THE FOREST, by Novia Rika

I was born in the heart of teak forests
where most of the roads were gravelled
then spent my childhood only a sprint away
from the sea and the woods

My play yard was piles of logs
under the array of mahogany and saman trees
where I hunted anything from the trees;
Mahogany fruit shells with its bitter winged seeds,
monkey pods, or the honey-like frozen sap
that were dangling from the barks

I used to runaway from my mother’s nap time calling
Flee to the open hill above the sea surface
Then running down the hill to catch the ocean breeze
together with my closest friend, the youngest brother

Six years living on the seaside
we learn about how this world is continuously moving
like the tidal waves, the wandering wind,
the scattered sand on the beach, the fishermen’s boats
and also us, moving from town to town

Me and my brother are the youngest of the family
So we always attached more to our parents
As our three older siblings had been roaming into the adults world
Me and him, we always stayed together

Puberty is hard, and I was always alone in my mind
Questioning about nothing that I could understand
Maybe he felt the same way too, or even worse
He was like me, too quiet
He only had higher hopes of pride,
that maybe he buried them deep under his skin
like the piles of dry leaves that we were playing on our childhood forest

One day, all of sudden his mind became a cocoon
Swirling in webs of memories and reality
Slowly the innerlight on his eyes dimmed
Shadowed by his gibberish words,
or sometimes the unknown rage

His skin was changing, wrinkled and putrid
I’ve seen it dry and suppurate
His words were changing, it was like a prose
with disordered storyline and biased characters
And his eyes, his eyes were like a wild forest
Too deep to roam, too dense to scour
I could never understand what it feels like
Lost in a deep forest without a hand to hold

So it’s true, that life is always moving
I threw a goodbye to embrace a new life,
with heart as heavy as bogs
What sadden me was that he couldn’t be moving anymore
It crystallised in my mother’s tears, her biggest grief
Yet she offered the biggest love

Until the end of her life they had a special bond
As all of her children were clinging desperately
next to her hospital bed at 2 AM
Tens miles away he loitered around the gate
of his forced shelter, restlessly asking to go home
We didn’t even had a chance to tell him that his mother is dying
So maybe her soul visited him for the last time, her long lost son

Now I don’t know how to bring his soul back
My brother, my closest friend back then
It is the second year without my mother
And it has been years without him
Still, we’re living in the forest
Different from another

—–

BIO

Novia Rika Perwitasari. An Indonesian poetess. She has won first prize at several Indonesia poetry competitions. She is the founder of Poetry Prairie website, Indonesian delegate at 19th World Festival of Youth & Students in Russia. Her poems have been published in various poetry anthologies in Indonesia, and her English poems also published in international platforms such as Dying Dahlia Review, Optimum Zine, Poetry Kit and “Haiku Masters” by NHK TV Japan. She also took part on translation project of literature works by Intersastra Publisher.

Poetry by Noemi D

When my babies were born I was afraid.
Their tiny brown bodies so fragile
that even a hand placed too low
or too high
would fail to support their necks
and they would break.
They grew as strong and as American as the trunks of apple trees
but still I am afraid
of the intentional placement of knees
on brown and black necks
not fragile but weakened
by these chains that don’t look heavy until you’ve worn them a hundred years.
I watched my babies as they slept
my heart stopped each time their chests took a millisecond too long to rise
but they always did rise, and then I too could breathe again.
To suffocate must feel
like you are drowning slowly
like the air is right there if you could just reach the surface
if only the blurry hands and voices begging for your breath were strong enough to break through and save you.
Instead only the black pavement held you like a mother’s chest until there was no more sky.
And the strange slow violence of your murder played again and again like nursery rhymes
like prayer
reminding us to choose between breath and fear.

Poetry by a.c.t

he is sitting at the kitchen table

and I can hear the fridge humming

this air is thick with tension, please,

I wish you would just cut me into pieces

with that dull dinner knife you use

please cut me into pieces

until I am so small that I can fit

up in the cracks in the ceiling

or into the grooves of our tiled floor

because I cannot stand to share a meal with you

where neither of us

dare speak a word

a.c.t

@poemsbyact

I am the boss, by Mihir Modi

Oh boy, here I am, I am the boss,
Don’t ever try, my way to cross.
This is a camera and not an eye,
You have to follow my orders and don’t ever ask why.
I am the one, who can divide zero with negative,
You might be given once in 5 years a small incentive.
Don’t ever expect a leave for sad demise or function preparation,
Because it is directly proportional to the sudden new project that needs
attention.
You cannot be my favorite unless you are my pet poodle in the office,
“I’M ALWAYS RIGHT” is the only rule in this premise.
You can’t be classified as a human so don’t dare to fall ill,
Work load you will get is directly proportional to my mood and my will.
You have to be on time and don’t ask me when to leave,
As your timings are not the same as mine, and that you should believe.
I’ll be considerate and spare you on Saturdays and Sundays,
But do not expect mercy on rest five days.
Remember, I’ll always take credit for your work,
Miss a single comma, full stop or an apostrophe and you will have to rework.
You must find your pride in fault findings and public humiliation,
Dare you fight with me and on grounds of “INCOMPETENCE” you get
your letter of termination.
So the rules are clear and welcome to my world where I am the boss,
And let me remind you, never try my way to cross.

Lucy, by Wendy K. Gloss

Out of the blue, by pure chance,
Could it be you have lit this flame?
I feel the warmth,
I’m pretty sure it’s there.

We haven’t met, but your mind
Has filled me with a strange feeling,
One I haven’t felt in a long time,
Yet we are so far apart.

This heart has now been cleared
Of the cobwebs that once covered
It from the living, you were the explorer
Who was able to find it.

By the hand of fate, our cards
Have been layed on the table,
Now it’s up to us to decide
How we play them.

You have given me life again,
But I can’t help but feel sad,
For the small chance that
We may never meet in the end.

13-04-2005
Copyright: Wendy K. Gloss

Zoom-ing with Students, by Sophia Scoppettone

When I speak to the kids on Zoom,
I try not to be filled with gloom,
To not think about
How I’m filled with doubt
That I will see them any time soon.

Instead I just try to be there,
To be present and show that I care,
To hear what they say,
Right now, on this day,
And act as though I’m unaware.

Unaware that I may not see them at all.
Unaware that we might not go back in the fall.
Unaware that their year of kindergarten is done.
Yes, I’m unaware so we can try to have fun.

We talk, and I learn:

Millie read a chapter book all on her own,
And Rowan is building a treehouse at home,
And Nathan works out with his grandma each day.
Mateo was shy and didn’t know what to say,

But he showed me the Bible he told me he reads,
And Xavier showed me the tadpoles he feeds,
And Abby showed me her scrapbook, which describes
How she went to Disney and rode on lots of rides.

And So:

So I don´t tell the kids
All the worries and doubts.
When they ask me how I am,
I say: ¨Great! Now tell me about…¨

And then I just listen,
Nod, and ask ¨Why?¨ or ¨How?¨
Yes, students keep me focused
On what´s here and now.

f r e e d o m, by Laura Minning

She extends Her arms
embrace me
with kindness and compassion,
but i never thank Her.

She is my mother,
my sister,
my friend.

She allows me to choose
my own path
and make my own mistakes
without passing judgement
upon me.

And how do i repay Her
(for Her benevolence)?
…by taking Her for granted.

For if she ever became wounded
or hurt in any way,
(by resistance or tyranny)
…who would take Her place?

(She has always been there for me
–at my side,
for as long as I can remember
…so who could take Her place?)

No one…
…and I would be lost.

~laura minning
excerpt from “sunburst”
published by xlibris
c. may 2005

When We were Birds, by Chanchal Vyas

Once upon a time when
you and me were birds,
we measured the vast
expanse of skies from
this inch to that corner.
we have seen shifts in
seasons under the gloss
and silhouettes of our wings.
we chirped and tweeted
with other fellow ones
over the clouds
over the mountains
over the course of sea.
we inked paradise
all over our little bodies
so when we flattered
them feathers we effused
the airs with a delightful
music and played on loop
an only track we by-hearted
when we were born

Out of a thousand things
that we would be
Why were we birds only?

Because,
Birds do not cry
They are a happy thing
we deserved to be
of all thousand things.

Aren’t you tired of NYC?, by Marcela B

Many of us arrived in NYC with one luggage and a heart full of dreams.
When you are in New York city, you get psyched with its energy and immediately you start to ask why?

At the beginning you don’t know if it is because the astonishing architecture that intertwine the ” old” and the ” new”.
You don’t know if it is because the modern skyscrapers or because all the last century buildings with their emergency exit facades showing off.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it is because the Broadway lights that makes you feel you’re in a non-stop, never ending party.
Or if it’s because the beauty of the Central Park that makes you feel you’re somewhere else for a moment.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it is because this idea that you can be anywhere in less than 30 min by subway. Ah….the subway, this old, dirty, democratic and now first time disinfected system that carries the entire city from the homeless to the rich, from ordinaries to the celebrities.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it’s because the bike lanes and citi bikes that makes you feel the wind in your face, the sun on your skin.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it is because it feels you’re inside a movie set… is it fantasy? is it reality? Maybe both.

After sometime in New York, sooner or later you may realize the magic of this city actually does not rely on the outside.
The magic, the true magic, rely on the inside.

NY is tough, not everyone can make it here. It can be overwhelming.
You don’t know if it’s because the high rental fees and limited space.
Or if its because this city requires too much from you – NY always raises the bar.
From work, to restaurants, entertainment, to the possibilities… a wealth of possibilities.
You just feel it.

This constant and exhausting idea of #empirestateofmind that moves everything and everyone above and beyond.
You just feel it.

Now in middle of a pandemic anyone could think why stay in New York, why just not fly somewhere else, escape far away from this madness?

Well, New York never adapts to your desires, never adjust to your dreams, nor compromise. This city will punch you in your face more than you can possibly sustain, over and over again.

In the end, we are NY tough.
We know that we will fall not just once but many times, but we will rise stronger again.
We know that if we can make it here we can make it anywhere. We take this statement by heart.
We know this city has our back, for the best and the worst.

Today I can tell I am and always will be in love with this city, even tough every winter I may think otherwise, even tough I am living in the eye of the hurricane right now. The resilience found here cannot be found anywhere else.
You just feel it

It’s a privilege to call NYC home.
It’s a blessing to be surrounded for all the inspiring and spectacular minds that feed NYC’s veins and make us all addicted to be here, thus we persist.
We just feel it.