It's Been Far Too Long

What is going on my people? My government?
Where are my sisters?
Their love and presence?
It's been missing for far too long.
The world is at war, crying, speaking, wanting to be heard,
Emotions here, there, being stirred up everywhere
Across the cities, countries and borders.
Please dear Lord, we ask for you to just bring back our daughters.

What is going on my people? My government?
Where are my sisters?
Their beauty and Aura?
It's been missing for far too long.
Silent whispers and prayers from children who barely understand,
Younger siblings have what once were filled, empty hands.
Mothers', fathers' eyes are glistening with tears.
Understand, this is not just a random world affair.

What is going on my people? My government?
Where are my sisters?
Their wisdom and laughter?
It's been missing for far too long.
Daniel is asking for Saraya.
Abdul is wondering why his mommy is crying.
Asabe misses her older sister.
They are weeping, mourning, and praying their girls are not dying.

What is going on my people? My government?
Where are my sisters?
Their smiles and joy?
It's been missing for far too long.
Nigeria is crying oil and money.
How can Nigeria breathe and take three weeks just to weep?
Where is the love? Peace? And harmony?

What is going on my people? My government?
Where are my sisters?
Their hearts and pride?
276 future doctors, lawyers, mothers and wives,
276 daughters, cousins and nieces.
276 days it must not take to find our daughters, cousins and nieces.
Boko Haram, my country, my people, my government,
My sisters are missing for far too long.


by Abiola Oladitan

A Moment's Bliss

After the cold winds have gone away,

and the ice blankets are no more,

the life once held in the white dungeon awaits,

making its way through the muddy floor.

As if it knows to come out before the others,

before the sun's rays pierce the gloomy clouds,

from the aftermath of winter's fury, it suffers,

yet through April's overbearing showers, it buds.

Dressed in violet, golden and milky petals

it sends a message for everyone to hear,

preparing the way for the fair Lady's arrival,

with silent rejoicing for She is near.

Oh, how your happiness would have sustained,

if you had more time to drink the sun-kissed day,

yet one simple messenger shall you remain,

fulfilling your duty before withering away.

Though your time is short,

you will be missed,

your beautiful display

but a moment's bliss.

by Ashley Abreu

The Lifeline

Send your body to its grave and behave.

Grasp your intelligence like a frayed rope dangling.

Your skin is like leather and your skull like stone,

a perfect rendition of man at its finest,

and oh,

will you

be fined 

for it.

Narcissus befits himself with beauty, of course

but he is the only one staring at his mirror.

Your Narcissus, too, blooms by its own reflection--

you pay your own debt to desire and affection.

Read a book,

pay your rent,

watch tv,

breathe a breath,

that's all you wish.

Live a normal,

privileged,

American life.

You don't care that your skin is poisonous,

or that your words

sting

like death.

by Julian Fanelli

He Said She Said

He wrote, she wrote

I wrote, they said:

I have been besieged for too long.

I said, she said

They wrote, he said:

Why am I no longer a victim?

They wrote, I said

She said, he wrote:

How is this not about me?

I said, I wrote,

I tried, I cried:

Why can't anyone see me?

I bleed my life

on paper with pen

to people with words.

It's only a certainty

my brand leaves me sober

knowing my story

is half of the battle.

I said, she said,

they said, he said:

I have taken my place

at the chair,

at the table.

I have to stop you

from taking me over.

He wrote, she wrote,

I wrote, they said,

They said, he said,

he wrote, she wrote:

My joy is a fable,

my friends are untruthful.

Can you please help me?

I need a moment.

He said, she said,

she wrote, he wrote,

they said, we said,

I wrote, I said:

Things might get crazy up ahead;

so I've taken my place at the chair,

at the table.

He said, she said,

He wrote, she wrote,

I tried, I cried:

I am a lie

and so are you.

by Owen Loscar

Snow Passing

There's an entrance to these woods I call my own

that no passer-by has ever been shown

where leaves exceed and flow over the trail.

Under these white December skies

as shadows form above my eyes

I find myself wandering the dreamless snow

though I know my steps will lead me back

to where I was before.

I'd much rather be lost in snow

and never see another soul

where the lamp lights cross over pastured fields

and no sullen eye wakes from midnight drear.

Beyond the trees far off from here

an endless field of blanketed white

where I find no word but silence still

I find my clarity in the snow

where seldom travelers ever go.

by Joseph Ostapiuk

Something About You

Keeps me waking

from oblong nights to morn.

It's not those worshiped pleasantries

traversed between yours and mine,

or the halls of untouched volumes

that occupy your mind.

It's not the gowns

that you have worn,

or the countenances that have adorned

the mantel of your eyes.

It's something deep within those eyes

that lie upon your cheeks,

a false memory, perhaps

of what was there that lied,

a place not unfamiliar

to angels, when they sigh,

a home I know, but scarcely go,

and where would gladly die.

And if, perchance, I should fill

your heaven-sent eyes with mine,

I scarcely know if I should go

beyond those eyes again.

by John Montana

                                                                                                Byzantium

Why hide behind your philosophy

As if it were a knight's shield?

Hate is always a fallacy,

Especially behind your cold veil.

Love is all you need?

If that be true,

Then how come you smoke weed?

Why do you glue yourself

To computers, to phones, to TV?

Why don't you just go see her?

Look, look with your feeble eyes:

We sail to Byzantium

Only to grow bored.

We sail to Byzantium

Only to grow old.

Byzantium is a place

Where the young grow careless.

Byzantium is a place

Where the free become trapped.

Byzantium is a place where your emotions cease,

And Byzantium is not a place anymore.

by Owen Loscar