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Labor Pains

I am sick today,
sick in my body,
eyes wide open, silent,
I lie on the bed of childbirth.

Why do I, so used to the nearness of death,
to pain and blood and screaming,
now uncontrollably tremble with dread?

A nice young doctor tried to comfort me,
and talked about the joy of giving birth.
Since I know better than he about this matter,
what good purpose can his prattle serve?

Knowledge is not reality.
Experience belongs to the past.
Let those who lack immediacy be silent.
Let observers be content to observe.

I am all alone,
totally, utterly, entirely on my own,
gnawing my lips, holding my body rigid,
waiting on inexorable fate.

There is only one truth.
I shall give birth to a child,
truth driving outward from my inwardness.
Neither good nor bad; real, no sham about it.

With the first labor pains,
suddenly the sun goes pale.
The indifferent world goes strangely calm.
I am alone.
It is alone I am.

poem by Akiko Yosano
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Unravelled

I miscarry a lust for life
a passion for the unknown
a will to experience and observe the most sublime and horrid of things
I miscarry another world
I cannot give birth to in this prison I was locked up in.

I miscarry a pain for the human
difficult to bear, hard to confess
the pain of a child born in poverty
the pain of a man working overnight
the pain of a woman blocked inside her routine.
I miscarry the most delicate of pains
I cannot give birth to because they sound so absurd.

I miscarry a ravishing artist
all outraged and covered in blood and feathers
that pours herself on a blank piece of paper
trying to translate complicated and alluring thoughts
into heartfelt and pointless words
I miscarry an infected sensivity
I cannot give birth to in a atrocious reality.

poem by Eva Grotesque
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Silent Alarm

its funny...my dreams
they're never what they seem.
they're never as serene
or come close to in between
what i want or what i need

someone's always there
a silouhette in the air
but i never know who
i could never catch her face
though i always feel her grace
changing the mood of the place
in my head and in my heart

she feels good in my arms
protecting me from harm
she's the perfect, silent alarm
i've been alive for...

no matter who i'm with
no matter how well the puzzle piece fits
i eventually come out sick...

sick of fear sick of loathing
sick of silence sick of roaming
sick of trying sick of guessing
sick of messing.....up....
all i can do is look up

these visions are never clear
like a thunderstorm i fear
that this ringing in my ear
will justify the myths...
that out there somewhere

she's thinking of me too
though we all know the truth
that im a washed up, worn down,
reclused ruse

poem by Adrian Carrillo
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Her Truth

Your truth claims to be a reality
While her truth is the reality
Your truth is just another fallacy
While her truth states actuality

Your truth tries to call her an insurgent
Just another agent
Trying to spread hatred
When her truth really speaks for those you have murdered
For those you denied existence
After they fought for their freedom
Went to the streets to express their position
And you accused them of being destroyers
Ended their lives like they worth nothing

Your truth tried to oppress them
Suppress their voices
While her truth spoke for them
Went to the squares screaming for their liberty
Fighting for their authority

Your truth is only believed by those who shared your earnings
Those who sold their souls for the Benjamins
Used religion, race and lies to serve your purpose
While her truth refused to take it all
Her truth was so pure it refused to sell the martyrs blood

Your truth has become so little
So her truth rose above it and took over the scene
Your truth was caught out
Your truth was discovered
More and more are finding her truth
Seeing the Real Truth
And yours, of course, just wished it would have listened…

poem by Jacob Arden
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Death and Birth

Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.

The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.

The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.

The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.

The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.

Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.

When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.

Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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He Talk I Am Sick

Yes i am sick because i can not standing on the street call out customer.

Yes i am sick because i can not go to Hotel with any customer after work.

Yes i am sick because i do not from far away come to beg an other men be father for the kid without marriage.

Yes i am sick because i do not going with the man i do never know before go to any where his country to make memories.

Yes i am sick because i do not sell my body.

Yes i am sick because i do not send my nude pictures to any man exchange some things.

Yes i am sick because i am not cheap women

Yes i am sick because i can not sleep with any men.

Yes i am sick because i am have only one Heart.

Yes i am sick because i can not betray without this love.

Yes i am sick because i must to hold on any things insult from the man without reason.

Yes i am sick because i am alway talking the truth.

Yes i am sick because i can not do any things or talk any things when i want to do i want to talk.

Yes i am sick because i am stupid, i am real in Love.

Yes that it is reason i am Sick.

Angel Aki

poem by Ester Worter
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sentences V

- from a sick soul, a sick body

- where virtute appears, vice watches also

- a stupid man always think to be clever

- suffering strengthens character and virtue

- wisdom raise souls, guile descend them

- each fox has its loop

- twit, but don't convict

- value can make money, but money can't bring value

- if the birth is a chance, death is a debt

- eternity is not subject to human laws

- freedom badly used, turn against us

- the power against the truth is rather an evidence of weakness

- when a child asked me why rivers flow, I didn't know what to answer

- some people live to build, others to break

- man can't do bad things and to have part of the good ones

(translated from romanian)

poem by Ion Untaru
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Sick of Being Sick

I’m sick of being rejected;
I’m sick of being emotionally neglected;
I’m sick of crying so many tears;
I’m sick of running away from my fears;
I’m sick of my childhood nightmares;
I’m sick of being told to do those stupid dares;
I’m sick of not having friends;
I’m sick of all these dead ends;
I’m sick of myself for what I’ve become;
I’m sick of feeling oh so numb;
I’m sick of watching myself drown;
I’m sick of my heart falling to the ground;
I’m sick of this life;
I’m sick of this everyday strife;
I’m sick of not having a dad;
I’m sick of getting mad;
I’m sick of my childhood past;
I’m sick of being harassed;
I’m sick of the dread;
I’m sick of wanting to be dead;
I’m sick of being the one who’s always so strong;
I’m sick of being somebody that doesn’t belong! !

poem by Shelby Brockway
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Chi

Pain!
Buried so far away. into my life of nothing
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
I am so high always. burying my life so slowly.
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
It opens my mind to feelings. cant face bottom without something.
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole, bury pain!
Re-entering my head, feeling like Im god
With the world around me, cant you feel this pain?
Ripping through my heart!
Screaming through my mind!
Nothing I can kill!
Screaming a...
Lie! i! am!
Cant you tear my eyes out?
Cant you take my heart?
Away to heart
Good-bye...
Sick of the same old things
So I dig a hole this big
So I dig a hole this...
Pain, pain, pain...

song performed by by Korn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Which Is Which

> To beware of the truth.
> Is truth...it, self?
> So, what is truth?
>
> Is truth, true love?
> Or...just a reality?
> To be a man...is that truth?
>
> A man...is reality.
> A woman...is reality.
> To be woman...is that truth?
>
> To have more then one partner
> Is a reality of the world.
>
> Which this world agrees.
> Truth is; in my point of view
> Is what one claims to be truth.
>
> But, the truth is whatever you
> Are doing as I speak.
> A woman is good for the soul.
>
> That truth is very bold.
> A man lives for his manhood
> So I am told.
>
> Is it truth or reality?
> Respect is in the middle of the spectrum.
> Male vs. Female
>
>
> That is truth.
> Man being woman
> A reality.
>
> Woman being man...
> She tries.
> Respect cover both the unreal and the wise.
>
> Truth or reality...we never really
> Give it much thought.
> Maybe it was the way we are taught.
>
> Truth or reality...
> Which is Which?
>
>
> whisperkwane
>
> [email protected]
>
>

poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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I Am Sick....

I am sick …. The pain I feel.
I am sick…. This must be surreal.
I am sick…. I will not die.
I am sick…. But I must live on with this lie.
I am sick…. It’s not like cancer it’s not that bad.
I am sick… but the say depression goes with this pain I have.
I am sick…. It will never disappear.
I am sick…. My days will go on with the same o’l tear.
I am sick…. That I have thought of taking my pain away.
I am sick…. For that I cannot for the pain must stay.
I am sick… and no one can fix me.
I am sick…. That no one can see.
I am sick…. They believe nothing is wrong with me.
I am sick…. Because of this disease.
I am sick…. Because I beg god please.

poem by Winifred Harkness
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Am I Dying or Already Dead

I happened to overhear,
Which, I realize now,
Should not have happened

I overhead
My treating doctor
Talking to his doctor friend
He was briefing my case to him
Probably, expecting his friend
To be of some professional help

From what all transpired
I came to know that
My days were just counted
Ten days at the maximum
I would survive with this
Life threatening
Cancer giant occupying me

The knowledge of the nearing death
Turned out to be more painful
Than all the pains
I suffered from my in-house cancer
Killing me each second that passes
And from all the lessons
I was exposed to all these years

I did not move for sometime
From where I overheard
This ultimate reality

I managed to reach my bed
And started making this note

I would request the world
Not to cry over this departing soul
I would request my dear ones
Not to shed tears over this senseless creature
I would request my friends and colleagues
Not to make a note of this event
It would be nice
If I am forgotten
Like a passing tree, or a lighting pole
Or, for that matter
Anything that goes out of sight
As you travel past in a train

I am afraid something is pervading me
I understand that to be an eternal pain
Occupying the entire body
Signaling the separation of body and soul

This pain I know will relieve me
Of all pains associated with me

I think continuing this note
Will be difficult, why, impossible any further
I finish this with the wonder
Am I dying or already dead

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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To Know

To know is like giving birth to knowledge
Of the wise sort, and the learning will take time.
But time has riddles, and these are solvable when a horror
Commands the soul and body to act in unison.
Pain and painful memories must be memorised
To keep one’s agony at bay, to keep leaders in high spirits.

Knowledge shall reign in the life to come,
Lives matter to those who wait, and they come
For their survival.
The colleges are schools to be the Fate,
Supreme joy enters the young-at heart,
They learn fast due to milk and protein.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Getting Past The Pain

if you can understand,
you can see,

all of this hurt and pain,
i'm just sick of,

can you see,
i want to be any where but, here?

i'm sick of dealing with life,
just let me go,

let me be selffish,
i really don't care,

i'm sick of feeling this way,
i'm sick of feeling alone,

life not getting better,
just let me have my only choice,

to take away this pain for good,
i've thought of ways,

where i won't return,
just let me be,

i'll see you in another life,
a life that is better than this,

because by the end of each day,
i try my hardest to remain,

but, it just harder to stay,
when all you really want,

is to take this pain away,
that deep inside,

that won't subside,
no matter if i cry,

no matter how hard i try,
i just can't get past this pain.
Copyright © 2009
5-20-09

poem by Mona Martinez
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He Was Born In Ussr

He was born in USSR
At the hospital there
At 5: 30 am
And that was the time that his mother gave birth to him
But I remember that she said that giving birth was very hard
And I can say to that
Thanks God that men don't give birth
Because I don't think they would want to go through with it
Knowing that there is pain in giving birth to a baby
But when he was 13 he moved from USSR to United States
So that he could get a god education
And a good job in his life

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Sit And Wait

Just sit there and wait,
the nurse said, Jinjang

sat and waited. The room
smelt of cheap disinfect

and sick body’s odour.
She looked around;

took in the yellow curtains,
light blue walls, plain carpet.

The doctor’s name was
unfamiliar and the plump

young receptionist had
been rude and gruff.

The pain in the breast
was still there as she sat

silent on the wooden chair.
Her fingers had found a lump

while she showered. Her sick
mother had died of cancer,

the woman her childhood self
had loved wasted away like an

unwatered plant in a dry pot
one hot summer’s day.

poem by Terry Collett
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A Life Pops Out Song

A life pops out
When the mother is giving birth
Today
And at the same time she is feeling the pain of giving birth
Birth doesn't come without pain
Because pain is the part of giving birth

poem by Aldo Kraas
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A Life Pops Out

A life pops out
When the mother is giving birth
Today
And at the same time she is feeling the pain of giving birth
Birth doesn't come without pain
Because pain is the part of giving birth

poem by Aldo Kraas
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What Nerve In Your Body Is Disconnected

What makes you think,
I will be discussed and talked about...
And not know it?
What nerve in your body is disconnected,
From your brain.

I happen to accept we are all part,
Of this 'Oneness' existing...
We choose to call life.
And not observers from the bleechers...
Cheering on a favorite team to win!

What makes you think,
My ears do not listen?
Or my eyes do not see?
We were all created by an 'Entity'!
And this 'spiritually' I believe!

There is no such thing,
As an inflicting of pain on someone else...
And not eventually feeling it yourself.
That's not the deal we have here on Earth.
Nor was that a contract signed upon our birth.

What makes you think,
I will be discussed and talked about...
And not know it?
What nerve in your body is disconnected,
From your brain.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Am Sick......

i am sick of your justice...
sick of dead bodies strewn,
sick of your bursts of gunfire,
and your bombs without conscience.
sick of the napalm fingers of your equality,
trading flesh for nickels and dime.
sick of your powder and your pills,
sick of the rape of the young girl
beneath your flag!
i am sick of your nuclear bibles,
sick of your buying and trading.
i am sick of the pound of your oil rigs,
sick of the stink of your morality.
i am sick of your hanging trees,
your courtrooms stacked.
i am sick of the money you sleep with,
sick of your colorless freedom.
i am sick of your smokestacks gone silent.
sick of your riot squads gassing.
i am sick of the amendments you've twisted,
sick of your hate and your prejudice...
i am sick of your slavery,
your prisons, your human rights violations.
i am sick of your political lies....

revolution, by common bond,
the choice of integrity, or death!
the dignity of the human soul demands,
that we live or we die!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sick all

Sick for all...
All are sick...
Today...
Morden world...

Sick is not disease
Sick is little of
Back pain...

Little of leg pain...
Little of sneezy...
Little of head ache...
Little of tired....

All are sick...
Sick for all...above
With a badley life style...

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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