Author Archives: ambriehlkhalil

Meghan – Response

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5

This poem is in response to Ambriehl’s video (attached) based on the poem “The Earth Shakes”

Have you looked outside today friend?

Did you wander through the canals of familiarity?
Let the rivers of concrete pull your feet in a direction they knew by heart.

Are the gentle bustles of your city like a lullaby?
The kind that is soft and dozing, lulling you as you travel.

Did you bask in the warmth of comfort?
Cocoon yourself in the soft fabrics of safety, a fluffy shield of security.

Did you fill the air with the rhythms of quiet?
A docile peace reserved for the inner caverns of your ears alone.

Did the branches of nature weave a net over you?
One with small holes, so only careful sunlight could seep through and caress you.

Did you look over your vast kingdom?
Feel the waves of sanctuary, and bask in your impregnable haven.

But friend…
When you looked outside today, did you see?

Can you hear that distant marching and the voices that scream?
The filth that crawls into crevices and violates our screens

Did you witness morality crumbling?
White lips that spew lies and silence the rainbow of oppression

Can you see the pain in the streets?
Pyramids of tears and waste creating a child playgrounds.

The world is burning

Do you see it?

Ambriehl – Response

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4

This poem is in response to Meghan’s video (attached) based on the poem “The Earth Shakes”

entirely too placid—i’d spend hours trying to catch your gaze. call me asinine, call me puerile, hell, call me down right foolish. i’ve spent days floating, mind wandering. all i can do is day dream.
picture this; it’s summer and we’re at the beach. the sand grains make a home between our toes and the salted air belts through our hair, twisting and turning—-and god, is that fucking yearning, too? the sweetness of the sea kisses us when we enter it. how does it feel? never mind, the answer is written on your face.

what do you think of when you hear the word ‘peaceful?’
my mum always answers with the same thing; the sound of birds chirping in the early morning. my dad says a thunderstorm on a particularly miserable day.
you told me it was the cabin your family owns; tucked away in a tiny corner of the woods. the lights don’t work and it’s always splintered with a chill in the air. you told me it’s the one place you don’t feel lonely, and i think i understand that feeling.
me, though? i think of you.
you are the tranquil waters on a small lake—the first drops of rain from the overcast sky.
i’ve never known the embodiment of serene before. i’ve known angry words and fist fights, bloodied noses and bruises.
i’ve known silence—and it was deafening.
it’s not with you.