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To an old friend.

Photograph by Samihah Pargas

I wrote your name on an empty page and

suddenly it seemed full.

Our memories fill in the blank spaces when my words aren’t enough.

They never are.

Yet you hold onto them the way you held my heart

when it was too heavy for me to carry.

You are home. You are

tear stained ink on pages of poetry for quiet nights.

You are the words I seek but never find.

You made us beautiful to read about.

– Samihah Pargas
– IG: Shadesofherink

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my mouth has been looking for you

my mouth is full of words
that wish to fall into someone’s lap
to burrow into a chest and root
they wish to coil and dig
into marrow and blood
so deeply that only god could
pull them from that someone

my mouth is full of wanting
of sweetness that wishes to
erase the bitterness from lips
that have searched too long
for an ocean of woman to drown in

my mouth is full of stars
awaiting a constellation
that will turn this love into
mythology to be mimed by
our children when they grow up

my mouth is full of forever
infinity tucked against my ribs
nestled against the curve of you
and our names are no longer
two separate worlds but one sound

(image by George Coletrain via unsplash)

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Why?

Why do you hate us?

 

Perhaps it’s the way we become one with the sun.

The way Spanish dances on our tongues,

a language not native to your blood.

 

Our skin embellished with invisible scars.

Roadmaps our ancestors left us to conquer

your vile hearts.

 

Is it not enough that you’ve deemed us the

unwanted guest of our homes?

You ban us from the soil where

we’ve planted seeds,

then harvest the fruit

and determine whose worthy of eating.

 

You feed off our pain and make a mockery

of our plights.

 

Steal our children, like a thief In the night.

Break up families, like we break bread.

 

A force of evil so grotesque

That demon’s themselves

look at you with admiration.

 

You were never deserving.

My ancestors were too kind.

The day you got off that ship

The devil laughed in delight.

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Moonlit Love

Th Moon captured by Samihah Pargas

Love me the way the moon is loved
whether full or half full, or a whisper in the night sky

the kind you can’t see, yet its presence is deeply felt. 

Th Moon captured by Samihah Pargas
Photo by Samihah Pargas


Love me
whether I
covet you with light or

struggle through my own darkness
show you how beautiful skin can look in dimly lit places or
dim the atmosphere and feel cold to the touch
Love me still
when my tears pull the sky down and

leave hollows in loving hearts where homes should’ve been
when stars fall from my lips while I ask for those homes to be rebuilt

again and
again Love me
as if I am faraway, when really I’m near.
Pull me close with your prayers when I am distant
hold me with your eyes
love me the way the moon is loved.
I hope you are in love with the moon.

– Samihah Pargas

IG : @shadesofherink

 

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Genre: Urban Arts @Bowery Poetry – Romain Thiery

Genre: Urban Arts will be at Bowery Poetry in NYC where we are having our No. 4 Print launch on June 24th, 3:30- 5pm. We will have spoken-word, live music, and other performance arts.

Purchase Tickets for Genre @Bowery Poetry

French photographer, Romain Thiery, has been transforming abandoned places into his own personal playgrounds. As a trained pianist, he placed his passion for the instrument at the center of his photography series, ” Requiem pour Pianos”. In this project Romain beautifully crafted melancholic images that evoke powerful pensive thoughts among many who see them.

His “Requiem for pianos” series is a proof of his attachment to piano, and photography. About fifty of his photographs are focused on a central object: the piano. Sometimes with some of its keys missing, sometimes completely dismantled but always sitting imposingly. “As a pianist myself, emotion takes over when I discover a neglected piano. This is the culmination of my art: my two passions are then united in one and the same feeling. It’s an exaltation of my artist’s life.

To achieve his “Requiem pour pianos” series, he explored several countries including France, Italy, Belgium, Ukraine, Germany, Bulgaria, Spain, and Poland. “Through my images, the musical notes of these abandoned pianos reason again in these buildings in ruins, giving free rein to our imagination”.

Website: www.romainthiery.fr

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Glow, Black!✨

Black glows in the dark
as imitation dry heaves,
leaving guilt on its sleeves
wiping white illness on walls,

kneeling with greed in
its knees, not realizing
where it’s coming from or
the fact that Black is entitled
to no one but Her people.

Black glazed rapture,
painting with glow dripping
from their hands and their
actions before, during & after,

Smearing magic and rhythm
of all motions and nations in
hip revolutions & revelations with
Life at their command.low,

Continue reading Glow, Black!✨

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beti

Maa makes a salan for each son

because they like different things

 

but the beti needs to learn to make her own food

kyun ki uski age pe shaadi aur bachey hotey hain

 

larka jaan per be jaiy, jaise bi rai

maa ankh band karke osko kabi kuch boley gi nahi

 

beti aik galti kare

uski izzat zaban per aja ti hai

 

the sons can go out and party get a girl pregnant

but they’ll still be able to move on and find a good girl to marry

 

the girl stays out a bit later than 8 pm

might wear a t-shirt,

and the whole mohalla is calling her a slut, saying she’s no longer a virgin

 

truth is

we don’t love our girls as much as our sons

 

truth is

you have failed us girls

 

truth is

us girls are tired of walking on eggshells

of being thrown around, walked all over

and expected to have sabr

 

kehte hain betiyaan sab se bari rehmat hain

toh aaj hum ko kyun torey ho

 

Picture Credit: @thepakistanimarthastewart

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A dance in the dark

Now I find myself dancing
to the frantic beat of my heart
at the threshold of judgment
desperate for a figment of
something positive, warm
but realise that I’m shackled
by cynical negations, galore.
Here demons wear masks
of noblemen and kings
and brandish their swords
Continue reading A dance in the dark

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Broken bones.

He graced me with a perfect smile upon his face

As he placed the most magical kiss lips can taste

Mending all my broken bones together

His presence couldn’t be detained by any weather

All of the bullet wounds surrounding my heart

Reminding me of the way I fell apart

Love will send your mind spiraling in the dark hours of the night

Reminiscing on all of the times you had to put up a fight

Demanding for him to stay

Yet all they tend to do is begin to run away

That is why our magnificent kiss haunts me in my dreams

Sadly love never is the way it seems

As much as I hoped this time would be different

I know deep in my core that it isn’t

I watch as the spot in my driveway remains empty

As you continue to love on plenty

Leaving them wondering deeply in their souls

Why their minds were left souring from their control

They fell for your same tricks

That you applied just as smoothly as the kiss you placed upon my lips

I knew I should of ran from the start

My mother always told me I was smart

I still am baffled in the way you managed to get under my skin

Why do people like you always have to win?

But I have learned my lesson this time around

As the scars you left on me are no longer profound

I will soon be ready to love again

As I no longer view my broken bones as a sin.

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blk woman/holy woman

( photo by graham hunt via unsplash )

blk woman.
holy woman.
more soil than flesh—
hips shaking in the juke joint woman.
sunday morning high notes with
pot liquor and cornbread woman.
mothering woman.
chasing love in a field,
turning more scar than flower—
more, never less than woman.
yet, still seeing god woman.
you are here woman.

—you are holy, black woman