Thy Sorrows

I cannot comprehend such grief thou holdst

Thy mourning that torments thy soul so

My eyes have not perceived horrors; thou hast

Carried a burden so strong in thy blood

In thy heart of hearts of hearts that doth sing

Oh, sweet summer sun sing to me tonight

Sing thy sorrowful heart into the wind

Lull me asleep with thy tears: wearied eyes

Allow me to share thy troubles with thee

Taketh my silken hands that tremble so

The stars doth sing back to thee in the night

Hast thou heard their voices? They sing for thee

My voice shall join thy prayer to the stars

Thy sorrows I have not, wherefore hast thou

Song Title: Made in heaven
Genre: R N B

Verse 1
On a Friday night,
as I got the club,
I met this damsel
She was too real to be true
She was so fresh n green
That I couldn’t help grin
Her sexy face
Made me to dance
As I looked through her body,
I knew she was worthy
As I danced towards her,
I saaaaaaawwwww….that she was:

Chorus
Made in heaven
Made in Heaven (yea)
Made in Heaven

Verse 2
I told her ‘’you’re my meat that I want to eat’’
She smiled and said, ‘’You’re got some wits’’
‘’Alright’’ as I smiled passionately
I also said to her, ‘’though I’m meeting first time, you make comfortable’’
‘’Are you sure? How could this be possible?’’
I went on to say ‘’I simply want to know you better. My name is Peter.’’
‘’hmmm Peter!’’ She exclaimed, giving me a warm shoulder
‘’I’m for real…’’ those were assuring words
‘’I see your will’’ her words replied me with
I heralded, ‘’You were…

Chorus
Made in heaven
Made in Heaven (yea)
Made in Heaven’’

Verse 3

I asked her, ‘’what’s your name, damsel?’’
‘’Cristabel’’ she replied, looking seductively
Right there at the club,
I got a drink for both of us
We drank to the point we couldn’t drink no more
We got so high
We started talking dirty
And the rest became history
One thing led to the other
We were unclothed, holding each other
The morning bright
I looked at the body I admired
And I said to myself: ‘’This is…
Chorus
Made in heaven
Made in Heaven (yea)
Made in Heaven’’

Reflections

What makes us mournful at funerals?
Is it the memories we’ve made with the deceased
Or the memories we failed to create with them?
What moves us to tears at funerals?

Is it the things we said to the one lying lifeless in the casket,
Or the things we failed to say to them?

What makes us cry at funerals?
Is it the good times we shared with the one about to be lowered into the Cold bosom of the earth,
Or the good times we failed to share with them?

Tales of a traveller

tė Uzo chekwa ghu nwa m, 

said my grandma to me 

as I set forth on my journey. & her words, when loosely translated mean, 

“may the road be your guide, my child.” 

so here I am on the road, travelling with no distinct destination in mind, 

i, a born voyager, 

descendant of men 

who commune with the road. who call a place far from home, home. 

so I, before I drew my first breath had fellowship with the road. 

little wonder why I feel safest 

on the go. why my mind 

only finds peace in places 

far from my abode. Little wonder why only the road feels like home.

Obirija Somtochukwu is a freshman student of pharmacy at the University of Ibadan. An essayist and poet, he writes on social issues, his tribal identity and personal conflicts. 

In addition to writing, he plays football, table tennis and chess.

Sweet Peace

“Dear Elaine,” she writes on a new postcard. “Okay. I confess. I struggle with it. Forgiveness. I do. Even though. I know, I know. We’re supposed to forgive everyone. To love everyone. We are. For our physical health. Mental health. All of it. I get that. I do. But surely, surely. Not everyone. Right? Not ex-husbands. Not mine.

I mean. I can forgive the others. I can. All those who wronged me. Abused me. You know. In the past. Disturbed individuals. That’s what they were. Truly. And yet, and yet. Forgive them? I can do that. Yes. Done. But my ex-husband. Disturbed? Oh, yeah. Forgiveness? No way. Not possible. Not for him. Not that I haven’t tried. I have. Again and again. Yet I can’t. And I don’t know why.

But then last night. That video I watched. You know. The one on YouTube. About St. Francis. How he loved everyone. Forgave everyone. And yet, and yet. Forgiveness wasn’t his focus. Imagine that? Peace. That was his goal. Alrighty! That I can do. Peace. Peaceful. My life. Ever since the day. I left him. My ex. Walked away. Me. Gone. Never to return. Sweet peace.

This is my life. Now. See? That I can do. Forgiveness? Forget it. Hey. If peace is good enough for Francis. It’s good enough for me. Okay, then. I think we’re done here. What’s next?”

Laura Stamps loves to play with words in her fiction and prose poetry. Author of 49 novels, novellas, short story collections, and poetry books. Forthcoming: “The Good Dog” (Prolific Pulse Press 2023) and “Addicted to Dog Magazines” (Impspired, 2023). Winner of the Muses Prize. Recipient of a Pulitzer Prize nomination and 7 Pushcart Prize nominations.  

Former school teacher

Poet / Storyteller / Fiction Writer / Essay Writer / Columnist
Toba Tek Singh Pakistan

Love the book

Aina! Why haven’t you reached the park yet?” Falah said to Ahmed and Hashim in annoyance. Who had been waiting for Aina in the park for the past half an hour. Aina sent a message to the group this morning asking all the kids to come to the park at 4pm because Aina had a “surprise” for them. This was the reason why Falah, Ahmed and Hashim had reached the park but Aina had not reached yet.

Hey, look at that! Aina is coming” Ahmed said attracting everyone.
Assalam Alaikum: Dear friends! Sorry I’m a little late” Aina addressed everyone and said, “Yes, you are late, but now hurry up and tell us about the surprise, we are dying to know.” Falah was excited. He said.

Yes of course! So here’s the surprise Aina said while holding the children’s colorful magazines and books. “Wow! These are very cute magazines.” Hashim happily said. “It has very cute pictures too. I will color in these pictures. And look at how many funny jokes are in this book.” Ahmad said while turning the pages of the book. “Very good Aina! This is really a beautiful surprise. My mother was telling that she used to read children’s magazines and stories very fondly in her childhood. Where did you get these books and magazines?” Falah asked Aina.
These books have been brought by my uncle. He himself writes stories and recites poems for children.”

Aina told her friends. “Aina! I was thinking why don’t we all create our own little library of just children’s story books, informational magazines and magazines. And then we will invite all the children of our neighborhood to take books and magazines from our library and read them. Because our school parents don’t let us go to the school library, thankfully our families have kept us connected to books. Otherwise, nowadays every child is just crazy about mobile games. We will also teach all these children to love books,” said Falah. “Hey! This is a wonderful idea,” said the other three children excitedly. “After today, whenever we give each other a gift, we will give a book as a gift.” Which will adorn our library.”

Hashim offered another beautiful suggestion. “Absolutely Hashem! You have spoken very well.” All the children said supporting Hashem. This love of books was inherited by these children from their parents and undoubtedly this love of books will continue to be transmitted from generation to generation. These children also decided that on the holiday day all the children will sit in this park and read their favorite book.

Haiti’s Hell  

Yelling is heard everywhere.

Policeman dying,

bandits create the law.

In every corner

of each street burns fire.

Woman is crying,

belly in knot, tight as a rope.

Her husband has left four children

“What will I do, my life is over?”

She says with tears in her eyes. 

Author/ Roodly Laurore 

Translator/ Jerrice J. Baptiste

 __________________________

Ayiti Lanfè

Toupatou se rèl.

Polisye ap mouri,

bandi fè lalwa.

Nan chak kwen ri se dife.

Madamn ap kriye,

kòd.mare vant.

Mari l kite kat pitit

“Kisa mwen pral fè, lavi mwen fini,”

li di ak dlo nan je.

~Roodly Laurore

______________________

Volcano

 A volcano exists in every Haitian.

When will it all erupt?

Fight for my precious country.

Dormant volcano,

Your daughter sleeps near garbage.

Tears, not enough.

An explosion of red heat needed.

What to do?

Country stands without a president.

Author/ Roodly Laurore 

Translator/ Jerrice J. Baptiste

_____________________

Volkan

Gen yon volkan nan chak ayisyen

Nap gade ki le nou tout ap eropte

Batay pou yon peyi presie.

Volkan doman

Pitit fi ou ap domi pre fatra

Dlo nan zye pa sufi.

Yon explozysion ak chale roug

Ki sa poun fe?

Peyi a kanpe san prezidan.

 ~Roodly Laurore 

Roodly Laurore was born and raised in Haiti. He is an engineer and poet. His poems are published in Kosmos Journal, Autism Parenting Magazine; Solstice Literary Magazine, The New Verse News, Jerry Jazz Musician and others.  Roodly lives in Haiti with his wife and two sons.

Jerrice J. Baptiste is an author of eight books and a poet in residence at the Prattsville Art Center & Residency in NY.  She is extensively published in journals and magazines such as Artemis Journal, The Yale Review, Mantis, Kosmos Journal, The New Verse News and many others.  She has been nominated as Best of The Net by Blue Stem for 2022. She enjoys playing the role of translator.