Edition XXX

June 2018


Dubai Poetics on Facebook     –     Dubai Poetics on Instagram

Chime - by Mashaal Effendi (Photo by Alejandro Nubo)Photo credit: Alejandro Nubo

Chime

By Mashaal Effendi

A word a hollow
A lilting sound’s Apollo
A wayward destiny
That made the sheep’s herd
A tinkle in the sky
And a gleaming goodbye
An old priest’s dime
Was as much as lustful chime


Miss inhu'man' - by Kaya (photo by Kaya)Photo credit: Kaya (Kavyaa Suryaa)

Miss inhu’man’

By Kaya (Kavyaa Suryaa)

9pm, 10pm, 11pm, 12pm
I want to reverse time
12pm, 11pm, 10pm, 9pm
and – i crave to reverse time
9am, 12pm, 10pm, 1pm
stop – now nobody move
just look – just look as
I lay like stale food,
waiting to poison you
under your consent,
you, the person I speak to,
the person I see – as I stare
into the mirror
you – you stale food
I stare at you – I know you, Miss inhu’man’
“Miss inhu’man'”
Men and women to the world
Men and women of the world
stare into mirrors, I’ll come through
like stale food – stale food into the mirror
flies around me, now buzz buzz buzz
give me company, within this solidarity
I see you, I see me in you
I am the men and the women around me
I am my stale food
I eat myself off the ground
the flies like audience,
they buzz buzz buzz like an applause
I consume and I consume and I consume – my reflection
my reflection – I present to you again Miss inhu’man’
the person – the performer –  in the mirror – in the crowd
as I continue to feast and feast
until the last of me
the flies, buzz and buzz
as I lay, as I screech
the last sound in me


Evolution - by Christopher Li (Photo by Hakim El Haj)Photo credit: Hakim El Haj

Evolution

By Christopher Li

In her home there is a small golden Buddha
sat directly inside the veranda, to welcome you- clearly, honestly.
I never asked her why I would always find crumbs and wilting fruit at his feet
like a permanent part of the statue.
Seeing I had paid the entry toll in confused looks,
they were offerings for the journey into the next world,
she would tell me eventually.

So many days I’ve paid my debt to you
in cups of over sweetened tea,
French toast, with stale bread,
sandwiches that seem harder and harder to find
and more complicated to make,
in long hours, slow mornings, elastic nights.

I have a photo of you in my kitchen that we took a few years before you died;
You’re in your long gray hoodie
holding the big meat cleaver that I had bought from the Chinese supermarket
You’re smiling.

I lost the hoodie
I have the cleaver
The smile is around here somewhere.
The crumbs, the wilted fruit, the cups of tea,
they never go.


Cosmic - by Salma HQ (Photo by Peroculus)Photo credit: Peroculus

Cosmic

By Salma HQ

salty trails of molten emotion blazing
you mistake my worry for brazen
condemnation
for the vicious copulation

of the amygdala and every drop of scarlet ire fed to you by the sweet drizzle of familial devotion that fell upon your cheeks still soiled from casual self-crucification

I’ve made the mistake of letting your name age in the back of my brain
fine wine plaguing every vein
with notions of liquid bliss and tachycardic candy canes
you see
it hits like being choked out with golden chains
being drowned in champagne
being kissed to the point of pain
chocolate rain
confectionery propane
a slow-leak
sweet stain
at the height of its reign
a correlation
between my head hitting the floor and your soul starting to ache
between your missed exams and my nightmare of an earthquake
between the hue of your irises and my newfound obsession with devil’s food cake
though,
that one might be a fondness of my own creation
lest you let a speck of unrest out of the confines of your mind
pray, breathe, emote loudly and freely
I lay in resting vexation
always
until the stars align
qué será será.


Gentle, But You Weren't - by Eve Thomas (Photo by Jandri Angelo Aguilor)Photo credit: Jandri Angelo Aguilor

Gentle, But You Weren’t

By Eve Thomas

I would let you lay a hand and every kind of touch
on me.
The gentle, passionate,
but even the rough,
harsh and the completely, unholy kind;
I’d let you push me around and pull the strings that moved my arms to do your will
and my body, to do your bidding; you pulled on a string that
pulled on my heart beat, whispering the names
of each flower you handed me before we made love
every day, or any day you’d have the time to see me.
You’ve pulled the strings that chased the tears down my face when
my ears heard the harsh, unsavory tones and shades of words
that would never be said, even to the vilest of men. Strings that held on to the knife
you’d occasionally stab me with
each time you pushed, pulled, shoved and
held me down, against my will, but
submissive to yours.
It wasn’t sexy.
I wouldn’t call whatever this is
that we have, abusive. No,
addiction seems more like it.
I want the thing that I shouldn’t, the thing that is
so obviously, wrong for me.
I want this, but I don’t want this.
I’ll dance with you when there is no music,
anytime, any day
and it’s just our bodies moving to the
outrageously loud, silence. I’ll
drink and eat whatever this is,
even when it’s tasteless. And
I’ll be with you in every way, let you
take me however.
With love, without it, make love
or don’t. Just handle me with care,
but you rarely do. My heart has seen more floor
than it has beaten in this lifetime, because it still cries, after being glued
to the sole of your feet, it still cries
your name at night, calling and longing
for something, but dreading whatever is coming.


Putting The Slam In Islam, A Slam Poem - by Mariya Nadeem (Photo by Hakim El Haj)Photo credit: Hakim El Haj

Putting The Slam In Islam, A Slam Poem

By Mariya Nadeem

 ‘You don’t look like a Muslim.’
Sorry but compliments do not
work that way anymore.
For somebody who puts the ate in appreciate,
you really do not chew your words enough.

Not a lot of us have slender bodies,
but we put the slim in Muslim-
Cause that’s the chance for us
making it through airport security check
without,
Ma’am why are you visiting a chemistry lab in
a foreign nation
Ma’am could you remove the headgear
Sir could you step aside, we have a few more questions.

All 1.8 billions of us have different minds
and motives,
but a lot of times, watching the news,
we’re all thinking the same thing.
Did the word Terrorist originate
from terror, or also from territory?
Because protecting what’s rightfully mine,
I feel almost as guilty
as the man blowing himself up
in the middle of the bazaar.

Put the ace in two-facedness-
Wouldn’t judge a book by its cover
Wouldn’t confuse a weed for a flower
Would tell the difference between
dandelion yellow and bumblebee yellow.
How hard then can understanding
that the  actions of a man
do not allow you to judge his clan
be?

Islam is not peace, yes
we read Arabic poetry as a form of
submission to God.
Islam is not peace, yes
millions of us cry in our prayers
for walls to be broken
for children to be fed
for world leaders to grow up.
Islam is not peace, yes
according to Wikipedia,
the Arabic word for peace is Salam.


A Lost Identity - By Reham (Photo by Aziz Acharki)Photo credit: Aziz Acharki 

A Lost Identity

By Reham Yeshar

Years of recognition, yet you wear a wavering face
A missing heart aching for a vessel to call home
You are a graveyard, a collector, a house of tombs
As I starve for death and life, you spit on my meals
A shared flesh, yet the demons were greeted
Bleeding ears praying for the tongues to die
A structured design of black and bones, a war zone
Who are you now?

A melancholy portrait?
A reaper hidden in darkness?
A ticking star?
A gun ready to protect?

I’ve adored you, I’ve despised you
Swallow my home in flames and I will become a heavy fountain streaming from the clouds
Take away the sun and I will become a radiant moon with a clean sky
Press your foot on my neck and I’ll still rise
We all have our demons, some scarier than the rest
and some hold a collection of masks to wear


Tempus - by Hiba Memon (Photo by Jamal Saleh)Photo credit: Jamal Saleh

Tempus

By Hiba Memon

I do not know how to pick my battles

be it the raging tempestuous winds,

or my own callous heart-

I am told that nature takes its course after a while,

but I have aged even before shedding my skin.

Somehow I had plunged myself into the throes of time and waded through its shores, bearing the marks of a warrior.

I flirted too often with the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the days, the years.

Never to settle, I chased and traipsed the road less traveled,

and stopped remembering what home felt like.

Age. It was age that

crept up to me, while I was battling my demons in silence.


These Last Words - by Yaman Nimer (Photo by Yara aka Peroculus)
Photo credit: Peroculus

These Last Words

By Yaman Nimer

You were always one to see me for what I really am;
the restless wind that morphed into a storm and tore through the land it called home,
the running river blinded by greed it poured itself out into the black emptiness,
the moon that drowned in a lunar eclipse the whole world watched and did nothing to save it.
You always knew exactly what I was –
a misguided,
ill-fated,
attempt at
becoming.


The Demon Inside Him - By Zainab Udaipurwala (Photo by Cristian Newman)Photo credit: Cristian Newman

The Demon Inside Him

By Zainab Udaipurwala

His eyes were full of lust
that would scare you,
His hands trembling
to touch every part of yours,
His lips ready to attack
your body in a way that
you could never imagine
He was going to do something
that would bring you pain.,
He was going to do something
that would make you cry in disgust,
He was going to do something
that nobody could save you from,
He was going to do something
that would make you cringe
and hate yourself,
He was going to do something
which should not be done with you
Not when you are screaming
and begging him to stop!

“Wake up! It’s a nightmare about him again” you are okay…. assured the voice…. beside me!


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 poetry@dubaipoetics.com

Join us again in our Poetryhood!!


Enjoy more poems from our earlier editions in 2018:

Edition XXV
Edition XXVI
Edition XXVII
Edition XXVIII
Edition XXIX