Promises Poems
People's Voice at the End of Twilight
by Ayatullah Nurjati
at the edge of the red twilight, the voice of the people echoed weakly.
In unheard whispers, there is hope that is increasingly fading.
The streets are full of grey dust, leaving footprints without a new destination.
Behind the glitter of the bustling city, they are overlooked in a gloomy shadow of silence and peace. The voices of the people who are tired of screaming, reaching for justice which is increasingly difficult.
Burned by empty promises, but still hopeful in wounded hope.
Dusk turns into dark night, But the voice never went away. In the hearts of those who continue to groan, there is a prayer that strengthens the weary soul.
Promises
by Mykah Cea
Cross my heart, hope to die,
Stick a needle in my eye.
A swarm of paper lanterns is suspended by evening warm air.
As a summer blizzard, they shine brighter than gold.
We promised one day, we'd shine brighter.
On her mossy bed, lithe clusters of lavender brush her satin skirt.
Like her, their violet crowns are dusted in pollen and starlight.
......
Between your pain and my ability to ease it lies a million broken promises.
by Sisekelo & Lindelwa Simelane & Manana
Between your pain and my ability to ease it, lies a thousand broken promises waiting for Bob the builder, can he fix this?
You pull your hair often, sometimes I can't tell if you're frustrated or just in pain. You've had needles treat you like a best friend and sometimes a one night stand, it's supposed to hurt less but instead the drugs no longer work, you cry the same each time the doctor says turn, I guess practice makes prefect wasn't made only to get into your pants. Princess, you don't wear your crown no more, apparently it glitters and your soul's so tired, we could mistake it for anything but gold. You proudly took it off, now you walk with your head tilted as though to assure you that there's no glow, but sometimes you walk past a mirror and swear you see a halo. You trip a lot, sometimes on little stones but mostly on empty promises, when the air is thick with enough lies, you start to breathe, I think you feed off of negative energies, or maybe they are positive to your inner enemies. You've had about two decent conversations, one about how you cried last night, the other about how those tears never came out, you're lost in blue forests and green skies, waiting for thunderstorms that come in rays of sunlight. I think I've said enough, that's what I say when you ask me for advice because by then I realise that you'd be running back to square one. Between your pain and my ability to ease it lies a million untold stories that keep us broken, I'm waiting on our heart to open, maybe the wound can be healed once they realise it's open.
I remember waking up in a panic yesterday because for some reason the nightmare seemed like a nightmare for the first time in a long while. I cannot remember the last time my nightmares became nightmares, for the first time in a long time I saw you in them, I don't know if it was your presence or was it the million broken promises I've made to you that have come home to roost, either way I don't like it. I saw you standing there and our old friend procrastination sold me the idea that you'll be there even after my many obligations. Soon as I bought that idea I had to watch you walk away. It seemed as if I had given up on you without actually letting go because part of me hoped that I'd see you smile again. Probably the craziest thing I saw in this nightmare was the blue forests and green skies that you once talked about, I was amazed at the beauty you failed to relay to me. I remember taking a deep breath in the dream and it felt more like home as negativity was airborne and her particles were like little knives that ripped through nasal passages like the kids in their GTI's tear through the highway. As I was dealing with these little knives that gave me unmeasured pleasure, depression came around to collect her taxes, she left a message for you for when and if you come back. I realised that your pain could never be alleviated regardless of my ability to, and for some weird reason I'm happy with that.
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by Adam Bowmanasdf
Continue readingDrifting
by Sihle Mjobo
What are we?
Damaged souls,
Museums for lost innocence?
Experiences’ consequence ?
Looking through wise eyes
Yet it still eludes us.
What is it?
That we fail to recognise
In seasonal soulmates
......
People's Voice at the End of Twilight
by Ayatullah Nurjati
at the edge of the red twilight, the voice of the people echoed weakly.
In unheard whispers, there is hope that is increasingly fading.
The streets are full of grey dust, leaving footprints without a new destination.
Behind the glitter of the bustling city, they are overlooked in a gloomy shadow of silence and peace. The voices of the people who are tired of screaming, reaching for justice which is increasingly difficult.
Burned by empty promises, but still hopeful in wounded hope.
Dusk turns into dark night, But the voice never went away. In the hearts of those who continue to groan, there is a prayer that strengthens the weary soul.
Excerpts from Life
by Saleh Ben Saleh
My mind had often wondered of a world beyond our hold,
where every soul reveals its secrets and all the truth untold.
With age our youth will fade,
and with hope our lives ignite.
In a withered cage the soul remains,
till the day that brings delight.
Promises made are hard to keep,
but in honour I find my pride.
......
Drifting
by Sihle Mjobo
What are we?
Damaged souls,
Museums for lost innocence?
Experiences’ consequence ?
Looking through wise eyes
Yet it still eludes us.
What is it?
That we fail to recognise
In seasonal soulmates
......
weedkillers
by Red Brick Keshner
at that tender age when one still believed
openly bleeding wounds make for devotion
cut skin, draw blood, covenanting together
all through the years of getting to know you
always being the only one to be weeded out
lkjasdflkasld
by Adam Bowmanasdf
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