From a Woman of Colour to America, the Night Before the Election

~reflections on a country in crisis~

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Pixabay image by Ronile

Today of all days, Medium’s write a story page is down! Coincidence? One day before Election Day, the one and only time I decided it was time to speak not as a poet, but as an average woman of color, a Muslim, rather privileged, who lives in the United States. By choice. Looking back, it was the wrong choice. But that’s another story.

We are being willfully stupid and delusional. Trump has thousands of followers for a reason. But we can’t see…


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“Within” acrylic on canvas farida haque

A SONG FOR THE END OF THE EARTH

~ a poemsongdirge for these our times ~

The mirror was silent

Her silence lay shattered

Dark corners spoke auguries of pain

Of days of dread, dead ahead,

And endless nights insane.

A woman, a waif, a saint a whore,

Call her what you will

Though she closed her ears and eyes as well,

Her heart yearned far

A mossy-groined hill.

Echoed and echoes and echoes of regrets

Were all that remained of her mind.

And hope a shadow

You’d smell in a hall

And slowly leave behind.

The sun she had…


WE

~ a poem for the past, present and future ~

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Image by geralt on Pixabay

We

sneered

at simple faces

dromedaries and sandy walls

We

sent

emissaries and doom

garb of modernity,

it was!

We

stretched

unholy limbs

into privates not our own

We

rusted innocent turbines

and bloods of many colors?

Vaporized.

We

laughed

as metal ate innards

on the other side

of our sun

We

laughed hard

at skullcaps and black veils

laughed

even as hunger

welcomed locusts

and twigs for bones

We

watched

our greed sniff out

mythical troves

secret destructions,

we said.

We

saw

our Ark

rise on an eternal…


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Image on Pixabay by Waldkunst

Here, There be Two-Faced Jackals

~ a poem of hope for the times ~

Must skies hide?

Against a woolly backdrop

of graveyard grey clouds

— not radiant places, our simple graveyards —

in a geometry known

only to roosting birds of prey,

ravens sat immobile.

They made slits for me

like small stabs of a Kukri knife,

unexpected windows to

black of nothingness.

Defences breached, sky!

I see you.

Ah fickle, like all I love…

Two-faced jackal.

Dazzling it was,

the morning sky

a canvas grounded with liquid lapis

but devoid of enigmas.

Then afternoon glimpses of only black…


~ go shatter a chandelier! ~

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Acrylic on Canvas “ Origins” Farida Haque

Which road shall I travel,

I, the chronicler of voices?

My hourglass

runs fast and inexorably

and a million years

are not mine, a mere raconteur

But no matter.

Cartography of history

is all-embracing.

Topography

of story-telling,

familiar and compendious.

You will understand.

We make too much of our human noises.

Suppose for a decade or two we

give a Voice to inanimate things,

in fact, all of other life

lose memory of human expressions…

Tear away a baroque chandelier.

It comes down

with the roar of a lion.

Don’t run, it’s only crystal


The Jewel Tones of Mortality

~ set yourself awash… ~

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Image on Pixabay

It’s as if stars above

Will not,

Magical sentinels

Blowing down immortality on us,

Will not falter nor die.

Do you look up,

When was the last time

You looked up?

In supplication or wonder

Gratitude or invocation?

Do you then look down,

Feel dread, see the littleness of us?

Clutch riches a bit more tightly,

Or on the other hand,

Watch fondly as children

Shed memories on prized brocades,

Set yourself awash

In jeweled colors of being mortal,

Allow invasions of privacy?

I was nudged last night.

Who calls…


So That We Can Grow

~ be arachnid, reptile, amphibian ~

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Gustav Klimt ‘Water Serpents’

What we don’t know is

We all must molt

Like snakes and hatchlings

So that we can grow

Shed this and that

Beliefs and suchlike

Talk to roots of trees

Share sap and salts

For one must eat to grow.

Learn to sip hidden dewdrops

Spilled with generosity

By indigo stars

Soak up lyrics snatched by winds

That roam rivers of ice, sift

Through poor man’s garbage

And undulate past us

Like ribbons of moonlight

Begging to come home

Toss smiles here and there

Give away embraces

To friend and foe

— What are we saving them for —

A balance, you see?

We give, we take.

We take we give.

So that we can grow…

Farida Haque

umair haque Adam, Diabetic Cyborg Michael Stang Shringi Kumari Vaishali Paliwal Elle Rogers Stephen M. Tomic Bridget Webber White Feather guérin


The World Must Rest Too. IT IS OLD…

~ a poem for my two worlds, for now ~

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LeandroDeCarvalho Pixabay

Between me and the world

are distances

I have measured in half-glimpses,

as though a full look

might erase the world in a blink.

If the table were not in the way

I might make it to the curtain.

If I do

the curtain is in the way.

My window has wavy panes

which rinse the world

in mellow rainbows

and make it a kinder place

than when I left it.

The world must rest too. It is old…

I know trees


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‘Golden Moments’ acrylic and gold leaf on canvas by author

Farida Haque

Multimedia artist, writer, poet. ‘Celebrating other lives, I am a sparrow in the shadow of a rosebush...’ faridahaque@gmail.com

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