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Quote by Kay Ulanday Barrett

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Kay Ulanday Barrett

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“I am with you, rafēgh (comrade) By Siavash Kasrai Translation: Darya Saudade --- I am with you, rafēgh (comrade), in wherever you are and struggle. I am your neighbor when, beside the window in the evening's gaze, you hum the people’s anthem to yourself. I walk in step with you when, devoted to anxiety and eagerness, you hand out a nightly leaflet to every passerby in the alley, with the ring of every word, you awaken a heart, a city, a whole homeland. I am with you when among the people, like a restless fish in water, you slide and come and seek, and warn the sleeping of the flood coming. I work alongside you when the body is worn out from work, but, in the fields, the factories, you keep working, you keep working. I am your fellow-sufferer when with the caress of your hands you beckon the child to patience, as if awakening a bud from its slumber I am your fellow inmate when you fill the dragging moments with forgotten memories in the corner of your confinement or in the fever of torture and the throes of anguish. No, my soulmate, my comrade, no, I won’t leave you alone, when at an unknown dawn you sacrifice your life for ideals and love. I am with you, rafēgh, I am with you, rafēgh, In wherever I am and struggle. In wherever you are and struggle.”

Poem
Author:Siavash Kasrai
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“Where is the wine that ever forged its glass? None ever, oh, none ever, For garnet contradiction holds it fast. The cup is but a spill belied, And wine englassed is flow denied. Where is the glass that ever made man fall? None ever, oh, none ever, For trampled grape, disordered dream, and all, Drain down his throat like whispered lies, The glass left empty as his eyes. Where is the poison that was in the wine? Forever, oh, forever It claims his veins to be its vine, Its fruit cold stones, its scent stopped breath, For wine’s true form wreathes through his death.”

Poem
Author:S. E. Porter
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“Poetry is much much more than all of the definitions, theories or explanations that you read or hear about everyday. Poetry is not just a form, a quote or one or two popular poets or pop stars in the media. Poetry is not hip hop or gangsta rap, slam or new formalism, gay or straight, white or black, dead or alive. Poetry does not belong either to the streets or the academics. Poetry is not always a love song. Poetry is not always about the rain or nature, mountains or castles. Poetry is neither happy nor depressed, a villain or a hero, a lover or a friend. Poetry is merely poetry for poetry’s sake. But the words are sacred, something sacred which we share. Poetry is a state of consciousness and the mind. Poetry is all of history and is the history of being. Poetry is all of us Poetry is you.”

PoetryPoemPoetry QuotesR M EngelhardtDefinition Of Poetry
Book:OF SPIRIT, ASH & BONE POEMS PARABLES R.M. ENGELHARDT
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“No one would choose to crawl under fences, beaten until your shadow leaves, raped, forced off the boat because you are darker, drowned, sold, starved, shot at the border like a sick animal, pitied. No one would choose to make a refugee camp home for a year or two or ten, stripped and searched, finding prison everywhere. And if you were to survive, greeted on the other side--Go home Blacks, dirty refugees, sucking our country dry of milk, dark with their hands out, smell strange, savage, look what they've done to their own countries, what will they do to ours?”

PoetryDangerPoemRacismPrejudiceImmigrationRefugeesEmigration
Book:Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head
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“Finnick and I sit for a long time in silence, watching the knots bloom and vanish, before I can ask, 'How do you bear it?' Finnick looks at me in disbelief. 'I don't, Katniss! Obviously, I don't. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking.' Something in my expression stops him. 'Better not give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself together as it does to fall apart.' Well, he must know. I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into one piece.”

DeathGriefNightmares
Book:Mockingjay
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“There is great freedom in only having yourself. Not having to worry about supporting anyone else, not having to think or make choices with anyone else in mind. But there is still an ache, some days duller than others, some days not felt until the early hours. It will grasp at you when you think about an achievement and receiving an award and you want someone to be in the corner beaming with pride. You think about it over coffee, when no one is looking at you instead of drinking theirs. In the middle of the night when it’s cold and no one is there breathing gently beside you. When you come home and the house is empty, and even if it’s peaceful and quiet, you would like to share your thoughts with someone as they set dinner on the table. The freedom to belong to yourself is beautiful, but it’s also beautiful to look at someone else and know their favorite moment of the day is when you walk into the room.”

Poem
Book:Healing the Heart
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