​“Let me go!” I cry to
The world as I recoil
Into my shell, as a hurt
Snail and roll over to the
Nearest bush for COVER!
 
But the world refuses
To take note, as time
Bullies us to submission
And we live a quarantined
Life afraid of death.
 
A disease has taken over
Our imagination as millions
Get affected and thousands
Die world over, with promise
Of more deaths dished out
By the novel coronavirus.
 
From behind our masks our
Afraid eyes try to take
Stock of the situation
And we blame our civilization
For letting us down!
 

​The bauls sing on this bank
And the cremation ground is
On the other; in between lies
Kopai, half dead…
 
Earth has eaten into the water
That meanders through it;
Vegetation has grown on
The river bed, singing a
Funeral song to the stream
That once could entice
The bard to write a
Line or two…
 
Half dead river
Lies in its naked bed
With poets reliving the
Stream that it once was.
 
Dried memories are
Photographed on its banks,
As couples look for poetry
Walking on its bed.
 
The lost river gasps as
We watch from a distance.
 
Notes: Kopai is a river in Santiniketan, the abode of the Nobel-winning poet of Bengal, India, Rabindranath Tagore.
Baul are itinerant singers found in rural West Bengal, a state in India

Khoai lies like a new bride
Ravished on the first night.
 
There are scars on her neck,
Shoulders and back…
 
Her dark wide eyes implore
You for a night’s stand.
 
You ignore, as you follow the
Dried water trails to the
 
Deep green gorges
That lust for rain.
 
Notes: Khoai is a place curved out of nature, by nature, in Santiniketan, West Bengal, India
 

Like an enchantress
She stands, her head
Held high trying to
Touch the sky in pride.
 
Her slim waist covered
By a cloth and back bare.
 
The trunk like an
Uncovered thigh
Lures you to
Her shade…
 
You want to rest,
Lose yourself
In her depths.
 
You are lost in the
Rows of trees,
Trying to find the
Black beauty, who
Dissolved into the
Earth she came from!
 
Notes: Sal is a kind of tall tree, whose stems are used to produce many things, including furniture
Santhal: A tribe in West Bengal. In the poem a Santhal woman is compared to the sal tree, both exquisite beauties by their own rights.

Being black is not an option but being racism is
Life is not a joke it’s more than just a heartbeat
Attacking your brother won’t make you any stronger
Crying for your loved ones wont heal your heart faster
Keeping track of the lose of black people through social media is hard but off screen is harder 

Love each and every moment of your life cause you might be the next one to die
I thought we get stronger everyday but you are the reason why we are all living in pain
Victim number one is you but somehow you are invisible 
Earth is shaking not because it’s weak but because you are destroying its strong armies
Stop taking false action because you are causing a hug distraction

Monday to Sunday are the only days I fear and that is because you are so near
As people call you for help you only arrive to kill lives
Time keeps passing by and as that happens racism should have died
Truth doesn’t exist as each and every crime is fixed with different lies
End doesn’t seem to be near cause you keep fueling it as it dims, but
Remember Black Lives Matter



​

​Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Poetry and personal essays have been included in hard & softcover book anthologies.  Collections of her personal items/ photos/ memorabilia are in major museums including twelve different divisions of The Smithsonian.  The Smithsonian selected her photo to represent all teens from a specific decade.

​What colors paint
pandemic?
The wood pallette,
streaked with some
dried oils that
stubbornly defied
turpentine, did not
want darkness and
fear hues.  Sable
brushes with a
faint odor of linseed
oil stood ready.
Protective mask,
fitted vinyl gloves
seemed out of place
near an easel used
to hold stretched
canvas.  Fear, in
twenty-twenty,
would not be
recorded by my
tools.  I opened
the tube of cadmium
yellow squeezing
sunlight instead
of anxiety.

​The writer from everywhere and anywhere is interested in human rights issues. The writer wants to foster the whole world. Some of the writings apppeared in countercurrents.org, conterview.org, counterview.net, velivada.com, dissidentvoice.org, tuckmagazine.com, poemHunter.com , virasam.org, etc.

​Rivers flowing
Sunshine glowing
Fresh air blowing
All round greenery
Beautiful scenery ....
Summer
Cooler
Like winter ....
Days faded fast
Their glorious past
Polluted water flowing
Heat scorching
Dust and dirt with air mixing
Seasons erratic and awry
Plight of life in a state of sorry ...
Winter
Hotter
Like summer .....
Coming days of future
Will witness atmospheric bleak picture

Time is running out hasty
Like instant cricket T 20
Life is turning busier
Like fielders running helter -skelter
The rich are reveling hitting sixes
Poor are getting caught in match fixes !
Joys of triumphant win
Are getting lost in audience din
​

​Hello Life
I'm writing from my confinement area
Because, finally,
After more than thirty years,
I've found the time to!

Life,
You are a mystery
A puzzle
On top of being a punisher!

You have attracted me from
When I was up there
Swivelling in the cosmic energy
Of the Universe
Through the colours that you reflect
In both day time and night time
More,
I saw people laughing happily
And I told myself
This must be a world of pleasure!

You showed me only a part of your truth
You showed me only childhood and innocence
You refrained from showing me old age,
Disease and the hurt of having one's purity
Remaining unacknowledged!

Now,
As I swim in your murky waters
All I ever do
Is to wish I never came here!

You remain an intelligent bluffer
And I, a fool, having fallen for your art!
You remain a fake crystal
Glistening as would a genuine one
And I fell for your sparkles
Only to see how easily you rust
And lose your lustre!

Life,
Please, 
Somehow, show me the exit
Towards where wisdom and divinity
Bask and I
Shall ever be grateful to you!

​I sit and watch the skies
As would old people
Having already lived their lives
And seen the world
But being way too tired to
Have any strength in them
To move their bodies
And claim to own the world!

I sit and watch life 
As it saunters on its way
Ignorant that it swivels
Upon uncertainty
That shall lead it to nowhere!

I sit,
Fiddle my fingers
And wonder at how life would have been
Had I not chosen to stick 
To the principles given to me
By those powers watching over me
Ever so subtly!

I sit,
And dream 
Of feminine freedom,
Of letting the wind rush through my unruly hair
And of being wild
As would be untamed tribes in unexplored forested areas!

Why,
I sit, from my confined position
And watch the skies,
Wondering at where shall death take me!

​Is Earth angry at us?
Is Earth trying to punish us
By making us cough to our deaths?

If so,
Then, it is high time
To realise that
We are to change our habits
And our lifestyle
To a more reclusive
And orthodox one
To be in line
With Earth's healthy clime!

We have been jumping on her soils
As pampered brats
Caring solely to please ourselves
Without any regard
To our environment!

We have even been massively killing
All the flora and the fauna
Merely to reap of their benefits
To suit our needs
Without ever wondering
At how Earth feels
At having to give us all that she does!

Pray,
Earth's anger will pass,
It always does
But like a shining light in a reflecting mirror
The doom and gloom can hit right back at us
If we hold not
Earth's heart in our palms
And cherish it dearly!

​You form me in your own imagination as I sit,
Wordless,
Across the bed strewn with unlovely flowers,
Rotted from last night’s waste of time there.
 
The dawn has barely crested the hill of night
When our voices raise towards each other,
Biting and angry,
Filled with the kind of poignant hurt
Only borne of long association
And diminishing regard.
 
You say I have become something you don’t recognize.
I say you wouldn’t recognize me if I slapped you in the face.
You say try it.
And I do.
My handprint blood-raised on your cheek.
Recognition clouds your eyes.
 
~end~

​It’s a wasteland,
A vast, endless trudging from
This day to that one.
 
The landscape – sere, lifeless –
Stretches from the horizon like a hand,
Clutches a fistful of my shirtfront,
And drags me to the line between
Earth and sky.
 
I just wonder how long it will hold on,
Just when it will let me go,
Wrinkles in my stretched out collar.
 
~end~

​The hate clung to the air-contagious-breathe
tears flowed, eyes red, fists pumped, our faces hot
they yell, they spew lies, over and they teethe
in time-living backwards in thought
The light that was ensured did not appear
shouts and fists pumped through the air-in time
they stared and making us part of their fear
uncertain thoughts plagued our hearts leaving grime
The sun shone on our backs revealing us
for who we are-are like you and you-cry
we refused to get on the back seat bus
they stopped to wonder whether to deny
The sun shone on our visage to reveal
the wounds that were inflicted would soon heal

​The dream was not a nightmare-sad she felt
of the ghost that lived in her mind at night
not wanting to close her eyes, she had dealt
with the pain came more pain, she knew no light
The dream was ready for afraid she knew
the one whom she loved would return tonight
regret crept filling in the void anew
afraid, rejoining she was to moonlight
Guilt came around amid the day, tears flowed
but the day burned bright and melted away
all she once had feelings for did erode
the night’s embrace she welcomed on that day
The one she loved no longer haunted her
the night stashed the fog, no dreams would occur

​All the people in the city scurry to and fro
like a sandy disrupted ant hill
orderly yet too many to know
-said the mysterious man
pressure from the bodies pressed upon me
until I broke with a crack and a wail
shattered like broken glass
adding to the growing hill of ants
the mysterious man leads the way
down a lightless tunnel
into a cardboard apartment
he offers a seat of make believe
whereby I accept with an outstretched arm
-a pin prick
waves cover me like a cool wet blanket as eyes close
I see an ant starting at me
It speaks
“your compass is broken”
the mysterious man awaits my arrival patiently
I sit up and feel relieved
the burden of life carried away by ants

​Silence is the color of static and the sound of nothing 
But if we are quiet and still
Standing in a rainbow, wet with fresh dew 
Silence transforms into a crow cawing 
Trees swaying in time
With the wind
Carries calls to a silent world 
 
We must be standing in a rainbow 
 

​Fictitious respect handed down to her
a baby face and bottom crying dropped
in fifth consistent battle whisperer
the pain and guilt her stomach would sink popped
Fast forward through ten or eleven years
she sits here getting beat up in sundown
she knows exactly why—her dreams drowned smear
the rain stopped turning the world crispy brown
The salty tears dried up so many years ago
her eyes dry emptiness being released now
then thoughts occurred to her—I am the foe
the rains came back and she made a true vow
She will get out of self-defeating way
because she needs control and has a say
 

​Across the street I see
            her tossing wash water out
            the window
 
Mowing the lawn in
            a sundress
Sweat rolling off her brow
 
            I’d rather just be sick
            she says
            as to ask anyone to help me
 
            My son is so mean and
            hateful
            I just hate to ask
 
They say she may have to go
            into a nursing home
            soon
so her needs will be taken
            care of
 
Across the street I see
            her talking to the television
 
            I remember he didn’t hardly
            know my daddy, she says
            and I didn’t think that
            would do
 
            After all, he’s paying
            for the wedding
            so we just got married
 
across the street


..........

​You can sign your name
            in the dust on her dashboard
but no dust settles
on her tragic memories
 
She picks them up daily,
fingers them gingerly like treasures,
replays them in her mind
weeping with them
            over and over as if listening
 
Her depression and loneliness
the “why me” and “if only”
haunting dreams and evil spirits
hang around loud and drunk
like old friends you’re sick of
            but can’t bear to make leave
            afraid they’ll say goodbye

            forever


..........

​Nice breeze out today
good for a box kite to take flight or some lighthearted balloonery
Taking wing on the runway first I drift, then hover; float, then soar
 
Just a few minutes of zooming, sailing, flitting and fluttering,
in & out of clouds and blue sky.
 
The strip is damp with morning dew,
and the aviatrix in me glides slowly, just above the wet ground,
then hydroplanes in for a swift squishy landing. 
I must be dreaming.
 
At first, I think I’m in a rocking chair,
but realize I’m supposed to be standing up. 
The tilted sky grows larger, the grass is coming up to meet me. 
Suddenly there’s a pain in my back. 
My head swings back hitting hard and bouncing. 
Then all is still. 
Oh, I suppose I have fallen down.  How strange. 
I thought for a minute I was flying. 


..........

​I’m finding it difficult to describe
how to stomach my own voice;
communicate what you
won’t want to swallow either
 
The communal horde
is racing in a journey toward
more and more insanity
 
Deranged voices and nonsensical actions
flow over the sphere of the earth
 
The world is mad!  Mad, I tell you!
 
How else do I describe it
without borrowing from Alice in Wonderland?
 
Fancy words and intelligent concepts
do not explain to satisfaction
nor make the absurd tolerable
 
So tears of resignation squeeze through
with a slight forced grin below sad eyes
 
as I wish my husband would turn off
all 72 inches of the politics


..........

​Standing on an old man’s planet
dust in the eaves, dust everywhere
     so much dust
Bare dirt, bare trees, bare branches
Soon the old man leaves
 
Spontaneous combustion POOF
POW with every spark
Leftover electricals lay dead
but burn at a touch
     … whose touch?
 
Designs and plans forgot, paper
flying in the breeze
like the plastic bag in the movie
-          Movies, just another past
 
We had power, so much power –
linked, everything connected
and now nothing – no screen
no voice, no person
 
Just time and distance
     so much distance
I can’t flee,
Where would I go?
 
Worth it?
 

No