Poetry

* My poetry is based upon experiences of my own or those I have seen and my dreams.

Listen

I wish that you could see
How much you mean to me.
You’re my world.
You’re all that I’m living for.

You have no clue
How much I love you.
But you don’t belong to me,
Nor am I free.

You’re hers,
And I see you’re hurt.
Try to listen,
Break out of your prison.

I’m his,
But there is no bliss.
What we have is no more,
But he is torn.

But I think, maybe, you and I have a chance.
Our life is a complex dance.
Anyone may cut in.
When done properly, it’s not a sin.

Open your eyes
And see her lies.
She doesn’t love you
As I do.

Will you cut in,
So our dance may begin?
I see your dance is now done.
Will you cut into this one?

Mike

I called his name,
I ran to him.
He embraced me.
He whispered in my ear,
“I love you.”

He snuck me extra candy,
Taught me to think for myself,
Drove me around,
Spoiled me,
Loved me.

They came to me and told me the story.
They didn’t tell me immediately.
They hid it from me.
I hated them for it.
They wanted to protect me.

I refused to believe it,
But realized that was foolish.
I was stunned, I cried.
It couldn’t be true.
He was gone.

The dogs howled their song of sorrow,
They warned us of the death to be.
We thought it was for someone else.
We were clueless.
It shouldn’t have been him.

The flames had taken him away.
He was honest.
He tried to get out but couldn’t.
He was loving.
I would never see him again.

It was quick,
Slow,
Horrible,
Peaceful.
They don’t tell us what happened.

They ignore us,
Refuse us,
Deny us,
Lie to us,
They don’t tell us what happened.

I think of him.
I miss him.
I cry myself to sleep.
I dream of him.
I still love him.

He was strong,
Handsome,
Wise,
Respectful,
Gentle.

He can still see me.
He can still hear me.
He watches me.
He still loves me.
He waits for me.

I cannot call his name.
I cannot run to him.
He cannot embrace me.
I will never see him again.
At least, not in this place.

Coexistence

It’s always there,
Just within reach.
Never hiding,
Never fleeing.

When you lose someone,
It’s there.
When you find love,
It’s there.

You can’t hide from it.
You can’t flee from it.
You can’t keep it.
It will always be there.

You can’t keep hope.
You can’t hide from fear.
No matter where you are,
They coexist just within reach.

An Iraqi Woman

They shout her name into the cell.

She’s too scared to move.

They yell at her and beat her.

They drag her down the hall.

Her open flesh has become infected.

Yet they don’t care, not unless she’s near death, if then.

She faints at the blood stained door.

She’s strapped down in a metal chair, a blood stained chair,

A nail carved chair, the torture chair.

She awakens to her own screaming.

Her ninth nail is being ripped off her finger.

The ninth, the tenth tomorrow.

The interrogation has only just begun.

Her vision begins to return.

Only two men this time, but sometimes less was worse.

Blood freshly stained the room.

They question her, they torture her.

She has a choice:

Die form imprisonment for something she hasn’t done,

Or die from torture during interrogation.

She won’t admit to a lie.

She might die quicker if she’s just tortured.

She screams while being electrocuted.

The torturers laugh hysterically.

She faints from the pain.

She awakens to the taste of wood.

Her vision begins to return.

She is lying on the cell floor.

She’s surrounded by other women looking down.

Smoke is coming out of her mouth.

Pain, pain is all she feels.

Tears overwhelm her. “Where am I?”

The pain is unbearable.

She can’t sit up.

Her children, she has kids.

The tears came again at recognition of where she was.

The pain is unbearable. Why wasn’t she dead yet?

The women came in a swarm

Attempting to comfort her.

She ignored them.

They lifted her onto a small bed.

“Remember my number when you get out,”

She said to no one and to everyone,

“Tell my family what happened.”

She rolled over to face the wall.

They question us.

They torture us.

They rape us.

They murder us.

We have no contact to the outside world.

We memorize each others number.
We tell our stories.

We comfort each other.

I was the first to wake this morning.

She died in the night.

Her number is in my heart, along with her story.

The others begin to wake.

I bathe in the filthy water,

I eat the stale, molded bread.

I listen to the stories,

And I tell my own.

The cell door opens.

Hope for freedom fills the room.

Fear for torture fills the room.

They shout my name into the cell.

-based on the novel Mayada, Daughter of Iraq.

Verboten

Alone I walked.

To no one I talked.

The sun was descending into a crimson sky.

Like the bird, I wished to fly.

 

Ahead of me, again, I face.

Off the road, in the dirt, I was placed.

Down, he held me.

His face I could see.

 

Screamed I tried.

All I could do was cry.

Infinite was the time.

Forbidden was his crime.

 

Over a stone I was crushed.

My flowing blood rushed.

A broken heap remained.

My body was never claimed.