fact or fiction
Is it fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the myths and beliefs we hold about what makes a good poem and the poetry rules that were made to be broken.
“Dinner Over Graves”
They sip champagne over fresh graves— Calling it business. Boardroom teeth chew through famine, but pray on gold dinner plates for souls they’ll never feed. They drop missiles like loose change— And call it foreign policy. Suits bloodstained with flags they never saluted. I see men burn their conscience for a blue check, slipping into algorithms that forget the taste of bread shared between hungry mouths. Tell me— what’s power worth if your hands are too clean to touch the dead? I watched friends become profiles. Watched mothers learn war through buffering livestreams and bulletproof hashtags. Their pain? Aesthetic. Their trauma? A market. And still— you sit there, in glass rooms, serving genocide with hors d'oeuvres, flashing smiles while cities turn to shadows. But I won’t wear your mask. Won’t toast to your future. I’ll dance barefoot in the ashes you ignore— Name every name that you erased in PowerPoint slides. I’ll bury truth in the soil of my chest before I sell it to your charity auction. Let me break, not bend. Let me scream, not trend. Let me stay human while your world turns to algorithmic applause. And when it’s done— when your empire forgets itself— I’ll still be here, singing to the bones you called collateral. Sleep well, Architects of silence. Your ghosts have mouths.
By Shoaib Afridiabout a year ago in Poets
Ready for a Transformation?
It really doesn't take long to make yourself stronger; a year is enough. The reason self-improvement can feel painful is that it often goes against our natural inclinations. But if you're determined to do things that challenge your comfort zone, there's no doubt you can achieve more.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharingabout a year ago in Poets
Why Do We Set Sail?
We are in the great ocean of life just as the fisherman is, who throws out his net without having an idea where the fish are. He goes forth because he expects to come back with a full load, and in a similar fashion, you will find that most of the time opportunities present themselves only when you decide to take a step. Opportunities present themselves when you believe, and possibilities actually become reality when you act.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharingabout a year ago in Poets
Where Lullabies Are Lost
Where Lullabies Are Lost A Glimpse into the Silent Nights and Shattered Dreams of Gaza’s Innocent Opening (≈120 words "In Gaza, the night no longer hums with soft refrains. It’s a cavern of silence, pierced only by distant echoes of fear. Here, lullabies have been stolen—lost beneath rubble, subdued by heartbreak, replaced by whispered prayers of mothers who cradle lifeless infants, their tears untainted by hope." --- Scene One: The Cradle of Dust (≈200oPicture a mother on a battered mattress amid shattered concrete. She cradles her baby, eyes hollow, voice fragile: “Sleep, my love, dream of safety…” But there is no safety. No tomorrow. Only dust. No lullaby can drift through these ruins. And this anguish is shared by thousands. A vivid image from Gaza reads: > “They embrace their dust‑covered, vacant‑eyed babies… starved infants die alone among the lullaby of genocide.” This isn't metaphor—children do lie motionless, absent even a final cry, as the world watches. Each newborn, each toddler, once a symbol of innocence, now becomes a testament to dreams fragmented by war. --- Scene Two: The Anatomy of Silence (≈20rds Silence has weight. In Gaza, it presses heavier than a bomb blast. The communal mourning is so dense that no cry can rise above it. Hospitals, once halls of hope, are now morgues. Beds converted to chapels for the departed. A lullaby—a mother’s oldest magic—has been replaced by the chant of absent heartbeat monitors. Social media posts decry it as "just war," but horrors echo universally. One activist’s poem challenges this detachment: > “That’s just war… Pretty words, empty promises.” Even empathy wears thin as images of broken childhood fade from headlines. Yet for every silence, there is an unspoken plea: *Remember them. Remember their names. Remember their songs.* --- Scene Three: Poetry of Loss and Memory (≈200 words Poets and international voices have taken up the broken lullaby. The “Letters to Gaza”, a global collection, includes haunting verses and drawings, each a tribute and a testimony—an act of solidarity, empathy, and hope . One poem addresses survivors carrying the weight: > “Like you asked I lived to tell your story… Our memories lie crushed in the dust, but new stories of justice are a must.” Another affirms: They come in many forms: poems, drawings, songs, prose… voices that refuse to be silent in the face of injustice . These are songs for the lost children—for babies who never learned to crawl, toddlers who never took their first steps, teens whose futures evaporated in an instant. --- Scene Four: Mothers’ Cries and Ancient Lament (≈180 words) In Gaza and beyond, you’ll hear a haunting refrain: “Don’t cry children. Your mother has just cried herself to sleep…” A lullaby for sorrow, born of memory and fear. Paraphrasing an older poem: > “Don’t cry children… Your brother is in an alien land… The dead sun has just been bathed and the moon is buried.” This is not poetry—it is lived experience. A lament older than war itself. And yet the lullabies are powerful. They are testimonies. They demand we feel the grief and answer with compassion. --- Scene Five: When Lullabies Rise Again But even amid ruin, voices rise. Children continue to sing—faint, fragile. In the diaspora, in underground schools, in makeshift shelters, voices reach beyond walls. Global artists lend their stage. “Letters to Gaza” voices take flight on wind currents, social media, theaters. These lullabies—they might be lost, but not forgotten. They become calls to action, calls to humanity. One line lingers: *“Each one is an act of solidarity… an offering of empathy… a commitment to hope.”* That’s the heart. Even shattered lullabies echo onward. losing "So listen. In the silence between bombing runs. In the quiet of midnight. Listen for the fragments of lullabies—echoes of lost innocence, reminders of human dreams cut short. These are voices that demand more than sorrow—they demand justice, accountability, a chance for new lullabies to flourish in peaceful nights across Gaza." --- Vocal Guidance & Performance Notes Tone: Begin softly—almost a whisper—then gradually build intensity. Pauses: Use silence as punctuation, especially after emotionally charged lines. Pacing: Slow, deliberate; let each image sink in. Emotion: Allow grief, quiet outrage, and a pulse of hopeful defiance to shine through. Climax: Build toward “When lullabies rise again,” then draw back for the final plea—listen, remember, act.
By Hasbanullahabout a year ago in Poets
