Look! Her mournful eyes say it all what words can't
She is too tired of battered but you don't understand
She was an endearing dream, turned to be a nightmare
And this is because of your so-called reprimand
                   WATCH OUT!
She isn't anymore a magical fairy of a fairyland
Now she is a grisly dinosaur from Jurassicland
She is a roller coaster of emotions but no longer your wonderland
          She is invincible, She is archaic
She is the Chosen one and owns her own never-never land
            Listen adorable "SHE IS YOU"
Who eventually understands how to take her own right stand...

By Doctor of Optometry RAAFIA SHAHEEN
From PAKISTAN..

This poem does not wish to have a name because name is of no gain when pain is a name. 


This poem rewrites the scriptures into a nightmare
where man and wife unglued one
to one and one.
first one seeking comfort in the arms of another, 
second one finding hers
 in the arms of her daughters
so one and one made their homes, 
far from home.
we watched them become brushes
painting their marital underwear simultaneously
on our pale faces
we were just four little cubs
putting on the skins of pain as clothes
their disjointed union had sewn us. 
it was lengthy and weighty
and threatened to uninstall joy in us
and whether or not we wore 
the old ones
their needle words would
 weave more for us. 
so our broken hearts watched 
as one split in two 
believe me, this wasn't a divorce 
there was no paperwork 
but even God knew 
 the better-or-worse deal was off. 
so our broken hearts watched 
mom and dad become 
mom, dad
 and  was washed away by the brutal storm of grieve
and betrayal and infidelity and denial.
so our broken hearts watched
dad yearn the arms of another
I'd rather be a dead lad than mistake this imposter
as mother
that one that willed happiness from us
rolled dad away from us
 or presumably, she did not. 
for our broken hearts watched one split in two 
way before three was born


a voice tells me,
that this union was not meant to be.  

The Weeping Poet

The weeping
poet is
not weak

we
have
the strength

to tell
the wonderment
of truth

in all of its beauty
before
we lose it

to those
that want
to outlaw
tears.

Salvation from the Flames


Soldiers marching with rifles at the ready.
All seemed lost in a city burning down.
A city ablaze as the smoke rose to the skies.
Death was as near as the heat of the city.

It was a night that fire brought pure fear.
Pleading with God to not let me die in the flames.
Always been afraid of the flames of the night.
Pleading with God to not let me die in the flames.

A night when D.C. was ablaze God saved me.

Light of Grace
Inspired by “It Could Have Been Me” The Five Blind Boys of Mississippi

Daylight coming through the stained glass windows.
Kneeling at the altar alone day after day for years.
Friends lost to drugs, jail, and gunshots wounds.
My heart ached month after month for years.

God was to save me on the night death called me.
It was not me dying on that floor after using cocaine
It was not me dying alone in the red light-district.

Touched by Innocence
For Mahjabeen

The evening skies in Vermont on a cool night.
Watching stars upon stars flashed before my eyes.
Amazed that such beauty existed in the world.
Baptized on a night with a shooting star.

Heaven once a distance memory opened.
Angels rejoiced at the return of a brother.
Sins were forgotten and washed away.
A lonely heart was filled with harmony.

Salvation had been given to a sinner.

"Fajr Ali" was a well-known name in the field of children's literature. Fajr Ali's stories were published in almost every children's magazine.
Readers of all ages, young and old, eagerly awaited Fajr Ali's stories.

And Fajr Ali believed that all this was the perfection of his "magic pen" which was given to Fajr as a gift by his class teacher Miss Nusrat. Fajr still remembers the words of his teacher when he gave the "magic pen":
"Dear Fajr, with the power of this pen you will rule the hearts. With its magic, your words will enchant people."

Then it really happened that when Fajr Ali wrote the first story with this pen, it was well received, and then as soon as he saw it, Fajr Ali's stories became popular among the young and old.
Fajr Ali attributed every success story to the magic pen.
Every word that came out of Fajr Ali's pen enchanted the readers.

But then suddenly the stories of Fajr Ali stopped being published. One month, two months and three months had passed. No story of Fajr Ali was published. How can it be published? When Fajr Ali had not written any story in those three months.
Apart from the stories, an episode-wise novel was also being published in the children's magazine Roshan, the last episode of which was to be published three months ago, but Fajr Ali had not yet written the last episode of the novel.

Readers as well as editors were very upset by this situation.
.. .. .. .. ...
Fajr Ali was holding his head in front of a pile of papers when suddenly the door of his room opened, Fajr Ali looked up, Fajr's father was at the door, "Abu Ji, you?" Fajr said looking at his father.

"Son, now you tell me your problem, why haven't you written anything in the last three months?" Ali Sahib said while sitting on the chair.
"Abu Ji, I will never be able to write again." Fajr Ali said wiping his moist eyes.

"Why, son, what happened?" Ali Sahib asked anxiously.
"Actually, my 'magic pen' is lost, because of which I used to write, now I can't write with any other pen, as soon as I start writing something on the paper, my pen doesn't move, it seems like all my words are lost like a magic pen. "
Fajr Ali told his father the real reason.

"Oh my dear daughter, your pen was not a magical pen, but the real magic is in you, in your thoughts. That pen was just a simple pen, but it was important that it was a gift from the teacher." Well done, now shake off the illusion that your pen was enchanted, recognize the magic inside you, believe in your ability, grab this new pen and start writing with the confidence that you will write your words with each pen. I can do magic," Ali Sahib explained to Fajr Ali.
.. .. .. .. ...
The last episode of Fajr Ali's series of novels had been published in the children's magazine "Roshan." It turned out that everything she wrote was due to a magic pen.
Today Fajr Ali had identified himself.

The Sob of the Masses

In day and Night
Even if
It rains Cats and Dogs

Even if
The weather has Changed
The Masses weep though
wars and starvations
bedeviling the townlets
 
Oh ! Oh ! Oh! Oh!
This is a dime a dozen
Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Oh !

Day by day 
Their daughters are being raped
Jewels or not
They pedestrianize to China
and wail million times before they could get a drop of water

It is the last Straw
Of the masses
Forwhy
Their Godfathers pay no attention to their Woods

Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Oh !
Let us pray to get rid of these
Lest We face the Music
God Forbid !

The Threatenable Nation

Though Poem is not Easy
But I Should not be a lazy
Oh ! My Country my Country !
Insecurity threatens Our Unity !

Places have been vandalized
And We have been massacred
Why Threatenable Nation?
It's a Nation Without Motion...

Why do they always loot the properties of
Government
Without any development ?

No peace in Cities Nor Hamlets
But Alas unutilised Talents
Oh! My Country My Country !
Insecurity threatens Our Unity

In this Country
Inadequate Water Supply
Inadequate Power Supply
All became norms

 Prosperities are Very rare
While
Unemployments are rampants

Oh ! My Arewa My Arewa !
Yeah ! it's My Province
And
We lack peace

It's indeed time For Us to raise Our Voices
Let's Wake up let's wake up!

Manna don't fall From heaven
And, With no pain no gain
Yeah ! There's
Kidnapping, raping
And genociding it's really not kidding

Open defecation and deforestation
I'm afraid!
They are not Once in a blue moon
All this in my father Land
In Countries We are third World

This Country it's befitting
To be called the Threatenable Nation
Oh ! My Country My Country
Insecurity threatens Our Unity

Let the Message be Clear
This Country is Nigeria
We Shouldn't be in voiceless
But in vocalness

Oh ! God tackle all Our Obstacles

                 A Tearful Country 

                A Large Country,
             But less than blue Ivory,
         With no blooming tertiaries
          rather a blunt Resources.

              We Vote Our Leaders
             Later We turned to ladders

                      While we Weep
              They sip the elite drink
               And left us to our thirst

            Oh! Where Is everyone's talent?
               Have they lost their craft
           Oh! Where Is Our Government?

           Let us Save her Beforehand from drought
             Else
           We would Cry a river.

           

Short Bio
Yusuf Salisu Muhammad was born on Saturday morning 15/3/2003 in Katsina state, Nigeria, He received His earliest Education at police Children School, Katsina state, Nigeria, then proceeded to Saldefi International School Where he earned a Secondary School living certificate also in Katsina state, Nigeria. He is currently Studying B.A History, at Umaru Musa Yar'adua University, Katsina State, Nigeria. Some of his poems were published at Susa Africa, Hausawa, and Voice Of Northern Nigeria. He started writing poems at 17.

Don't Try!

You made me cry, 
Then said goodbye. 

You ran away, 
Then come today. 

begging me to stay, 
Although you are far away. 

Couldn't you just be a memory?
Since I can’t be near, but only away.

Don't I want to stay?
Of course, but you enjoy being away.

Don't worry, I won't cry,
All I want to scream is "DON'T TRY".