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Dear Diary,

As the keeper of my secrets,

I need to confess my troubles.

I run around trying to please everyone And seem to end up alone!

As if by indulging others’ needs before mine,

I relegate my own happiness into a dark mine.

In it, the gloominess of the ambience

Is oppressive, comfortless, and has no patience.

As I squabble with my inner demons,

And my supererogation drowns my angels’ voices,

I notice that angels are a happy lot,

Who empower the self and never forgot

That there’s a price to pay for sacrificing For others, but it doesn’t need to be self-defeating.

No, no, no, and once more, no!

By helping others, you aren’t weak to

Assert your endowments to achieve

Your wishes without being demeaning,

Rather, you can help others believe

Not only in themselves, but in You.

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Cowardly Courage

“Man has it all in his hands, and it all slips through his fingers from sheer cowardice.” Fyodor Dostoevsky

To be a coward,

One must:

Fear being changed,

Fear loving it,

Fear beauty,

Fear being hopeful,

Fear the inspirational,

Fear of being an individual,

Fear of being assertive,

Fear of being humane,

Fear of being disruptive,

Fear of being positive.

When all is locked in a chest,

How can you break its best

From solid bonds that need a rest?

Take pride in ‘you’, the ‘person’,

Have faith in yourself and press on,

Knowing that what’s right will live on!

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Heart

Heart, ohhh sweet heart,

I long for the days you were red,

Not a sunburnt heart full of dread.

Trampled heart

Disillusioned organ full of cheer,

Don’t give the fight that’ll impart

Moral, knowledge, friendship,

To all those who value

Mentorship over the need for material that rip

Your heart and soul

Replacing them with a money bowl.

By: Malak Kalmoni Chehab

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Insatiably Fair

Insatiable faith is soothing,
As you’re centered to blossoming
Your beliefs into trees whose rooting

Needs are coupled with everything
That’s embued with strength, and holding
Knowledge, that’s irrefutably humbling.

The older the trees, cedar, pine, birch,
Western red cedar, white spruce, red oak, all filtch
Your vision with their hued colors, that stitch

Your heart into nature’s aesthetic
That winds, like the live roots, in bucolic
Wonder, as you’re rooted in awe of the beatific.

These trees, lungs of the earth, tremble
And fall when cut, to make room for buildable
Cities for humanity’s life, that’s indomitable.

As man disembows the earth of air,
He’s also on a journey of self-destruction that’s pair
With his faith, nature, ancestry, and a flair
For annihilation of all that’s fair.

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The Cedar Is Me

I look upon the four hundred year old Cedar tree
That has survived such chaos, death,  decimation
Of great forests of pine trees by invaders who ‘free’
It of its natural resources, life, and vegetation.
Encased in the trunk of the ancient tree, the world
Is small, burning hot under the summer sun, flashing
Its heat and brilliance to help everything grow into a postcard
That’s photoshopped into being breathtaking
In its organized life, only disturbed by humans barking
Out order for dissolving the inner and outer beauty of its solitude.

Slipping out of the of the cedar tree, I take my human form
And gaze astounded on my reflection: wrinkled skin,
Darkened splotches, and great disillusionment
Darkens the depth of my eyes as I lay bare upon the bank.
The scenes of war and decimation I witnessed
Have been imprinted on my soul, waiting for any deed
That will alleviate my despair that humanity is a dying breed
That needs new blood, ingenuity,  and values
To help it defeat famine, war, racism, and religious discriminations.

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Premonition of Doom

A premonition of doom hovers,
The sky turns Grey and everything stutters,
Vision is obstructed as pellets flutters
And hit the window panes like bullets.

The hits keep coming for minutes
On end, while those inside hides,
And others scramble for their lives.

A premonition of doom descends
As bullet spray holes in cements,
As explosions scatter shrapnel shards,
As wounds bleed and blood vessels explodes.

Run, run, as the premonition plays hide and seek,
As you are uncertain a boom and scream are bleak
Sounds that drown out everything that’s not a freak.

A premonition of doom slithers
Down your spine and hinders
Any action as you’re paralyzed by feelings
Of someone walking over your grave and steals …

Takes away your premonition of good
Leaving only the pessimist whose sole food
Is your terror that feeds his vanity that won’t brood.

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Ode to Indigenous Victims

Couldn’t type! Besides with writing it out, I can edit when it’s complete! All those victims of abuse of Indigenous genres: raise your voices together! Only then will they make any change happen!

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Mama, Mother

Mom, mother, teacher, friend,

Marvelous in her love to spend

Making everything her kids loved.

Overly concerned with the successes

Of those that are hers,

Often, she sacrifices all at her expenses.

The fear she feels evaporates

Then, turns to a laugh at their cackles,

Yet, twists into tears at their hurts.

Her love is tender, at times harsh,

Her knowing it’s better we hear her lash

Her anger, rather than an outsider becoming brash.

Entirely too much depends on her love,

Every day that passes without it is a dark cave

Encompassing our fright in the depth of cognizance.

Radiate, roving remembrance really

Revolving around her compassionately

Rightful heart, whose endless in its empathy.

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Book Day

Beauty of books leave nothing to imagerY

Only creating worlds in academiA

Overflowing with all that can be imagineD:

Kings, queens, courtiers, all in a booK.

Devils and monsters dancing in affetuosO

Anger and depression dumped in aerophotO

Yet, we vent them in books that only boB.

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Poetry

Poet, poem, poetry
Organize the images in the writer,
Every word is a symbol that will let
The poet achieve the portrait that will be
Remembered in all its glory of their bravado
Yearning to be heard with great pomp.

(Double acrostic poem)