imanibilal.blogspot.com

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Sunday, January 17, 2010. This is not a poem. Engraved on the tips of fingers. I sink into thought-. My back, still hunched. I will never stand. Can't even look you. In your bloodshot eyes. My spirit cries though tears wont. Of the black sky. Cradling their own wounds. Searching for an open hand. In a land stigmatized. While babies screeching cries. Across unforgiving slabs of concrete. Glass scarring sun kissed skin. Mothers no longer recognize the reflections. Of their loved ones when. Now ash and dust.

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Sunday, January 17, 2010. This is not a poem. Engraved on the tips of fingers. I sink into thought-. My back, still hunched. I will never stand. Can't even look you. In your bloodshot eyes. My spirit cries though tears wont. Of the black sky. Cradling their own wounds. Searching for an open hand. In a land stigmatized. While babies screeching cries. Across unforgiving slabs of concrete. Glass scarring sun kissed skin. Mothers no longer recognize the reflections. Of their loved ones when. Now ash and dust.

<META> KEYWORDS

1 haiti

2 just my hurt

3 blood as ink

4 writing

5 becomes painful

6 over

7 feels like

8 straight

9 fall

10 reminds me

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haiti,just my hurt,blood as ink,writing,becomes painful,over,feels like,straight,fall,reminds me,of the buildings,crashing down,the children,still scattered,mirrors shattered,limbs and traces,beneath stone,sculptures,my knees,to carry you,in my womb,pure

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. | imanibilal.blogspot.com Reviews

https://imanibilal.blogspot.com

Sunday, January 17, 2010. This is not a poem. Engraved on the tips of fingers. I sink into thought-. My back, still hunched. I will never stand. Can't even look you. In your bloodshot eyes. My spirit cries though tears wont. Of the black sky. Cradling their own wounds. Searching for an open hand. In a land stigmatized. While babies screeching cries. Across unforgiving slabs of concrete. Glass scarring sun kissed skin. Mothers no longer recognize the reflections. Of their loved ones when. Now ash and dust.

INTERNAL PAGES

imanibilal.blogspot.com

1

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http://www.imanibilal.blogspot.com/2010/01/m-e-spells-me.html

Saturday, January 16, 2010. Arms not quite long enough to wrap themselves around my entire self. but i still hold me.til cold sheds its skin and sun sends reminders once again-she never really goes anywhere, just rests for a while so she may rise taller in the morning. The light is a tool. Playing hide and seek with myself in the dark. Piecing itself back together. Incomplete puzzle, still the picture is seen. No one can shatter spirit. Am allowing myself to feel. For the chill it brings. So she may rise.

2

.: 11/29/09 - 12/6/09

http://www.imanibilal.blogspot.com/2009_11_29_archive.html

Wednesday, December 2, 2009. All royalty, you hold treasures. Deep beneath your bosom. A heart so expansive, the world will never understand. Your need to give more than you get. The mountains on your back that weigh tons. But never seem to be too much to bear. Your strength is that of soil, water, and sun. The earth bows at your movement. Posted by imani bilal. Monday, November 30, 2009. To whom it may concern. This place does not know me. i have become. And this does not feel. Just ashes, just sadness,...

3

.: 11/22/09 - 11/29/09

http://www.imanibilal.blogspot.com/2009_11_22_archive.html

Saturday, November 28, 2009. I trace blankets from your breath pattern. Keep myself warm within your air. Until fear tramples my high. We've laid on these clouds too long. Scared the sky will soon grow tired. All silent sliver in color. Half bloomed orchids fall from empty spaces. Place themselves between the crevices of my lips. Just to remind me of your kiss-. All filthy and beautiful. Like soil and flower. Trying so hard not to spoil the hour. But it is already 7.5 days past its expiration. It is the ...

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http://www.imanibilal.blogspot.com/2010/01/road-has-so-many-bumps-twists-and-turns.html

Friday, January 1, 2010. Let love be what it may. My first book "beneath a black sun" can be viewed/purchased here:. Http:/ www.lulu.com/content/557583. Posted by imani bilal. January 4, 2010 at 10:19 AM. Only because there is promise of a book. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Bismillah. a woman of the wind. writer. create stuff with my hands.and what not. =) LOVE IS FREE. View my complete profile. Sometimes, someone Else has to Say it. Template images by 4x6.

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http://www.imanibilal.blogspot.com/2010/01/haiti_17.html

Sunday, January 17, 2010. This is not a poem. Engraved on the tips of fingers. I sink into thought-. My back, still hunched. I will never stand. Can't even look you. In your bloodshot eyes. My spirit cries though tears wont. Of the black sky. Cradling their own wounds. Searching for an open hand. In a land stigmatized. While babies screeching cries. Across unforgiving slabs of concrete. Glass scarring sun kissed skin. Mothers no longer recognize the reflections. Of their loved ones when. Now ash and dust.

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imanibilal.blogspot.com

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Sunday, January 17, 2010. This is not a poem. Engraved on the tips of fingers. I sink into thought-. My back, still hunched. I will never stand. Can't even look you. In your bloodshot eyes. My spirit cries though tears wont. Of the black sky. Cradling their own wounds. Searching for an open hand. In a land stigmatized. While babies screeching cries. Across unforgiving slabs of concrete. Glass scarring sun kissed skin. Mothers no longer recognize the reflections. Of their loved ones when. Now ash and dust.

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