Windswept Adieu

A Syrian man holds the body of his child after it was taken from under the rubble of destroyed buildings following a reported air strike on the rebel-held neighborhood of al-Marjah in the northern city of Aleppo, on July 24, 2016. Ameer Alhalbi/AFP

Windswept Adieu

A hopeful heart
Of dreams that soar
A dearth of chance
Life bestows

A father’s tears
On daughter’s wake
Throughout the years
A heart that breaks

A silent scream
To the skies
Who is to blame?
A mouthful curse

A soft whisper
A gentle kiss,
The breeze sends
A windswept adieu

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image via  Rappler

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Today’s Filipino word prompt is “pahimakas” which means “last farewell”.

My heart breaks for the people of Aleppo after the series of airstrikes that befall them. These needless wars and deaths are draining the last faith in humanity that remains in me. We, human beings, must stop killing each other and use our religious faith as an excuse to do so. Because truth is, TERRORISM HAS NO RELIGION. It never did and it never will. 😥

Come on! Write a poem or a fiction
Snap a photo under the sun
A six-word tale or a long post, perhaps?
Let’s all get word-high this July!

Want to join the fun? Find the prompt words HERE! Don’t forget to pingback & use the tag WordHighJuly. Mazel tov! 😉

A Scent of Peace

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

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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.

The Vow

He watched the breathtaking view of the city from London’s tallest building. Most people crave for beaches or wander to nature’s hidden paradise, but not Zak. Fifteen years ago, he vowed to climb the world’s tallest buildings, to soar the highest edifice mankind has ever built, and be engulfed by the sheer size and dominance of every structure towering above human race. This time, his stop is The Shard.

Standing thousands of feet above the ground, Zak prayed in silence. A silent prayer offered for the 3,000 innocent souls who didn’t get the chance to say goodbye, for the jihadist groups who choose death over life, and for the endless struggle between peace and war. Fifteen years ago, he was orphaned by his terrorist father. Simultaneously, he lost his life, too. For when people condemn you a terrorist in every inch, that’s not life at all.

In tears, he climbed down the building and gave it one final look. “Look, father, isn’t it marvelous to watch them, high and mighty, than to see it crumbling down?” he whispered.

“Pardon me, young man, but what day is today?” asked an elderly woman behind.

Zak answered, “It’s the 11th of September, madam.”

Word Count: 200

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Written for Sunday Photo Fiction’s prompt. This piece is inspired by the 9/11 World Trade Center bombing and a special book I’ve been wanting to read entitled, The Terrorist’s Son: A Story of Choice.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story.

Enjoy more awesome stories here:

 

The Bop: Valar Morghulis, Valar Dohaeris

My heart bleeds for the lost men
Who died on a crisp autumn air
Like leaves falling from their trees
Bared against the wind and cold
Unthinking that their end must dawn
Was their final look, a smile or a frown?

Valar Morghulis. Valar Dohaeris.

Of diverse culture and different races
Each deemed ahead of the other
Of varied belief and religion
Each believed to hold the perpetual truth
Lost in the void of eternal darkness
7.3 billion; the number persist to climb
Believing in our own seven heavens
Condemning each to our own seven hells

Valar Morghulis. Valar Dohaeris.

These religious-borne chauvinism and
Culture-biased prejudice and bigotry
Should not be the core of all our actions
For when spring comes after every autumn
And frozen rivers start to flow—
All men must die, all men must serve.

Valar Morghulis. Valar Dohaeris.

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In response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s prompt and B&P Shadorma & Beyond hosted by Bastet.

Today we’re going to look into a fairly recently created poetic form called The Bop.  It was created by poet Afaa Michael Weaver, an American poet (born in 1951, author of several collections of poems and a full length play) during a summer retreat of the African-American poetry organization Cave Canem.

It’s not totally dissimilar to a sonnet … it consists of three un-rhymed stanzas with a repeated refrain after each stanza.

The first stanza is dedicated to the statement of a problem and it is 6 lines long.
The second stanza is dedicated to the elaboration of the problem and it is 8 lines long.
The third stanza is dedicated to the possible solution of the problem and it is also 6 lines long.

And I’d like to add three words to be used inside the poem:  lost – men – crisp.