Category Archives: Poetry

Between Gaza and Me

Between Gaza and Me

By Nada Alaloul, age 17, from Rafa, lives in Egypt.

Between all of these
Cold bodies,
Tired faces,
Busy minds
Lost people
There is Nada como yo
Between black and white there’s me
Between sun and moon, there’s a scream
Between hell and heaven, there’re my people under the rubble
Between death and life, there’s a missile
Between war and peace, there’s a border
Between freedom and shackles, there’s the whole world
Between tanks & planes, there’s my family
Between my family & me, there’s an endless cry
Between my happiness & sadness, there’s the news of my city
Between the present and the past, there’s a genocide.
Between death here, and death there
There’s a huge price
I have one heart with
Two separated souls
And I’m a ghost
And I’m completely alone.

I was at home
Now I’m missing my home
Suddenly
I lost my home
I was here and there
But Suddenly
I’m nowhere
My home was bombed
My friend was killed
My sister was scared
And my dad was missed
And all I’m doing here
Is just avoiding to be the
Favorite dish for my sadness
Cuz actually I’m a liar
A big liar
I’m drowning in heavy clouds of sadness
Afraid to confirm
That my happiness is sad
To be with me
My happiness is scared
To be bombed with me
My happiness fooled me
But at least I know
That I couldn’t know
That I’m not happy
Without my sadness
I couldn’t realize
That I want balance
Between black and white
Between my happiness and sadness
To stop being gray
Without my sadness.

So now
I’m under a sky that
Doesn’t target its people
I walk towards the sun but I’ll never be burned
Cuz my soul has been burned once
Before when I left Gaza
Alone

What about you, dear human?
Can you bring me the warmth of the sun?
Not the one over my head
Nor the Egyptian sun which
Burns my bones like
The missiles do against
The tents of my friends
I want the warmth of my family
I’m a ghost and
I’m completely alone

I’m blue, drowning in a
Gray ocean of the fog
Gray, the favorite color of the death in my city
The color that I used to see
Whenever I roam in my ghost city
The color that I used to feel
Whenever the measure between
Death and me is just a path

I have one heart
With two separated souls
I’m a ghost and I’m completely alone
I’m here and there
And suddenly
I’m nowhere
Como Nada como Yo.

By Alaloul, age 17, from Rafa, Palestine, currently lives in Egypt.

Ms. Lauren Marshall, a playwright, musical theater librettist/lyricist, director and teaching artist based in Washington state, adds: “Nada is a remarkable girl from Gaza, now living with relatives in Cairo, Egypt. She participated in the Gaza Heartbeat, a creative writing project that was sponsored by Palestine Charity Team (PCT) in Rafah, Gaza (Palestine), in 2022.

“Nada has a positive outlook despite all that has happened to her! She was evacuated from Gaza in April, 2024. But her family is still stranded in Gaza, displaced from their home, which has been destroyed during this senseless war. Nada, like all of Gaza’s children, has missed an entire year of school as the result of the war. During this time, she has read books, written short stories and poems, taught herself Spanish, taken a business course in Cairo, and volunteered with PCT!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Being Split

Being Split
By Preston Young, age 10, New York.

Being Split by Preston Young, age 10, New York

Illustration by Preston Young, 10, New York.

Being split,
Korean and Taiwanese,
I can’t process two different cultures,
It’s hard for me.

On Korean New Year,
I bow to elders and eat Duk Bok Ki (rice cakes).
On Chinese New Year,
I get red envelopes and eat dim sum with herbal tea.
I call my Korean grandparents Halmoni and Haraboji;
Ah ma, I call to my grandma who is Taiwanese.

The Taiwanese flag has red, white and blue.
The South Korean flag has those colors too.
The American flag has them too, oooh!

Being split,
Korean and Taiwanese,
Sometimes people don’t understand me.
When my friends talk about their one culture,
I want one of my other cultures to be unseen.

I try to tell my friends over and over;
I scream and I shout and whisper over their shoulder.
They never understand when I say,
 I am both Korean and Taiwanese!
They look confused and annoyed like fleas.

Sometimes I wonder if being Korean and Taiwanese is right for me.
I sit there and think until I can finally see,
I am special with being multicultural,
Being Korean, Taiwanese, and American,
Can all fit in my soul.

Being split,
Korean, Taiwanese, and American is hard.
But the three cultures,
Are forever in my heart!

By Preston Young, age 10, New York. Preston adds: “My mom is Korean and my dad is Taiwanese. I was born in the USA. I speak English but I am learning how to write, read and speak Korean because my friends at school can speak fluently, and I want to be able to communicate with them. My dream is to become an author and entertain kids. I was inspired to write this poem because when I am in school people always assume that I am full Korean or full Taiwanese. Sometimes people think I’m Chinese but I always correct them. I wanted to express how I feel and what that makes me feel like. I made a collage out of construction paper and some magazine clippings with markers to show my feelings about being split in three different cultures.”

A Friend That Never Was

A Friend That Never Was

By maggie d., Washington.

Except for Erica and I
The playground was empty
And our laughter could be
Heard miles away
“Not it! Not it! You are it!”
She yelled
Beginning a game of tag

Seconds later
A white car arrived to
Pick her up
The driver was someone
I never saw before
“No matter,” I whispered
With a shrug
Resting my mind on
Tomorrow’s joy

But the next day’s gladness
Did not show
Angrily she blurted
“My Mom said you are a monkey
And I do not play with
Monkey girls!”

A bucketful of tears
Streamed down my cheeks
As I stared into an
Unfamiliar face at the
End of a fence
Making me wince
When she wrapped my hand
Around her light peach
Fingers and asked
“Will you be my friend?”

—maggie d., African American poet and educator, Washington.

Eons of Thought

Eons of Thought
By Manvi Gupta, recent high school graduate, M. P., India

In the cosmos, who determines the designs?
Who creates the stars, and who draws the line?
Am I the actor in a predestined play,
Or am I the narrator who holds the quill, forming the best story ever told in a way?

Can a single drop of rain question the ocean’s mighty
Or does it become one with the sea and lose its identity?
Am I the architect of fate,
Or in this riddle of existence are we all the same?

What is a fallen tree to the deafening silence of the forest with no ear?
Is my existence only validated when heard loud and clear?
If I am hidden in the darkness, does the sun brightly shine?
Is the universe but a reflection, of my consciousness divine?

Does the dart of time travel straight, or can it arch or sway?
If tomorrow mutters a secret, what would today say?
Is the present, past and future nothing but the illusion of my mind,
Or are they the stepping stones to the actuality we bind?

Can we discover the fringe of the universe, the origin of space?
Is there a creator, a composer, in this celestial embrace?
Or is it but a Möbius strip, a limitless twist,
In the loom of existence, does beginning or end exist?

In this universe, am I a free thinker,
Is my mind the sole philosopher,
Or is it but a fragment of a lone troubled lad?
In this shore of existence, we are but a grain of sand.

—Manvi Gupta, just graduated from high school, Madhya Pradesh, India. She adds: “I’m someone who is passionate about building ideas from the ground up and constantly learning, with a deep love for creative writing.”

Friendship

Friendship

A real friend is pleasant sigh
To breathe, that money just can’t buy.
It’s something held by you and I,
Steadfastly, now that love is nigh.

A good friend will cover your back
And cheer you up when joy you lack.
Someone who shows they really care
So much for you by being there.

Friendship is like warm bread with jam,
When I’m accepted as I am.
It is never harsh or pressured.
And kindness always is observed.

And friendship is a two way street.
Our get togethers, short and sweet
And often, as a good friend said,
To me the joy unlimited.

With soft and subtle ecstasy,
Like sharing a good joke with glee.
Embracing with a great bear hug.
Dispelling heartache with a shrug.

Friendship is a hand-knit sweater
Bracing me against the weather.
Friendship is sitting by a fire.
Telling tales that keep getting higher.

And a good friend is forgiving
Of whatever trials life does bring.
Always accepts you as you are,
Together we will travel far.

—Jon Bush, author and artist, Massachusetts.

Embracing the Unknown

Embracing the Unknown

By Maggie D., Washington.

Her smile was as great
Big and beautiful as
A sunrise above the
Grand Canyon
Gripping the
Stars and Stripes
The Pledge of Allegiance
Was softly spoken
Without a hint of hesitation
Her human spirit
Held onto a future
Hope
Of making her free
From the tyranny
She once experienced
With a salute to her
Deepest desires of what
She was about to
Become

—Maggie D., retired educator and African American poet, Washington.

Summer Work

Summer Work

By Maggie D., Washington

Summer time is here
Gardens to tend
Money to spend
For back to school
Clothes
That are not too old
Bought at the thrift store
Some will need mending
Others will profit from
Two washes
My gosh
Summer is passing
As quick as a wink
When I think of the
Days disappearing among
The harvested corn
And winter squash

—maggie d., retired educator and African American poet, Washington. She adds: “Summer Work errupted from memories of my grandmother’s farm in Oklahoma.”

Why Aren’t We?

Why Aren’t We?

By Henry Bakos, H.S. Junior, Washington

There are an uncountable number of things I should be doing.
This very instant.
The should-be’s of
working on late homework,
responding to friends,
thinking of my future…

But am I?
No. And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one.

How many late math papers,
waiting friends, unplanned futures
do you think are out there? Why?

The mass of problems plague this world,
climate change, racism, homophobia, misogyny,
and the fact that kids are being slaughtered.
By their own classmates.
Why is nobody else climbing this bloody hill
to take down this monument of debt, death and deceit?

These things should be universally abhorrent,
they should be struck down the moment their ugly head
emerges from their loathsome den.

I’m just a White boy
who checks almost every box for privilege,
who hasn’t seen half of the atrocities that ravage our world.
Compared to many I live in a small, safe haven
that sure has its issues but what doesn’t, right?

I live shielded
in a society that covers up the very thing I’m being shielded from,
letting me ignore the beast
that ravenously takes black men
and imprisons them.
Or the ghoul that makes women watch over their shoulders
every time they leave their house.
Or the fiend whispering in Asian student’s ears,
making them feel worthless
when not living up to the stereotypes that plague them.

Because of who I am,
who I was born to,
who I wish to be,
I have not had to experience these,
only watch from out the window.
And even then, I know things must change.
Why does it seem that
not one person
seems to be sucked into this endless vortex,
this gyre of problems,
that seems to conquer anything foolish enough to approach it?

But wait.
Maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe nobody is willing to sail into this whirlpool
for fear they will be sucked down
and have left no more impact than a small wake that quickly fades
too fast for anyone to even realize it was ever there.
But surely it can’t swallow us all.

Surely if we just tried hard enough,
if we were smart enough,
and if we read the wind,
we should be able to find a path through it,
and get to the beautiful warm shallows
where we find nothing but a cool breeze
and the water is so still that
there is not even a pull of the tides.

—Henry Bakos, High School Junior, Washington. 

Perspective

perspective

by Surabhi Verma, grade 11, California

 

female leader
            impossible

peaceful change
            impossible

violence eliminated
            impossible

full equality
            impossible

impossible, impossible.

its repetition,
bewilders me.

its presence,
bothers me.

its truth,
baffles me.

Impossible,
                  i    m    p o s s i b l e
                                                      i am Possible

—Surabhi Verma, grade 11, California. She writes:

“I enjoy writing poetry and non-fiction and use writing as a form of expression and reflection. I have won several awards… and am a STEM blog writer for STEMpathize. When I’m not writing, I love playing the flute and spending time with my family and friends.

“I come from an Indian background and speak both English and Hindi. Though living in America, I find myself deeply connected to my Indian roots and culture, celebrating every Indian festival, going to the temple, and enjoying a variety of Indian dishes. My favorite part of an Indian event is that it gives an excuse to wear a lehenga!

“I am passionate about the flute, writing, and mental health. In the future, I hope to make an impact in the field of biomedical research while also being able to pursue my passions through providing affordable flute lessons, continuing to write, and taking part in advocating for mental health by creating more support programs.

”My poems are influenced by my experiences and cover a variety of topics, ranging from identity struggles and personal feelings to altering perspectives and the relationship between music and peace against violence.”