After much encouragment from my didi(big sister) and much reluctance from me, I decided to share some of my poetry for #ThursdayThoughts
After six years of revolution and demanding for freedom, people in #Aleppo are being forced to leave their beloved city.
My heart bleeds for their struggle & quality of life. Just because it isn't happening Here. Doesn't mean it ISN'T happening.
Bana Alabed is a 7 year old girl tweeting from #Aleppo
Dear world, there's intense bombing right now. Why are you silent? Why? Why? Why? Fear is killing me & my kids. - Fatemah #Aleppo— Bana Alabed (@AlabedBana) December 14, 2016
Death I Shall becometh
Let the dead raise again,
And Death I shall becometh, lay your smoky ring upon my finger.
You are the entity of inevitable choice,
And from Chaos we were all born. It's what binds us, keeps us and forgets us...
There is but only one face I would condemn all of my humanity.
So I say this now. Yes, Hear Me!
Bring me the Doors of thyself,
So I may retrieve what was taken.
Lay claim to my soul and punish my sin,
But deny me none, for Death I shall becometh.
The family portrait of Ma
A family portrait stands, stuck to the left.
Frozen and perfect are the united,
In the wake of devastating bald evil and a bandana.
She crouches, centered in the timeless beauty of an unaffected soul,
Practiced smiles and joyful cheekbones reign over the blooming garden.
While one stands alone, unimpressed, with eyes in curved shadows,
He smiles for no one, for no one has him smiling.
How to not cancer? How to, you say?
He wishes to all seven heavens for an answer he knows not to come.
An angel of frail and fractured bones looks up at her,
Staring absently, lost in her mortal coil.
A single obsidian strand of hair,
Hangs twisted and woven, in silent prayer of Buddhist tranquility.
How to not cancer? How to, you say?
Read more about this poem here:
The origin of first novel
A scene, for years, my mind protested.
Too frantic a life it shamed denial.
I would like to say a fire of will was ushered,
Truly it was the void, of no distraction left.
In curiosity, the scene became wanted
Yearning to witness the words, I exclaimed at the keyboard.
Passionate and demented strokes, driving their narrative in flow.
In hilarity, the scene became a chapter and that chapter became illuminated after twenty instalments.
A story was born, an origin story unlike any other but like some.
Characters became emotion, emotion became flaws and flaws became doorways to humanity.
“A cure exists! A cure exists!” I bellow to the skies,
Hurting ten ways to Sunday in no sleep patterns of pungent coffee and teeth-staining Death sticks.
I curl the fetus and clutch the airplane, headaches bruising my corneas.
The story was realized, without outright complaint, at twenty-six instalments.
A graph was thought into creation, a graph to illustrate both character tags and word counts.
It was not the summit that congealed the suffering to enjoyment and wonder,
But the under-looked journey, in all its extreme sweat droplets.
Written and Smitten,
A writer I am.
Words are immortal.
His no wife policy
Adopt a baby, toddler or teenager but tolerate no wife.
A proposal of not, a bended knee on platitudes of love but one of mutual co-habitation.
He gives out his heart, sliding down a sleeve, it ruptures and bleeds
These stitches, trembling hands unable to stop.
Father always says, he did his job with them. He clothed and double shoe’d himself.
Yet here they were, the father and the opposite of his daughter. Arguing,
In time, that adoption is another exciting leap for their family to encourage.
He tries not to contemplate anything but the stork bringing him any such natural offspring.
Belief in miracles are slapped out of them as a time honored tradition among the realistic.
What does he want to do? Astronaut-not
What does he want to do? Neurosurgeon-not
What does he want to do? James Cameron-not
With quotes of the mundane thrust upon him.
God’s hand is felt in wood with one final kick left in it.
No one would make him do it but he did, in good faith of Church modesty.
Chastity! She cries to the upside down ocean of Caribbean magnitude. White puffs are rare but they serve their purpose.
No choice was left now when a hostile uterus doesn’t mean what it used to.
She clutches his hands and sobs right over it.
He promises to make this a night she will never forget.
© Enricoh Alfonzo ~ Alfonzo Words
Follow on Twitter | Like on Facebook | Join my Instagram community | Watch me on Pinterest | Subscribe to blog post Updates |
~Be Kind to One Another~ Ellen Degeneres