These highlighted poems embody the bitterness, magnanimity or warmth of ink, symbolizing the absorption of negative/positive, dark/light thoughts and emotions while transitioning by using contrasting imagery and conveying the dualities. Inspired from the book, "Drinking Ink", by Persian Author Mehran Hashemi. The first two poems were chosen as the overall "best entries" and who both received Mehran's book. Out of the remaining twenty-four participants, eight poets were chosen to be featured, alongside.
"BITTER TASTE OF INK"
It's like whirlin' winds, that wander
Oh, like, a tempest, tornado winds
like heat o' a blarin' sun mid skies
ragin' seas, waves, that undulate.
Mornin' dew, droplets 'pon foliage a fragrance, that lingers ever long
It is vast havens, a soul that soars
It's a majestic sage oak, oh strong
Pearlettes o' rain that o' gently pelt
thunder, lightnin' that crash, so roar
it's the ground beneath that moves
feet, relentless, walk, ripple 'n core
The silver lune at night that shines crystalline stars envelop o' bright
The shadows that lurk and so follow darkness that encompasses night Rage of anger, or passion's desire
Gentle voice echoes, oh resonates
falls doucley 'pon, a gentle caress
heaviness, warmth o' rests weighs
Sapidity 'pon awaitin' lips & tongue
A kaleidoscope of flavor and of taste
that playfully dance, blotted notes
depths of insides, that o' permeate...
© MENA SISTO Canada
"FUGACIOUS TRAILS OF INK"
The nib drags slow, scraping like dry leaves,
Ink spreads thick as molasses, bitter to taste
The air smells of old books and burnt wood,
Shadows curl in the margins of smoke.
I feel the weight of each word sinking,
The paper rough, soft as winter skin
Fingers stained, I peregrinate through lines,
Roaming in black rivers that cool and burn.
Light flickers - soft gold beneath heavy ink,
Its warmth transient, swallowed by the dark
The taste or iron lingers, sharp on the tongue,
Like blood drawn from an old, forgotten wound.
The room hums with the scent of rain,
As ink drips, spreading slowly across the page
I hear the soft sigh of parchment bending,
Beneath the weight of thoughts long buried.
Each stroke is a whisper in the stillness,
A breath of cold air cutting through heat
I trace the lines, feeling them lift -
An ephemeral breeze slipping through clenched fists.
My eyes blur, the ink shines like wet stone,
Fugacious moments lost in the night's chill,
I trek between light and shadow,
Tasting both sweetness and ash on my lips.
The page fills, ink curving like a final breath,
I write, absorbing the bitter, the bright,
The dark lines twisting like tendrils of fog -
Savoring the light that dares to fight.
© CONCETTA PIPIA
US
"THE BITTER TASTE OF INK"
I sprinkle scribble ink of my nib to craft crumbly, letters on paper
Beads of letters knit together into words
Syllables perform standing in queue.
The crafty crew whisper, shout, smile, giggle,
telling tales of voyages of age;
Frowned faces when little grumpy, weep softly for the sob stories.
Metaphors sing flute on the wind waves,
Similes bake the pumpkin sun and lemony moon.
They cook sweet salad of childhood
and chuckle at bubbly babies' gestures.
'Poems read out purple pages of life.'
© RAFIYA SAYEED
Jammu/Kashmir, India
"LIKE A DRINKING INK FLOWING THROUGH A NIB"
Delving into the inkblot of love tests
Some signs would appear on the deep shallow.
Where tristesse and pleasure hang together
Breaks amid bitter and sweet would follow.
Feeling bad hidden beneath a tracing smile
Has been the sugary taste of love and hate,
Empowering the feeling of loneliness:
Absorbing joy and living second-rate.
Yet, as hate seems palpable and fugacious,
Love always triumphs over abhorrence.
Two contrasting things have been long infused
With warmth and coldness after endurance.
Dualities discern a faint emotion
Like drinking ink flowing through a nib.
And amid the controversial feelings,
The oft-said love and hate journey ad lib.
© WALID BOUREGHDA
Algeria
"THE OARLESS BOAT"
Words fail, thoughts flounder on the beach
Like waves, unable to sustain the weight
The mast of the boat, beyond the reach
Of imagination, propels the mind for a fight
With the wind, which sweeps as it sways
In delirium, the boat of life, in queer ways.
There's no sapidity in ink that has spilled,
Like a day sliding through the dark night
And the stars twinkle on the mast, chilled
With salty foam, enhancing the cool light
Of the sky, while the moon winks behind
Clouds, sparkling over waves, in the wind.
If you master the art of rowing, like a pro
Doors will open, in many fronts, like flowers.
Worried over faulty fateline? No oar to row!
This fugacious life is not meant for doubters.
The spilled ink will solidify into sapphires
Of wisdom, fulfilling all your earthly desires.
© KALUCHARAN SAHU
India
" THE TAPESTRY OF INK"
In twilight's realm where ink-stained thoughts align,
Fugacious shadows dance with ghostly grace.
A nib, with patience, scribes the bitter brine,
And sapidity of sorrow's dark embrace.
Palpable are the whispers of the night,
Where dreams peregrinate through realms unseen.
In pages worn by truths both harsh and light,
Where fleeting moments ink the space between.
In contrast's hands, the hues of dusk entwine,
With light's warm kiss, the coldest shades resign.
Each word a bridge from light to shadow's vine,
From bitterness to warmth's embracing line.
The story written, both the dark and bright,
A symphony of shadows and of light.
© OLAWALE TOBILOBA EMMANUEL
Nigeria
"UNTITLED"
One more drop
I have always felt that
if not for that drop
feeding my quill
I could never lay a hand
I could never have a will
to master that fugacious time.
I could never breathe in papers
and see the nib of my pen dancing
I could never listen to my grief song
trudging under the weight of uneven fate.
Resorting to my ink, to write and push the gate
I colour letters and listen to them.
I sigh; I tailor my verse
I bow to my lyrics
no matter whether it is early or late
One more drop so that my nib never goes dry
One more drop to scratch the sky
One more sigh
when grief is palpable
I rather say
The heart is capable of putting up with
all that pain in your eyes
when you bid goodbye
One more drop so that
One more sheet
fueled to my quill
A lane to my feet
so that I could get back
That pint of happiness
that peregrinates.
© SIHEM CHERIF
Tunisia
"POEM OF PAIN"
Tears ooze from the nib
As it drags across the parchment of the soul.
They pierce where the tip pricks
The stain radiates its crimson tinge
Smoldering whatever is beneath
In a slow persisting twinge
That seeps deeper finding its way
To be called heartache.
The nib carries on
Its journey of inking patterns
Stitching together wishful days
And uneasy nights, unmindful
Of the stains it leaves behind
Some radiating, some permeating
Some simply evaporating.
The radiating ones scar
The permeating ones haunt
And both point to evaporating ones
Every once in a while,
Smiling at each other.
They all turn into stories,
Songs and colors, too,
From shrieks, sobs, sighs.
Those days and nights
Heap up, interspersed
Gradually getting heavier
Thus forcing out a drop of
Seasoned ink of pain
Splattering it across
Many such sewed-up pages
Instantly
Distributing pain
To all those who stay behind.
© MOHAMMAD ZAHID
Anantnag, Jammu/Kashmir, India
"PEN'S UNIQUE ROLE"
So many times it has been tried
When the power of ink served as a guide
For a worthy cause, that's hard to face
And when poetry's roles easier to embrace.
The power of words and rhymes
Can do the impossible at times.
A palpable weapon for an impossible mission,
That all it takes is awakening and realization.
The truth hurts most often
And with its sharpness, can make a callous heart soften.
It can bring change or result in a wink
Once the target tasted the bitterness of the ink.
Thus, poetry can have that unique role
Of patching up or digging a deep hole.
It can also serve both ways
Waking up from a deep sleep or putting a stop to
An uncontrolled blaze!
© JOEY V. FERNANDEZ
Philippines
"SANDSTORM"
My hand was painted red
I rained bombs over your head
Pitch black night heard your scream
All days broke into smithereens
Dark days and moonless night
Dusty roads holding on the fight
Scarlet drop mixes the sane
Anguish and strife covered my land.
Shanties razed by fire
Nothing palpable to quench the ire
There's no place safe to go
Wondrin' why you have nothing to do.
No one lifted even the nib of a pen
To scribble my anguish and pain
I was not my brother's keeper
Help didn't come across the border.
Tonight I painted the night red
It's about death and the bloodshed
Reminding the world of the innocents
Buried across the abandoned pavements.
© FLOYD GALE CABUS
Philippines
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