*4th Saturday Sonata Poetry Fest Entries*


by Helen Losse

We like this war,
or so the populous says,

morality bearing witness
deep as Give us Barabbas. But why—

when a host of angels will not be believed—
do forked tongues cry out loudly to the

God Baby in a manger, Bring us your peace?
That couldn’t have meant love these.


by Ilkin Sungu

you didn't ever tell me
how many reasons there can be to light fires in a human's eyes
you only said; "the only thing you can give is hope",
"and it's already going away" speaking with your eyes.
you only showed your little naked bodies,
huge eyes, your despair, your thirst.

I couldn't see, I couldn't understand anything
from those little, fragile bodies in my dreams
other than their nakedness, loneliness
and just the pain burning in their eyes

then, the day came
and I had no need to be told anything anymore
when that undefinable pain pierced my own eyes
when my heart broke into uncountable pieces
I saw those little bodies as they are in my arms
they were so weak, so bruised as they walked their country all alone
as they passed the misty mountains naked
they were in blood, their bones can be seen
yet, so beautiful, so beautiful they were that I wanted to be a painter

you didn't tell me before, do you remember
however, silent children of my dreams, I lived all
when the cool drops of rain covered the darkness in my eyes
when my nails cut my flesh in my hands
when I tried to hide my trembling hands behind me
when my sadness turned into joy

in fact, the little ones of my dreams
to be told and loneliness lost it's meaning
when the flames of your fires touched my eyes
we were there together
we were not alone but millions
your silence got louder and louder
the silence all over the world came together
from the ones burning with napalm in Vietnam
to ones who lost legs to landmines in Bosnia, in Afghanistan


by Hazeen Hasrat

This tragedy is more
than dark and light,
There was more than
black and white,
This strange demonstration
was more than true and lie,
This social and economical
problem is more than political,
This novel idea was more
than true and bitter truth,

This unusual protest against Govt
was more than real and fake protest,
This surprize was more than
shock and thought,
These slogans were more than
powerful and silenceness,
These shout screamings were more
than miseries and unenjoyable,
This empty coffin was more
than real and fake,
These demonds were more than
real and ignorable,
These people were tired more
than beggars and slaves,
Whose coffin is this?
Is it some one was killed in custody?
Some one says,
No this is an empty coffin
Full of our demands,
We are Road Transport
corporation employees,
We did, to receive the pay
from last several months,
Our children are hungry,
We demanded our needs many
times but ignored by selfish
So we came to this novel idea,
And carrying an empty coffin.


by Hazeen Hasrat

His tears were so scared
They are marked with powerful
They speak more than what they
want to,
They are the voice of inner grief,
They want to explain inner
They are the messengers of
his whole tragedy,
They are the witness rain and
want to mix with sea,
They are wet and understand the
dry world,
They have a message for the selfish world,
They say their souls relation was
They try to wash the blood on the road,
They are much weak, not powerful
because of that they want fall down
and mix with sea,
They continued, spoke more than 10,000
They failed to explain the murderer of innocent
They are now orphan and so scared.


by Hazeen Hasrat

Surprize, strange,
Photo on front page
Political Covered faces,
Mask with new name,
Blood donor camper,
Collecting the blood,
The bleeding valley filled
with vampires,
See your own eyes,
Yesterdays Bloodsuckers,
Todays Blood donor campers,
Showing the rapturous mission,
Their hidden mission is clear,
First get the political seat,
Then make innocents cheat,
They are their old masters
In the bleeding valley every
one's a slave,
In their hidden policies will make
every one helpless,
See and think if you do not understand
and recognise their masked faces,
Then you are always fooled by their
new formulas.
See they came once again make
you a fool and pleased you understand
your bleeding valley is filled with
vampires murderous desire.
They are collecting the innocent
blood for to wash their gold seats.
As every one knows very well
They are yesterdays Bloodsuckers,
Now, todays Blood donor campers.

Saturday Sonata Week 1
--> This post originally appeared on A Poetic Justice