It’s been a while. But I’d like to share this piece I especially wrote for Pluma’s third year anniversary (September 14). Visit Pluma’s
and official website for more features. blog
If only the burning of bridges
remains an idiot’s idiom
and we could still dream of flowerbeds
and never hear gunshots
of freedom from a remote uproar
lay the sword to rest –
what powers does it hold under a child’s gaze?
even time halts for mourning
when the sharp edges of tyranny
dug deep down their tiny bellies
why must we smell the flowers?
read people with dead shot eyes
after a while
the trees shall whisper
some so-called heroes’ anthem
who spoiled the soil that fed them
while our ruins
are traded for inorganic memories
or so history went
and thought free verse rhymes
or weaves a synopsis of the future
but we refuse to breathe
the putrid lies
our masked men feed
a gold miner’s poverty
alongside fragile footsteps.
-Armineonila M., 2016
The pen is mighty until its ink had dried out.
Creative Writing, Economy, Feature, Literature, Local, Migration Literature, Opinion, Politics, Satire, Society, World |
Speak wide. Mouth of a tunnel.
Brush shoulders like we’re comrades.
Beat the beats of cult fiction.
Believe friendship is a staple.
It’s a dirt we share.
Ever barefooted the huddles of the city?
Our eyes both swallowed the disease.
“Life is a currency, yes?” Experts say.
“Agony is business.” Ibid.
Let’s talk culture and drink beer.
VIPs don’t buy words. Not from copper pages.
A brown woman is a brown woman.
A black woman is a black woman.
The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.
It’s a rhetoric they teach.
And yet, we brush shoulders. Anisometric.
Like when we’re tots. You are winter. I am summer.
Eyes fixed on one TV screen – Big Bird groupies.
Fastforward to adulthood – export materials.
A stock market ice cream cart.
Give me a tree to trust. A forest.
Who knows who’s on top of the food chain.
Words are taxed with blood. Or enjambment.
Our silence is their weapon, anyway.
Or maybe just encode another poem.
On bed bugs.
Armineonila M. 2015
Business, Crime, Culture, Domestic Work, Economy, Home, Literature, Migration Literature, Opinion, Politics, Satire, World |
Pluma would like to reach out to readers across the globe and share with them this wonderful undertaking of making ends meet. After a long wait, Pluma’s first collection of poems, No Return Address, is finally out in the global market and ready to inform people from all walks of life of the shared experiences of migrants in their journeys.
No Return Address is a fine way to initiate a dialogue wherein people of different cultural orientations may one day find a common ground.
Grab a copy of
from Lulu and share reading moments with families and friends. No Return Address: A collection of poems
) Pluma Migrant Writers Guild