Poetry: Five Poems

Art of the Mind: Ocean Night
by Fadeke Lipide

One could barely notice,
the growling sounds of the winds
and the clattering of the rain.
the laughter, music, and dance of the ocean night club
suppressed the dreadful cries of the night.
The Ocean night club,
the talk of the town in the 1930’s,
the glitz and glam of that decade.
Hudreds would fill its door, just to get a taste of its extravaganza,
its mystifying burlesque shows,
the never-ending supplies, from Moet et Chandon to cognac,
its ever-entertaining negro bands,
the river run of gorgeous women, in stunning evening gowns covered in jewels
and of course, its most famous attraction, Miss Celeste du Blac–
her voice as extraordinary as her name.
A true beauty, lips red as blood, skin flawless as daisies
and a beauty mark adding sass to her wicked smile.
Men would line up in awe just to catch an inch of her beauty.
One could tell only the who’s who came to this club,
from dukes and ladies to military officers and estate holders.
One had to be something to be in there.
But who is he, the man in black,
who sucked on his pipe at the corner of the room,
known famously as “the man in black”?
He didn’t seem trapped in time like the rest.
He blended in and yet he didn’t,
like a needle in a haystack–likewise a hippo in a haystack–
he was a mystery stuck in time.
His eyes looked dreary like that of a count,
however, built in the mold of a military man
but dressed like a lord, so was that him?
Lord? Count? Or military man?
His mystery eludes me, he engulfs mystery. He is mystery.
His eyes, unlike the others’, are not focused on Celeste.
No, his eyes pierce through the windows of Ocean Night,
onto the wet and scraping streets.
He watches a slender figure underneath the streetlight.
The silhouette, seemingly female, was shrouded in black,
her face hidden beneath the umbrella as she stares into the light.
Who is she? Why does he find her interesting? What is she to him?
Unanswered questions passed down from decade to decade,
auction to auction, house, hotel, and…repeat.
Forever unanswered.

The Other One
by Maryam A. Wajdi

Every now and then
I would find him;
An admirer of a particular piece;
Hanging on the grand infinite ivory.
He would stand at the center of
The gallery
And gaze at the intricate picture on the canvas.
His eyes would carry little
Pieces of stars as they watched the artwork in complete
Awe.
His eyes would follow every details
Every line
As his fingers would brush
Against the many
His mouth, lifted crookedly
As he was smirking,
As though he was teasing the picture.
Every now and then
He would look away then
Glance at the painting
From a distance.
One day
I stood exactly where
He would.
I had not seen him for
So long a time.
But then I noticed that
Sophisticated hat.

Man, Elephant, Water
by Mayar Ibrahim

At the top of the food chain
There exists one species: man.
Man paved his way through weapons and destruction;
Yet without his weapons, man can’t function.
Mankind can’t let a day go by without violence,
May it be violence against other species or their own.

Ivory tusks, legs as thick as logs,
Ears so big they could be butterfly wings,
And a trunk for a nose to top it all.
Although it is known to be friendly
An elephant can undoubtedly kill when angry.

A planet so round embodies 71% of water on its surface
An entity so lifeless
Yet necessary for existence
A home for many but a home-wrecker too.
For water is not only necessary for life–but is a leader for death

Man pollutes Earth and hunts elephants
With guns and destruction intentions
Elephants retaliate–
By killing man for his actions…Water?
It can kill both man and beast
As the waves rise high and tides pull them in
like quicksand, it covers them, silencing their struggle
as crashing waves drown them

Coffee of the Day
by Dana Hachwa

There is a stain of brown on the floor, over there. Look closely and see, streaks of what made it out to be anything but a stain of brown on the floor, over there.

Not long before the stain, it was a cherry of desire.

He knew it contained all that He aspired to be, red and ripe and raving, pick me!

He ripped its skin, coaxed out its core, choked it with fire until it cracked once, then once more.

Glistening with the colour of earth, He let it breathe; for a moment. Then with pressure and powerful grate He ground it, crushed it, released its breath from within and

drowned it. Drenched too, He watched: with water it was entire and clean. Touch, taste, scent and sound pouring out; better than ever Bean. And after toasting, He would rest —

until by a reason unfair, it fell in a stain,

over there.

Forget
by Rohan Healy

There they are now, seen so clearly

three boys

two lives

one tale

So why did I let go, why did I forget.

Gaunt, broken, smiling as he walked the halls

Faces that meet him beamed with fright.

Tears still etched in their cheeks.

Be happy I am why aren’t you?