Edition XXVIII

April 2018

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Desolate Obscurity - by Mazel Pinto (Photo by Sam Hetterich)Photo credit: Sam Hetterich

Desolate Obscurity

By Mazel Pinto

These narrow alleys
have heard
sweet whispers of our love
and seen
shy encounters of our nuzzled kisses
They’ve witnessed
our intertwined hands
followed by juvenile embraces

I wonder now,
if these walls question
your absence

I can feel a shadow behind me,
aiming a traitorous sneak
at my words
But my composition
is too intimate, too bare

So I plainly gather these letters
and clasp them close to me
Backed up against this wall, our wall,

I lean
and quietly, really

I just let it support me

Starfish - by Fatma Al Marri (Photo by Felix Russel Saw)Photo credit: Felix Russel-Saw


By Fatma Al Marri

Remember when you wanted to discover the untouched oceans?
The deep waters?
I asked you how starfish die
and you did not know
I saw them drown
on shore
like you drowned me in water
I wish starfish could swim on shore
and I could breathe water

Moonless - by Henzo (Photo by Eric Ward)Photo credit: Eric Ward


By Henzo (Mahmoud Rashed)

Started writing for the moon, but failed
The darkness around it trapped my words and senses,
distracted by the stars instead, I wondered
how darkness works its way through our souls

Moonlit was the poem to be called
but sadness filled my lines and anchored my thoughts
How may I write about his strength,
when he’s jailed in the midst of blackness?

I sought the morning, the time she shines,
I called the stars to end the night,
summon the energy, it’s the time to dawn

We’ll gather every bird there is,
the clouds, the sky in blue and the breeze
Darkness will be brought to its knees,
will surrender sadness,
shall call it a new life and a new day…

On Endings - by Christopher Li (Photo by Farhan Siddicq)Photo credit: Farhan Siddicq

On Endings (from a kitchen in Paris)

By Christopher Li

When things end they go quietly 
They don’t go boom 
Or bang their way clunkily through the hall 
When they end they just end
There’s no grand commotion
Like when I left my home
Or when I left another city
I waited for the boom, the snap, the noise
I tried to create one with every person I knew
But it just fizzles slowly out back to calm
Even when things go quick 
Like when my dad left
Even in those little moments
They went slowly and calmly
We weren’t calm, nor quiet,
We railed, we screamed, we woke the neighbors
But he ended slowly
Like all things 

A Prayer - by Idris Mears (Photo by Jamal Saleh)Photo credit: Jamal Saleh

A Prayer

By Idris Mears

In the garden today
I was working for a robin
digging up his lunch of worms
a busy version of the lazing hippopotamus
whose body heat draws insects for his attendant bird
but usually I am just working
in my wasteful human way
for the rats
and in the long run
for the worms
– so much for my industry and utility
but I pray I found
in the stillness and joy
of my work-honed reflection
a moment of sanity
between the madness of losing meaning
and the madness of imposing it

Time - By Mashaal Effendi (Photo by Fabrizio Verrecchia)Photo credit: Fabrizio Verrecchia


By Mashaal Effendi

That posit that makes itself known
All too quickly and yet cacophonically renown
One tick, two tick, a period of nodes
In between the service of a young child’s phone
‘So away’ says the ward, secondly thrown off
If only the mind wandered as initially wrote off

I Still Carry You - By Eve Thomas (Photo by Annie Spratt)Photo credit: Annie Spratt

I Still Carry You

By Eve Thomas

I still carry pieces of you in my pockets
You run poetry in circles around my heart, around my body.
I’m missing you, and this is the reason why I write you out in this
verse without rhythm, because
you and I, we never had rhythm. We only had rough,
bloody chaotic, the “no rules,” kind of
passion. I carry the bits of you,
that I took from you
with me, everywhere I go.
I still carry the rose petal you playfully handed me
when no one was looking, because
what was so laughable to you,
to me, was a small opening,
to give you pieces of me.
Do you carry the parts of me
you took from me
every time you kissed me, and every time you held me and all the times you
called just because you missed me.
Giving you myself, the very morals, the goodness,
the parts of me that made me who I am,
do you carry the parts of me
that made me the woman you
made love to and pushed
over and over again—
with you as you go through life?
I still carry the parts of you I shouldn’t; like the memory of you
playing with my hair each time I told you stories of my childhood,
or the time I told you that I want you to make me happy
and you promised that you would.
I still carry the piece of paper that held your name
and it still carries the scent of the flowers you paired along with it.
I’d like to believe
you still carry the pieces of me
you took from me. You took my love, and a chunk of my heart
with you when you left
and I pray
that I one day
can grow back the parts of me you took away.

Porcelain - by Rasha Darra (Photo by Hakim El Haj)Photo credit: Hakim El Haj


By Rasha Darra

Naive, innocent, introvert,
they think I am what I am not,
mistaking silence for weakness,
thinking I can easily show meekness,
submissive, unrelenting obedience.

Not knowing my true complexion,
they mistake my skin for porcelain;
fragile and easily broken.
When in truth, it is as hard as titanium steel.

I am not a doll of porcelain,
raised only to eat, sleep and leave
behind me a trail that disappears.
Leaving me known as that girl that appeared
yet could not do anything until she disappeared.

They throw labels thinking I am not one that comprehends
the meaning behind all the things being said.
Must I be so clear?!
About all that it is, I hear and see?!
Is there no mediocre ground to reach?!
That can lead to uniformity?!

Reveries of a Ballerina - by Laith Bilal (Photo by Alannah Bowes)Photo credit: Alannah Bowes

Reveries of a Ballerina

By Laith Bilal

On the coldest of nights
The ballerina would dance, || barefoot,
with not a sway of harmony,
holding her patched heart in petite hands,
as she tailors dreams with pure ecstasy.

Beholding the blue horizon,
above the clouds,
eyes that sparkle restlessly,
humming the world into peace, perhaps.
A fine, celestial melody –

On the coldest of nights,
the fair little lady
would dance and dance!
Pirouetting among shattered hopes,
fragments of crimson reveries.

Still she frolics with wounded feet!
Full of glass;
Triumphant cries!
Unorthodox lullabies!

Composing the world into peace, perhaps.
A fine, || yet unheard melody.

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.

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Dubai Poetics edition
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Join us again in our Poetryhood!!

Enjoy more poems from our earlier editions in 2018:

Edition XXV
Edition XXVI
Edition XXVII