Poetry
Abdul-Jalil Rashid Al-Imarah (Samuel Baptiste)
Corona
Some love it
Some hate it
Others simply don’t get it
Corona
First a cell and now a mask
They speak of Isolation
As if solitary did not exist until…
Corona
You can drink it
or you can catch it
car swerves
headlights and pole
breathalyzer evidence
Some are in prison because of…
Corona
What an awful name
Social distancing
as if we were not already far from society
6 feet
step back
legs spread
Corona
I see guards walking with hand sanitizers
In an environment rife with bacteria
passing it out to prisoners is not justified at all
at least not according to the protocols of…
Corona
A sentence on top of a jail sentence
I no longer receive visitations
due to corona
I’m locked down longer in my cell
due to corona
the stress and anxiety of prison multiplies
due to corona
I wear a mask just to read my mail
due to corona
Maybe I die prison
the sound of a cough or sneeze
is more terrifying
than the guard’s footsteps or keys…
due to Corona
Poetry for the National Coalition to Protect Civil Freedoms’ News Digest.
SOLITARY CONFINEMENT: The Bars are Cold
A dark place
juxtaposed and meshed
Steel, Iron, Concrete and Cement slabs
to take a breath of its air
would cause you to inhale its solitude
a tight narrow space
which some choose to label as a room
The silent walls
all of it is silent
the room that is….silent.
The sound of your soft respiration
Reverberating
bouncing off the walls as echo
The walls listen
Screams of anguish never heard
Silent.
Mad men chatter
Self engaged conversations
SILENCE
The ceiling is neither high or low
and the floor
many feet have shuffled through
Mysteries of men
whose stories were never told
SILENCE
Some were never known
SILENCE
a tight place
Indescribable
not worth mentioning
Peering out the windows of seclusion
SILENCE
Imposition of a banishment
Exile has birthed the outcasted child of captivity
SILENCE
the death of souls
yawn away your heart’s content
SILENCE
spasms of grief, doom, or gloom
A dark place
such an awful room
as if the windows whistle to the walls
nudged by the floor
interrupted by the drip of tears
splashing gently on the now slippery floor
SILENCE
To suffer or to weep
nonchalantly evading thoughts so deep
Boredom
Empty uneventful days
and dreadful nights
The heart become a stranger to itself
as if it never felt any feelings
besides the two:
BOREDOM
SILENCE
The first which could only be described as mood
constricted and inactive
the claustrophobic room
The second a descriptive noun
not truly evoked as emotion
unless one is trapped in a room
alone and isolated
without any semblance or notion of time
Where the inhale and exhale of the lungs
produce their own unique sounds that rhyme
Where the beating of the heart
has become a continuous annoying tune
Unforgiving walls that speak not
Selfish windows that respond not
No contact with any world whatsoever
‘mental stability’ shifts into a fluid term
and what’s worse besides this
worse than being trapped in the confines
of a hollow hall
with massive shut doors
and silent walls
of existing alone without a hand to hold
is when you seize the steel bars
and you find them cold!!!
Poetry for the National Coalition to Protect Civil Freedoms’ News Digest.
What Is Love To The Captive?
What is love to the captive?
The chained and forgotten
a four letter word if not nurtured
may grow putrid and turn rotten
for there exist hearts that are bitter
and why shouldn’t they be so?
To live inside a box
Caged
Trapped
Forgotten
and as previously mentioned, rotten
With whom shall he share his woes?
Behind bars that keeps the bar of hope so low
Is it his quiet moments?
Or perhaps he remains incapable of love
Solitude has made him permanently lonesome
Maybe he closes his eyes
in order to live out fantasies
and the last trace of a feminine touch
is the juxtaposed sensation
which he wakes to in his dream
What is love to the captive?
The chained and forgotten
a four letter word if not nurtured
may grow putrid and turn rotten
There exist hearts that still function
hearts that still love
hearts that pulse gently
and hearts that beat drums
the tiny ember in the dark hidden in a flock
the lonesome lovely dove
relationships must now go deeper
a little more force into the pull
to assert the gentle tug
Romantic and more intimate
Must now be distant lovers
attempting to build dreams
within the depths of the dungeon
can their words replace the hands that’s squeezed
substitute for the kiss
and alternatives to touch
shall not their words caress
the private moments
into the word deposited letters
where there secret verbs become undressed
will not the yearning re-invoke the longing
and still something must now be suppressed
Will the wind carry whispers to the beloved
on behalf of he who is now a slave?
Can she see the depths of his courage
as fear causes it to falter
yet he writes as if still brave?
Is it possible for his secret thoughts
to reach the one that he admires?
Shall he speak of pain?
Or disregard unpleasantness
and feign for her non-existent joys?
Pursuing the lighter notes
as he launches his paper planes?
Would she truly understand the role she plays?
Kindling his spark of hope
until it grows as bright as flame
There are lovers separated by sea
some only by Plexiglas or screen
while others whom by death have parted
how difference is the feeling of a touch
never to be had
or a face since long altered
by weary time that leaves things sad
the voices never to be heard again
chickens are all cooped
and bulls must play in pens
while sheep get to roam the pastures
for his joy is separated
and shielded from her is his isolated laughter
So what is love to the captive?
The dissident
the one who must be punished
that victim of injustice
when he is alone and isolated
how can he even possibly
contemplate a matter of intense privacy
when it is denied to him?
Why should he desire a companion
while he is in the midst of his tragedy?
For he will grow old and die
while his manacles remain to shackle
and remain as surplus and supply
Is not the suffering of one enough?
Or must his invitations be
for the suffering of others?
To offer passion and sentimentality
in this realm of vulnerability
For the captive,
unrequited love equals death
since his whole existence fluctuates
between hope and despair
Do not tigers wither in their cage?
and wolves so noble become reduced to whines?
What is love for the captive?
The chained and forgotten
a four letter word if not nurtured
may grow putrid and turn rotten
What is love for him?
Could he even make use of it?
(Thus,) it is his motivation
the melodic tempo to the cacophony
of the chaos that surrounds him
Love is the sanctuary of the captive
Poetry for the National Coalition to Protect Civil Freedoms’ News Digest.
David Gilbert
Haiku for Palestine
Palestine’s bright sun
Shines across the sea and through
U.S. prison bars
Jalil Muntaqim
Ode to Abdel Rahman Al-Shantti
Abdel Al-Shantti hear ya son
Talking about what should
Be done.
From 1948 the war begun
the Zionist came through
like a blizzard storm.
They took Palestinian land leaving
The people forlorn.
But the war is not finished said
The PLO in ’69 followed by the PFLP in ’67
Praising the martyrs up in heaven.
Zionist established their government
To replace a race turning Palestine into
An apartheid State.
What you going to do the generation
Of Al-Shantti – from Intifada 87-91 and again
2000-05 having to keep the movement alive
The Right of Return is not to be compromised
If a two State solution is to be realized.
I hear ya Al-Shantti in your 11-year-old wisdom.
You be rapping about Israel and Palestine and
who so many has died, mothers have cried
everything wondering when peace will be actualized
if not in your generation then humanity has been denied,
‘cuz another generation will have to realize there won’t
Be any peace until Palestine is Free!
Palestine is free?
There won’t be any peace until Palestine is Free!
Free Palestine!!
Gaza rapper Abdel-Rahman Al-Shantti is an 11-year old who rhymes on war and hardship in the Palestinian Gaza, conveying in English what he calls “a message of peace and humanity.”
Sami Al-Arian
Innocent
He’s been indicted
The General decided
The paper incited
He must be guilty
The agent presumed
Prosecutors consumed
The judge assumed
We’re sure he’s guilty
The bigots are enthused
TV is amused
The public is confused
But trust us, he’s guilty
Doesn’t matter what we saw
We’ll simply change the law
Call it the final straw
We think he’s guilty
We have him on a call
It may be to a congressional hall
Our goal is to make him fall
Because we believe he’s guilty
The trial would be perfect
When guilty is the verdict
Even if the evidence is suspect
Never mind, we find him guilty
But he only spoke his mind
To people of every kind
Justice may be blind
But it’s been hard to find
Because he’s innocent
My Mom & The Key
My mother was ten when she left her home
Hungry, terrified and away from the dome
Her hand holding tight to her mother’s hand
But her brother’s shoe was stuck in the sand
They walked and walked until they collapsed
With scores of people and corpses they’d passed
They remembered Deir Yasin and what happened over there
The innocents were killed, the clothed and the b are
Her father assured her we’d be back for your toy
Your doll, my darling, that brings you smiles and joy
Her mother has worn the house key around her neck
But in a hurry she forgot her ring on the deck
She thought she’d be back in a week, why the tears?
The weeks became months and the months became years
At twenty she sang me my first lullaby
A refugee I was born but told good-bye
The world has turned its back on us all
Homeless, stateless, a stranger I recall
Your land is sacred, don’t you ever forget
My father would say from the day we first met
Injustice my son is what happened to us
People may ask you what’s all the fuss
You tell them we belong to the land of our fathers
Our witness is history if one simply bothers
Justice is a spring that waters the soul
Stand firm, be strong and the enemy shall fall
My mother would tell me on my wedding day
Our belief in you has not changed in any way
I thanked her and father and kissed her hand
Our struggle is about freedom not merely for land
My son was two when my mother called me
Grandmother’s died, around her neck was the key
Michael Singh
Lost and Profound
Literal torture inflicted upon my mental health
No longer am I young, it ain’t my sense of wealth
Each minute is an awfully cruel, emotional drain
Falling into dark pits, losing ground fast, without any gain
How can I rehabilitate, improve, and be changed,
When your psychosis is to isolate me and make me deranged?
You separated me from the pack, now I’m a recluse
Hear that sound? Rollin’ around my screws are now loose
This duress adversely wraps sound my mind
Stessin’ in solitary (SHU, ASU), its effects are far from kind
Nullified because neverending cortisol distress of subjugation
This solo situation – prompted by a ruse – is fully forced
I hear hella voices and counting yet from reality I’m divorced
Forced solitude makes me feels so hollow and empty inside
It’s cemetery silent, feels like a graveyard, like I’ve died
I’m locked in hear – all alone, can’t call those loved ones, my vital life line
Desperately, I need a phone to hear voices I love so I know they’re fine
A panic induced isolation, causing me to truly, seriously suffer
From intimate connection to life, there’s no greater buffer
Being socially lonely has a permanent and deadly impact
It feels like your entire soul has been fatally attacked
The mental Black Hole exacerbates the mind’s pain
I don’t know how to deal with this erraticated brain
They told fabrications to put me inside all lies!
Since I’m falsely accused, should I inflict real pain evoking tears from eyes?
This scenario is well known to drive many men critically insane
I am strong and will thrive until I can no longer feign
I feel like I’m at the end of my rope
What else can I hold onto, to give me some hope?
Prison is dark already, this deconstruction of brain, only makes it more
How long before they open this pit from the depths of Hell’s door?
When will this cavity fully engulf and swallow me?
I want to feel as if I’m part of something bigger, don’t you see?
Focus fiercely because Light always comes after the dark
All you need is synapse wire with a small inner spark
You have to come back – circle of life – like a boomerang
Gotta fight hard, grit your teeth and show your fang
In my mind’s eye, this is the solitary (SHU,ASU) segregation effect
My face, a facade, so my emotions you can’t read or detect
Physically, I am fine, safe and sound
But still, the loneliness in my heart and mind is quite profound.
Andrew Paul Gutierrez
Spring For Palestine
In nature, as spring must follow winter,
so must spring for Palestine follow the long harsh winter of Israeli occupation, repression, and dispossession.
The seeds of hope in Palestine have long lain dormant awaiting the warming rays of light to expose the darkness and brutality of the occupation.
Not all seeds will germinate and not all will survive, but spring for Palestine is a call to succor
this emergence –
to enable freedom to gain a foothold on the rocky soil that continues giving flower to seed the hope and aspirations of future generations.
That each successive spring in Palestine, the resilience of surviving seed will continue to flower and survive until the occupation ends for both the oppressed and the oppressor
– when all seed of the various flowers of the Holy Land may bloom to form a dazzling array of color and harmony in a renewed land of milk and honey.
Scotty Scott
Stop killing Palestinian children
Stop stealing their land
They are human beings
Like any other man
They have lived in this place
for thousands of years
Now you shed their blood
And their mothers shed tears
Stop killing their children
Stop stealing their land
They have equal rights
Like any other man