My National Poetry Month challenge to myself has become a collaboration between synaesthetic artist Sammy-John, myself, Anjum Wasim Dar and Jay Gandhi: Day One: A Gust Shaped


A Gust Shaped

gust twisted

by crooked gust

A bone shaped

bone twisted

by crooked bone.

A skin shaped

skin twisted

by crooked skin.

A breath shaped,

breath twisted

by crooked breath.

A blood shaped

blood twisted

by crooked blood.

A word shaped

word twisted

by crooked word.

By Paul Brookes
What are we in color
blue yellow or black pale brown or purple,
what are we in form ,
tall small or short  big huge or fat,
what are we in mind,
brave bold or angry, patient loving or mad
what are we in status,
kings queens or pages, lords ladies or sages
what are we in real,
soft tender, spiritual, dying, eternally mortal.
why do we then, make hate, envy and war
why do we then, love and kindness, ignore
why of all the prohibited, we ask for more
why of Death and Heaven, we are not sure.

Pompei, Nagasaki, Moenjodaro, naming the few
Oblivious nations , pleasure drenched, who knew
Power, pressure, public protests, day by day new
War, war destruction, torture afresh, yet grew-

We are then, the same, born in pain
We are then, the insane, of mind again
Are we the ungrateful , in loss to remain?
Are we the lost , our Eden, never to regain?

And yet again we make the fiery red
with weapons hot, spill innocent cold blood
find joy in seeing, falling bodies, lifeless, dead
we all have forgotten the Fall and the Flood

Let us turn before it’s too late
Let us learn and try to relate
Let Us think of The Almighty Great
Bow for forgiveness pray and meditate.

I can now see The prism , no color do I perceive
Up on the blue sky , the sun does not deceive
The real is dark , the immortal , white
With All the colors together ,
All Blessings I receive.

By Anjum Wasim Dar
Minutes after a suicide

My sleepless eyes strain
to decipher the cursive
writing in that foiled note;
I had refused to give her
a hug in morning
and now I will never
be able to squeeze
her tightly in my arms

By Jay Gandhi

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