Photo credit: Rachel Chisholm
In a world where money is power
I choose words to guide my life
A land so filthy it needs a scour
Where beings live only to strife
Words may linger for a lifetime
Same as a lover’s gentle kiss
Make a killer commit a crime
With his conscience lost in vast abyss
Words can brutally shatter a heart
Words have the power to destroy
They can tear your whole world apart
They can turn misery into joy
Words can bewilder the sane
Words can make one weep
They can cause so much pain
That a man cannot even sleep.
Words can hurt you to your core
With no idea of what they mean
You start looking for the exit door
Yet there’s nothing to do but scream
Words are more than missiles
Words can strike one’s heart
They can leave you damaged
When they pierce like a dart
How could some letters make the world shake
The unbelievable power to build or break
A violent storm with souls to decimate
Leaving you dead while still awake
I dream my words would be my legacy
A part of me to live when I’m gone
So mankind knows it was my destiny
To touch hearts from day to dawn
Photo credit: Myriam Nehmeh
By Farah Chamma
I imagine you there,
behind your cold desk.
Your glasses, your hair,
your dry lips, your stare.
All floating in space.
You breathe a day in.
You breathe a day out.
She is under your skin.
Your certainty and doubt,
all floating in space.
I like to look at you—
see the world
filled with your color.
I like to smell your
see your smile
hide behind thin air.
You are like ether.
I like to look at you—
just like the times I
look at the heavens.
I like to smell your
just like the times
I smell the wind.
Don’t Underestimate My Humor
(In memory of the passing of Mr. Robbin Williams)
By Dina Refaat
I didn’t know so much could go on inside my mind.
Go ahead and search, I bet there’s nothing funny to find
Gets me to ponder, how someone made us laugh so hard we cried
Underestimating that the joker himself, is grieving on the inside.
Whenever I’m up on stage to open up with a joke
My darkest lurking thoughts slowly start to get provoked,
Performing and entertaining ahead a very large crowd
Their cheery laughter help trigger my demons aloud
An exhale of relief when the curtain slowly starts to fall
Now I can return to my lonely crippled soul
Don’t underestimate my power to get you to laugh,
Concealing my sadness behind your laughter is the sole escape I have
R.I.P my captain, for I enjoyed growing up in your times
Little did I know, but sadness can lurk behind the widest of smiles
Photo credit: Jacques Briam (Founder of Wild About The Wild)
(Wild About The Wild seeks to convey the wonders of the wild by offering quality information, blog posts, photos and videos about wildlife.)
By Jamil Adas
A cub born cut with half a heart
crowned with infinite energy
relentless against the odds.
A joke played by smiling Gods.
The sun sparked in his chest
pure power, Satan trembles when he witness
what young Simba resembles.
belief in strength unsensed
in a mammal thought to be created to fill guts
but Earth will digest those same guts before that happens
But is he just?
During the light, darkness turns shadow
turns optimism into sorrow.
Shadow’s back against the wall it evolves
into new forms to stay alive.
The mirror reflected light
reflected darkness to its plight
shed the truth that is within,
“You are Simba!” the heavens cried
Young cub, heart of a lion
will you grow wiser in age?
Or wither older in rage?
My existence need not call Death
I broke his fast dial button from my DNA
vegetation can maintain my breath
Mother Nature is all powerful
but I’m convincing
I was young cub, grown Simba
you’ve dealt me to the world
now it’s my turn to play my role.
I’ve made my choice
so hear my voice of peace;
My UAE, Our UAE
By Hafsah Khan
Today is the day it all began,
The country that was all desert,
Slowly began to advance.
We came and we experienced,
The unique determination of this nation.
To move forward, to stay strong
And to acquaint the region
With our great ambitions.
So we stayed and we helped,
Our nation reach greater heights.
We fell in love with this country,
And never felt deprived,
Of our families back home
And the love we’ve left behind.
This nation has proven to be,
The best of its kind.
And has given us the opportunities,
That most struggle to find.
Today we celebrate our unity,
And pray that all stays the same.
Photo credit: Matt Fortune
Like a Fisherman
By Tahaab Rais
I linger between thoughts of you.
Reality is mingled with the chords
from our last conversation.
And I wonder what it is
that lifts life to that melodious duet.
These pages of unspoken words, I write,
all filled with an unknown passion.
Finding you, there’s more to life that begins to beckon me.
The song that I have long wished for and long feared,
has reached me.
And I await your call with a facade of patience,
like a fisherman,
When I die, please do not make me a tomb.
I do not need a tomb or epitaph to declare
who I am, who I loved, what I did.
When death comes, in the years that follow
I will be known by the words I write now.
These will never die but will be
read by my children, sung by my lovers,
questioned by my cynics.
No I do not need a tomb
I do not need a place as homage after death
I will live on the lips of mad men
I will dance to the melodies of old women
I will stain as a tattoo on someone’s skin.
Human flesh decays, but words…
they become anthems and stories
that stir and move. So,
please do me a favor and do not make me a tomb.
Photo credit: Myriam Nehmeh
By Binu Sivan
I know it has been long.
I have never bothered to find out
if you were ok.
I have taken for granted
for me to pick up when I so say,
to brush off the cobwebs and survey.
But you are the most special part of me.
The child that lives on.
No matter how many times I stumble,
no matter how jaded I become
you live on.
Waiting for the cynic in me
to complete a journey
and reclaim the child
that is still me.
I remember all the joy –
simple then, profound now,
that you found in the smallest of things.
The broken truck window-pane
that twinkled like diamonds on
a black tar road.
The berries and nuts lining the fence
on the way to school,
that would soon hide in your skirt pocket
as an angry farmer ran after you.
The pink bead you swallowed?
And certain that you were going to die
you ran to your favorite teacher.
Remember the way she smiled
and patted you on the head?
Pink beads have always been special since then.
You never walked. You only
skipped and ran.
Life swung between laughter and tears.
Fiercely proud, absolutely in love
enemies forever, friends till death
do us apart. Where is she I wonder?
Remember the class bully
who carried your bag home,
as you battled fever and embarrassment?
You wouldn’t let him drop you home…
because you thought someone who failed
didn’t make a good friend!
How you would love to meet him again
and tell him how sorry we are…
Remember the little girl
who walked in a fancy-dress costume
that was rapidly falling apart?
Not for a moment did it strike her
that she could change back into her uniform
before she walked back home!
Do you remember her? Her innocence,
her frail strength that could move mountains.
You learnt so much there.
You learnt that your parents would forgive
a failed mark but not a lie.
You learnt that planes couldn’t gore
your dad or you to death,
even if their sharp nose pointed
right at your head.
Remember the little girl who walked
her father home as he fought a fever?
Remember her determination that her
father will not fall?
Not with her protective arms around him.
Remember the red bracelet you
gave your best friend before you
left town for good?
Before you left childhood
and its blissful glory
in a sleepy little town.
Remember the trip to the station
with your mother, father and baby brother
and three pieces of luggage?
You didn’t know it then.
But you were on a deeper journey.
You were leaving childhood
to become a young lady of eleven.
Skipping toward dreams big and small
strewn no longer, in fields and roads…
Running toward dreams and goals
Big or small…
Waiting like diamonds
in the roads of tomorrow.
woman on the
at me like I
thought I was
legs when I
looked at her.
Both of us
yet I can feel
she sits; she’s
get a piece of
Well, she’ll never
know this poem
about her either.
Photo credit: Jeremy Thomas
By Omar Ashraf
Write what you feel like
Dress as you please
No one will be satisfied
Nothing will appeal
What’s the deal
With everyone judging how you feel
They think that you should kneel
To their opinions and their beliefs
Just demos and briefs
That you should follow to relief
Yourself and others
Fathers and mothers
Please kill the butterflies that flutter
In my stomach every single day and night
Man it’s the worst unplanned plight
When people try to guide you to their light
But left from an opposite person’s point of view is right
Your savior is not mine
And your alarm doesn’t go off according to my time
I don’t see your dreams in my sleep
I have my own
I dream that I’m alone
That’s the only price of freedom
No one to believe them
When they say
“This” will set you free
It’s all lies and kleptocracy
I am a demon myself you see
I won’t be what you want me to be
I will not cut off my wings
Michael Jackson still sings
In my ears before I sleep
And after that I wake up on the sound of beeps
From my annoying phone
I’ll grow you a backbone
Learn how to be honest
Learn how to speak the truth
Your lies are the biggest proof
That you’re a coward
And your lies empower
The parasite inside
No one does abide
By the love that newly arrived
To the heart
But my love is art
And I live to write
Let’s make a chart
Of who are considered leaders
And who are considered slaves
And believe me you would be amazed
Of the number of people
Who would follow others through hell
Just not to be expelled
From a society or a creed
Cut yourself! I’m pretty sure you won’t bleed red
It will be dishonesty and terror
Your face is scarred by horror
Of what I have to give
Being an impostor might be your thing
But it’s not a way for me to live
Behind masks of likes and shares
Living in a world like this, is my type of nightmare
Thank you to every writer for the thought infusing poems contributed and
thank you to every passerby for reading the art of our talented poets.
If you would like to have your poem or image published for the next
Dubai Poetics edition
send your poem or request to be a “visual artist” to firstname.lastname@example.org
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