Seagull’s Feather
Oeuvre!
Like a silver charm it shines
Like the Bluegirdled Angel does it glisten
Every individual barb
Sparkles like cider
No stroke of lightening
Could electrify as piercingly
Fire no longer burns
The incandescence of the moon is nothing
Even the heavens cannot compare
But destiny must prevail
Embrace the prophecy
Unfettered does it leave
Farewell to the host
Salutation to the favonian wind
Across the azure depths
Performing a concinnous dance
Exuberant in grace and agility
Plangent in silence
Sagacious in its youth
Buoyant in its dexterity
Land ho!
Alas, it drops anchor
In the white sands of Tetiaroa
One thousands suns
One hundred galaxies
One universe
From home
Cry of the Blue Tigress
Far too brazen
With such bombastic swagger
How meaningless
Modesty, shame, respect;
Have you not any?
This privilege, choice, freedom bestowed upon you
And you’ve abused it
Corruption and profanity
Ever so ubiquitous
Those who gave you life
Are the ones who are pained the most
Has filial piety become obsolete?
What confidence you exude
Such panache you display
You strut about
With not a care in the world
Are you not concerned,
even the slightest bit?
O, but the consequences
Have not yet risen
Every seemingly trivial matter
Is recorded by Gabriel’s brothers
What you do now
Basks in ideology
Is etched in destiny
Lasts for an eternity
What is eternity?
Forever
Until the Sun’s last kiss
I Count to Ten
I count to ten
when I go to sleep
when I see the stars
dance with the sheep
and I dream of being a princess
in a pretty pink dress
with pretty blue eyes
crying
dancing
on a white cloud in Venus
I count to ten
when I drink from my Shirley Temple cup
with the milk ever so sweet
white like a snow wolf pup
that has a mama
and a papa
that love it so much
that it’s the happiest thing alive
I count to ten
when I walk to school
Black e mo they say
you fool
stop
I want to look like
the girl in the
Mary Jane wrappers
she has pretty blue eyes
she is lucky
God loves her
I count to ten
because I can’t count any longer
I try to fight
but he is much stronger
I pretend that the stings tickle
and that the scars are invisible
I ask why and he says
Because you’re my little princess
I count to ten
and pray to the Lord
that I disappear
or turn into a sword
or into a pen
Which one is mightier?
Neither
I’d rather just have
a pretty pink dress
and pretty blue eyes
crying
dancing
on a white cloud in Venus
Hurmat Hashmi
Age 14, Grade 10
Clara Barton High School
Silver Key