted a comment on this. Why did you not publish it? Or you could have responded privately?
    At least acknowledge it!!

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