24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Muddle
My mind is a puddle mush
galumphing dumping muddle
as my eyes mish-mash
and cross over running cuddles,
streamlet dreams of sleep.
My heart double thumps
in scheming driblet themes
as my ears wish-wash
and skewer through sunny wobbles,
dreamlet streams of the deep.
My soul cuddle pushes
in theming droplet schemes
as my hands slap dash
and scoop under wobbly runnels,
deeplet steeps of sleepless dreams.
Noise and matatus and hawkers,
Air-conditioned offices and mansions,
Indians and Africans and Caucasians,
Reggae and Hip hop and Genge and Rock,
Opulence and oppression,
Brutality and beauty,
Intoxication.
SHOW THE EARTH THAT WE CARE
The Earth is clean and green
But humans are selfish and mean
The flora, fauna, water and tree
Are all provided to us for free.
Even though we have all live on Earth
Only a few know it’s worth
The human mind is always filled with greed and lust
Smoke from the factory fills the air with smoke and dust
The oceans are filled no more with the turtle and the fish
It seems to have only plastic which comes free with every dish
Every part of the Earth is filled with pollution
But nobody has the time to find any solution
The Earth cries as it gets looted for its coal and oil
But the greed of man never lets him recoil
Animals cry as they are killed for their fur and hair
But humans are interested in only becoming a millionaire
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction
Spoiling nature will damage the life of our future generation
Recycle, reduce, reuse and share
Start showing the Earth that we care.
BY SHREYA SURAJ
man
you know
it is a bit of a mess
not necessarily dirty but sort of untidy
like
if it were a woman
it would look like the one that lives there
kind of frazzled and blemished
a haphazard and lived-in space
a well-traveled suitcases-not-yet-unpacked space
a place that has housed many guests
fed them and let them rest their heads
but not like, in excess
not really
you know
man
it’s more like
a comfortably untended-to mess
the floors were swept in the past couple weeks
at least
it got enough sleep the night before last
and it gets organized fast
a loose bun holding tangled hair
some pieces out of place but
sexy like that
but not like, overly sexy
not in a try-hard kind of way
it’s just a mess
like the woman that lives there
dazzling in her disarray
a color scheme only half-committed-to
because like
who even has the time
you know
man
you get what I mean
there are fucking coasters here
a goddamn shoe rack
those soft throw pillows
she must be a real classy lady
or maybe she at least tries to be
forgets to wash her face before bed occasionally
but brushes her teeth for twice as long
as most people do
it may be a mess
and she may be one too
but both are welcoming
in a selective sort of way
which honestly is just
another thing
that isn’t really what it looks like
A Losing Battle
Undulating planes of green
Lush with summer rain
Eroded by wind and weather
So they never look the same
Kissed by sea tossed pebbles
Carving diverse new courses
A land locked in an age old struggle
Beaten into submission by crazy white horses
The shinny walls, cream and covered in an aesthetically pleasing art collection.
Floors, wooden in need of sweep, fruit bowl overflowing, in shafes of orange and yellow, red.
The couch made up for a visitor, washing hanging from the curtains rods. Fan rotating on medium.
Birds nests seaurchains shells and dusk seetle on the cluttered surfaces of woode shelves.
Book cases stacked neatly with a familys life time of treasures, all unopened.
Orange leaping up at me,
green drooping down.
Red, black, and white all around, blending into each other perfectly.
Cacophony in my left ear,
melody in my right.
Somehow, perfectly in sync.
Lingering taste of spice,
soothing salivation,
from the dinner I cooked a few hours ago.
Fresh floral scent.
Is it me, or someone else?
I’m too tired to know, but I appreciate it.
Cold air making its way through my coat, counteracted by
Blankets warming my legs, and
poetry warming my soul.
All these, working together, to shape space and time for me.
Heightening my senses, grounding my mind.
Palm Reader
Your hands in mine,
I read the future
that your fingers will grow to fit
These lines tell stories
of tricycle races, all-nighters for D’s, first elections,
heartbreak, sleep-filled days and eclipses
Live this scavenger hunt
of tests and treasures
The map is in your hands
Grab it and run
