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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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peace

i try to bury the pain and blink

i try to bury the pain and blink.
with eyes moving from tab after tab, ears focused on the mechanical tapping of keyboards, i try to forget their names.

The first tab led me to 9gag. A GIF of a “normal night” in an english pub flashed before my eyes. Drunken men fighting each other, brawling for fun. It was supposed to make me laugh— but it didn’t. The images of bodies thrown on burning houses played at the back of my mind. Blood flows to the river banks as the women of Rohingya shout in pain.

blink.

I clicked the second tab that led me to Bored Panda. A list of surprisingly simultaneous historical events that will change the way you think of history caught my eye. I couldn’t get past after the odds of Prisoners Arriving At Auschwitz Just Days After Mcdonald’s Was Founded were mentioned. I felt my stomach flipped at the thought of death camp. My mind traveled back to Syria. What are the odds of living for the displaced refugees? Then to indonesia, will they be handed their rights?

blink.

On a desparate attempt to shun the looming gloom in my head, I tried the last tab. The literature page, my second virtual haven next to my blog. The poetry section listed Edgar Allan Poe’s A Dream Within a Dream on the top. His words pierced me with added force and I plunged into the depths of helplessness head first. Is this life just one big false awakening? Are the endless murders and tortures just part of a nightmare?

i try to bury the pain and blink.
closing the tabs, unplugging the chords, i stared at the black screen
hoping to forget their names.


I wrote this a month ago, on one afternoon I immersed myself in the world news. I did not publish it because I was disheartend with what was happening. Still is. But back then the pain was too raw for me to share it in this blog. The cynic and existentialist in me has taken over my head, asking questions that could not be answered. Or perhaps I just do not accept.

Justice, basic rights, peace.

Will the refugees ever get a chance to live with these? Or are we only good at sulking back to our chairs?

e=mc2

no-future-girl-balloon-by-banksy

e=mc2

what do the children say
about special relativity?
when they neither had
a space to live and
a time to be free?

when past, present and future
were never in their grasp
when limbs, tears and blood
were all that they have

ask them an equation
they only have one:
the end is equivalent to the
mass of people multiplied by
the square of the speed of bomb

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to dVerse’s Open Link Night hosted by Grace.

This piece is also inspired Bjorn’s prompt at Toads.  The photo above is from Banksy. In 2010, Banksy did another version of his Balloon Girl with a monochrome child, spray-painted on the wall of a private house in Bevois Valley, Southampton, England.

 My heart bleeds for the people of Syria, especially the children. The alleged gas attack from Assad regime in a rebel-held town in Idlib has killed many innocent souls. Who really did this? We’ll never really know. One thing is for sure, mankind has become most dangerous animal in this world. And, sadly, the leader could only respond with a missile airstrike. Sigh. Poets around the globe are unleashing their swords through their pens. Here are some of them that you might want to read:

Instagram: #withsyria
Bjorn’s Another Name for Terror
Jade’s An Elegy for Them

Head over here to join the fun:

dverse

Dear Balloon, Please

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Dear Balloon, Please

tell them
we need
no bloodshed—
another year
of lost dreams

soar the sky,
let them know
and hear our
mournful
cries

whisper
in their hearts
that we forgive them—
that we can start
anew

dear balloon,
make them feel
there is always
hope

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: Balloon hosted by De.

The Balloon Girl is one of the most iconic works of Banksy. The graffiti artist has created many variations for this but the one found on the wall of a stairway in the South Bank of London in 2002 is probably the most famous. In this work, a little girl is reaching for a red heart-shaped balloon and the words “there is always hope” are placed behind her.

Is she really reaching or releasing? Banksy does not answer this question. It must come from us.

Head over here to join the fun:

dverse

If I Could Build A House

rooms_artist03_z

If I Could Build A House

If I could build a house
I would build one not for mine

A house of warmth for those in the cold
Sprawled on the streets, no one to hold

A house of strength for those who are weakened
No mortar or bombs can ruin again

A house of light that beams in the night
For the lost and weary to cast away their fright

A house of love for the lonely and hopeless
Who threw away trust and second chances

A house of peace for the hate-filled heart
Who’s trying to keep from falling apart

If I could build a house in a snap of fingers
I would build a home for each rat that lingers.

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to dVerse’s Tuesday Poetics: DIY Building by our guest host, Sara McNulty.

Your challenge for today is to imagine that you have been given free rein to design any type of building you wish. What would your building look like?

Banksy is back with a brand new project called “The Walled Off Hotel,” where people can literally sleep inside this work of art. Located in Bethlehem, Palestine it offers the ‘worst view in the world’ with windows overlooking the controversial barrier wall that separates the West Bank from Israel territory. The image above is one of the wall decorations in the room. Banksy is <3.

Head over here to join the fun:

dverse

A plea to luna

boy-stands-alone-in-pine-wood-crescent-moon-night-painting-694x417

A plea to luna

On the third night she rose again
To find the crescent moon
Atop the mountain ledge she rest
And listened to the noise

The crickets sang a melody
The frogs played a tune
The wind hummed a silent song
Her heart played along

She prayed the night to take away
The pains of this world
To filter all the wickedness
And leave peace alone

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image Source: magic4walls


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #145 by Yves, here’s a follow-up to my previous post, Luna(cy). For the love of the moon. ❤

Head over here to join the fun:

Swing Thine Broken Dreams

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Swing Thine Broken Dreams

Sweet giggles filled the grimy air
Etched on a ravaged wall was a funfair
A glimpse of paradise and utter bliss
Amid the havoc and total mess
“Where do broken hearts go?”
The old song goes
Where do broken dreams go?”
Alas! Nobody knows.

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: Giggle hosted by De.

My friends here in blogosphere know how much I adore the works of Banksy. The man knows how to speak the truth that most of us turn a blind eye on. The image above is one of his four stirring graffiti stencils in Gaza that was released together with a short film. Today’s quadrille reminds me of this.

Head over here to join the fun:http://www.blenza.com/linkies/links.php?owner=dversepoets&postid=24Feb2017&meme=12540

dverse

Home by Warsan Shire

Featured poems and spoken word poetry

no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.

Continue reading “Home by Warsan Shire”

Have we had enough?

 

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Have we had enough?

eyes fixed on his war-torn home—
a triptych of death, despair and doom
he breathed the air
tasted blood on his lips;
dread clawed out of his throat
and tears seared his skin

Have we had enough?

…words echoed as he waits for dawn

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Photo Credit: UNICEF IRAQ/DUHOK/2015/SCHERMBRUCKER via newswire.ca


In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: Dawn hosted by Bjorn.

In light of the unending chaos in the Middle East and madness in the US. Let there be peace.

Head over here to join the fun:

dverse

 

A Scent of Peace

banksy_wall-flower-thrower1

A Scent of Peace
A Dizain

Must we walk along blood speckled street?
Hearts drumming, teeming with fears.
Must we cower in silence on our defeat?
Watch men die, cry a river of tears.
Fighting battles with bombs and spears
Have we had enough of this death and uproar?
We must put an end, to you I implore—
This pointless game of kill and destroy.
For isn’t the scent of peace sweeter than war
And tears more priceless when of joy?

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Graffiti by Banksy via Tree of Life


In response to dVerse’s Tuesday Poetics: Empire of Scents

Poet’s Pub today is hosted by Grace with her scents of childhood. Our poetry challenge is to dive into the world of scents. Drizzle your verses with spices, if you are a lover of food.   Make us happy or sad, even lusty and sensual, to evoke memories. Fill our plate with your scented words, and fill our nostrils with emotions.

*My heart bleeds for the lives lost at Istabul and it scorches with rage towards the pointless reasons behind these crimes. Sigh. The image above is a graffiti by Bansky entitled, “Rage, Flower Thrower”. This artwork is reminiscent of 1960’s campus and street riots. The colorful flowers are in exchange for a grenade is a bid for peace and the end to all massacres in the name of war.

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