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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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world 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?

The Bop: Valar Morghulis, Valar Dohaeris

MM 1

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.


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.

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