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100 Gay Men In Chechnya

23 Apr

100 gay men in Chechnya
Singled out by homophobia
Seeking refuge or Asylum seeker
Persecuted by Russian Torturers
Crucified by Chechen Leader
The actions of police lambasted in UK by a Gay Minister
Petitions are called by political provocateurs
News provided by unknown reporters
Concentration camps or detention centres
No one steps forward to be a mediator
Media reports genuine cases or imitators
Shocked by the news
Shared by social commentators
Putin speaks to Kadyrov the Eliminator
All the people bow down to the Dictator
Wants to rid the gays in Chechnya after Easter
Denying their existence he calls The Punisher
“No reason or evidence to purge gays in Chechnya”
LGBT Activists argue who’s the better campaigner
Mainly in Western culture grow the Protester
where are the marches for the LGBT in India
Who spoke against the gays thrown off high towers
Donations by the day to the fundraiser
Rubs his hands in glee is the Administrator
A signed petition to the German Chancellor
3 anonymous men speak of the horrors
Unnamed sources reach out to the news investigator
No concrete evidence state the distracters
Is it real or elaborate hoaxers
Story spreads over social media
100 men is an accurate number
Is it exact or propaganda
Hidden behind bars we are left to wonder
What ever the truth or how high the number
As the story unfolds it could be mass murder

Of 100 gay men in Chechnya
Singled out by homophobia

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Mashal Khan

16 Apr

A child was brought into the world
He was an inquisitive, open minded child.

How do I learn he said
You learn by asking questions they said

He went to school
and asked questions
What an intelligent boy they said
I am a smart boy he said
How do I learn about the world he said
You start by asking questions they said.

Then he went to college
This is a safe space they said
I’ve got lots of questions he said.

And he asked and asked until he passed
And off to university he went

Join the discussion and debate they said
Can I ask a question he said

So he asked
And the room turned silent
And on him they turned
And the silence turned to stone

You ask too many questions they said
And shoved him out the room
He’s a blasphemer they said
And pushed him to the ground

Please help me he said
But they stamped on his head
They stamped, stamped, stamped
Until he was dead, dead, dead.

Orlando Jo

1 Jul

My brain is being bombarded by death all around,
Voices are grieving and spirits are weeping,
the laughter is dying and mothers are crying, fathers spout hatred while Lovers are hiding, music is fading and sirens are blaring,
MPs are screaming and Muslims are praying Death to the Infidels!
Wet are the tears of my blood on your hands
Silenced is my shock if the world takes a stand.

Every Death Is A Dollar

1 Jul

Every death is a dollar
Donald Trump rejoices and holla
The Killer is not my Allah
50 and more no longer
Live on earth
We should be stronger
Rainbow Voices knows no colour
United we stand
There’s the armour
Decisions to be made
Says Barack Obama
Gun laws are crazed
U.S law is a maze
Rainbow Flag we will wave
In sad times a haze
Gay stories we share

From cradle to grave
Acceptance we crave.


 

The beats of the drum

24 Jul

As I spoke to my friends’ sister-in-law, I could hear the beats of a tabla ( a percussion instrument) being played in the background. It evoked strong memories of my mother, who used to play at numerous social gatherings, dinner parties, weddings and Mehndi nights. “Oh, Mrs ——! Why don’t you play?”  “Please Mrs —–, sing for us! Play the tabla!” The women would plead, implore and encourage mum by placing a spoon in her hand and pressing her clenched hand onto the table.  Mum would react with some reluctance at first, displaying modesty and humility. But the beats of the drum would easily sway mum to become absorbed in the sound of the music. Meditative, delightful and passionate. Sometimes, you would hear laughter. Other times, tears. But overall, a joyous occasion shared by women.

Photo: commissioned for a 40th wedding anniversary

Dad didn’t quite have the same “musicality” as mum . He did however, have a strong sense of verse and poetry. He would be sitting in another room, surrounded by men, his peers, long term friends and new acquaintances.   His reputation surpassed his knowledge. People would invite him to recite poetry, “ghazals” and verse, write articles, poems and provide awards, receive rewards of recognition and accomplishments. His words, strong and emotive, would reverberate around the room, halls and amongst the crowds. The tone of his voice resonated, the audience murmuring assent, applauding the sound of words, spoken with aplomb.

However, I chose to ignore, didn’t understand…

But now I cry, soft tears roll down my cheeks, memories strong for the love of my parents I long…

Love is like...

 

A candle flickers no more

7 Jul

A candle for Sandra

A poem created in memory of Sandra.

A candle that flickers in a darkened room

Alone sits a woman shrouded in gloom

A friend I treasured, a woman of strength

that fell from her heart with tragic events

A lost husband

A daughter in youth

A sister in health

that went in her sleep

A fall out I had and never reclaimed

A woman of substance

that drained from her soul

She’s gone to the  Heavens

A sign from above

She’ll meet all her Loved Ones

united in Death

A smouldering candle

flickers no more.

The Learned Kat

Waiting on me

1 Jul

Willows in vase

For I am broken

and my world is at a loss

I sat and looked out the window

Thought of you parading in the garden

running through the fields

waiting for me…

Water feature 1

 

Circles of blue

glow and grow around my view

tasted tears of milk and dew

fresh was the sky that called on you

ran the web of life

waiting on you

view from back of garden 2

 

Soft was the earth

your tread so light

butterflies and bees

crept through the night

dainty was your heart’s desire

foreign was your blood on fire

trickles of laughter heard through the home

Whispers of love left me alone

 

Purple wicker 2

Millennium days and holidays

earmarked me and faraways

I lost your soul

in the night so called #

when the life ran deep

you left in your sleep

and dreams were kept

waiting on me

Purple planter on grass