West Bank

The Knotted Gun
Symbol of non-violence

What we have here

Is failure to communicate.

The outcome is Gaza's atmosphere

Is fed on Israeli infernal plate

And Tel Aviv is cooked raw

As Hamas Militants retaliate.

But how does anyone at all

Fall in love with cruel war

And another has a knack

For swimming in blood and gore?

Two cannot bulldoze a path

To peace and mutual consent

If their quest is tucked in a past

Rooted in some vague conquest.

The fight for land's

As old as the origin of clans.

We know 'bout Abraham

And his journey to Canaan

We heard 'bout his grandson Israel

Who birthed the 12 tribes of Israel

And all the way down to the Romans

Who razed down the temple in Jerusalem

And dragged into exile Jewish man and woman,

Then there was Ataturk Ottoman

And they raised the Al Aqsa

Where the Jewish temple did stand,

Along came Hitler,

The evil German Führer

Who made the Jews

Scamper for the only home they knew.

Switch to the modern day

And the very soil spews hate.

It's difficult

To forget a Holocaust

If someone

Wants your land at all cost.

Still we must remember

In this world we're all brothers

Y'all can share a border

And never be a bother

To one and another.

Y'all can knot a revolver

And have each other's shoulder.

You can make two states

And have sovereignty of your estates.

How long?

Long enough

To get off each other's case

And learn to share a space.

Akpan

The Poet 'n His Reflection

Courtesy: Twitter
It's time the nation of Israel and Palestine
worked out their differences

There's a man in the mirror

From his eyes a flash of doubt

Sparks a disavowal of his reflection,

Head shaking, he flat out

Plucks me off

And tosses me away

An attempt to render his

Own image unseen.

He'll apply a 'copy n' paste'

If he could photoshop his reality

And turn his back on the din

And close his heart to the scream.

But his painted demon

Haunts him as his reflection.

He's grabbing for me

Claws out stripping n' stripping

Away onion thick layers of feeling.

What I won't do

To put him in the groove

That only a fool

Argues with truth.

He sits on a time bomb

The scenes play out on the mirror,

But his mindset's deep-fried

He's strung

On the timeline

Inside the mirror

And treats as slight

The world next door

That he can reach out and touch:

The scourge of the coronavirus

The Gaza Conflict encores

The multiplied gun violence,

The famine pestilence

Gorging Yemen,

Hearts that's gone cold

Cause doors got all closed.

The billowing ash of gray

Showering hail over Tigray.

The endless graphic images

Whizzing past in blurry phases.

Akpan

She’s a Natural Writer. I’m a Natural Surgeon

Maya Angelou reciting her poem, "On the Pulse of
Morning", at President Bill Clinton's inauguration
 in 1993 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“There’s no such thing as a natural surgeon,” Someone argues. The same holds true for being a writer. You will have to work your way from the bottom rung up to the top.

Like all things worthwhile in this existential life, writing is the product of time, patience and intense sacrifice. We can grow up without maturing but we cannot experience the stages of maturity and still be children.

Writing is a delicate art. In writing, a reaching out to the individual heart occurs. The writer lays pursuit of a million nameless emotions; it’s his duty to present these to the mind of the reader, untainted. It’s almost an impossible task since the writer is deprived of the tools of expression. S/he depends entirely on the power of imagination, the mastery of language and skill at working with imagery.

Writing and all the while, believing the reader would discover for himself the unspoken expressions tossed in between the phrases. Tell me that does not require a work of genius.

You can’t just dump yourself on the bed a complete analphabetic and wake up the next morning to find you have by some natural process, become a writer! Not only is it impossible, it’s not realistic. Mastery in any field worth the grain comes by sweat, tears and blood.

Maya Angelou once made a statement to this effect, ‘Being a natural writer is like being a natural surgeon.’

Don’t drag fear into the picture. Becoming a writer is tough work. Yes. But you can’t achieve anything trucking with the hounds of fear. Even though it still doesn’t change the fact that becoming a writer is not piecemeal, you can kick start your journey into the realm of letters right away. You learn mastery by being consistent.

Courage will defeat fear of ridicule. Don’t let nobody bring you down with their taunts. Believe in yourself right from the onset. Remember, if the guys who built the pyramids did not believe in their capacity, Gaza would be just another plateau buried and lost under desert sands.

There is no such thing as being a natural writer, just like there’s no such thing as being a natural surgeon. It all comes through practice, practice, practice.

Keep your pen bleeding.

Akpan

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