#poeticactivism poems on Hello Poetry

sumaiya jannat 53m

From Half-Pan to *****: The Unconsented Coronation”

They crowned me maiden-marked with no coronet,
No rite, no reckoning, no alphabet.
From chalk to chastity, the shift was swift
A girl unasked, yet forced to drift.

Uncles morphed to bro, aunties to sis,
As if age could be erased by this.
The same mouths that once fed me lore
Now ask, “When will your parents unlock the door?”

From half-pan hymns to full-pan chains,
From innocence to encoded stains.
From Ma’s lap to lone lamp-light,
From lullabies to legal fright.

They speak of the binding rite, not of mind,
Of bridal veils, not truths unlined.
They offer vows, not volition,
As if my body’s their admission.

Some changes chisel, some changes choke,
Some stitch your soul, some slit the cloak.
Some come like guests with garlanded grace,
Some barge in, branding your face.

But I
I ink my ache in harf and flame,
I ritualize what they rename.
I rhyme the rupture, sanctify shame,
I forge a scroll they cannot tame.

So let them call me maiden-marked, miss,
I’ll answer with a serpent hiss.
For I am not what they decree
I’m carticity, not casualty.

This poem confronts the cultural conditioning that marks girls with roles before they’re ready, before they’re asked. It critiques the performative shift from childhood to womanhood, where identity is overwritten by ritual, and autonomy is traded for expectation. It’s a declaration of self-authorship — a refusal to be renamed, repackaged, or reduced.

#feminism #identity #girlhood #poeticactivism #spokenword #modernpoetry #selfauthorship #ritual #rebellion #maidenmarked

sumaiya jannat 13h

Scroll of Sovereignty: A Ceremony Unchosen ?️ (A poetic rebuke to the matrimonial mythos)

The realm extols conjugation’s creed,
But I discern a veiled stampede
Of shackled vows in velvet guise,
Where sovereign souls are canonized.

👁️ The Covenant of Clasped Rings
A gilded snare with spectral strings.
To cede your flame, your soul-scroll’s lore,
To one who claims your inner core.

I’ve charted stars, inscribed my name,
Not to be stitched in someone’s frame.
Not to be paused, not to be tamed,
Not to be blamed when joy is maimed.

🎭 The Duet of Domestic Grace
A masquerade in tethered lace.
No one blooms in bridal cage,
They wither slow in silent rage.

And if it’s just for flesh and skin,
Is that the gate where truths begin?
If passion’s price is self-erasure,
Then let me guard my soul’s own treasure.

💔 Parental love a sanctified flame,
Unbranded, boundless, free of name.
But this duet of spouse and spouse?
A staged affection, haunted house.

So let me clutch my soul-scroll tight,
Let me script my own birthright.
No vows, no veil, no muted scream
Just me, my truth, my sovereign dream.

🌑 The Ceremony Unchosen I defy,
To trade my stars for borrowed sky.
Let others dance in tethered grace,
I’ll walk alone, but not erase.

This poem challenges the romantic and cultural idealization of marriage, exposing the silent erasures that often accompany conjugal rites. It honors parental love as unconditional and critiques the performative nature of domestic partnerships that demand self-sacrifice. A declaration of self-authorship, this piece refuses to trade celestial becoming for borrowed vows.

#marriage #identity #selfauthorship #poeticactivism #spokenword #modernpoetry #ceremony #freedom #autonomy #truth

sumaiya jannat 13h

Chronoethics of the Uncommitted” ⟡ —a ceremonial rebuke to premature entanglements

In the vestibule of youth, where dreams ferment,
They call infatuation “maturity”—how quaint.
But I, a cartographer of sanctified time,
Refuse to mortgage my becoming for a borrowed rhyme.

Let them chase trends like moths to neon flame,
I walk in cadence with my own name.
Commitment, not to another’s orbit,
But to the constellations I’ve yet to inherit.

This is the era of cerebral bloom,
Not of vows whispered in adolescent gloom.
Why tether wings to transient winds,
When the sky itself awaits what my spirit rescinds?

Premature pledges fracture the spine of purpose,
Stretching us millionfold from our sacred corpus.
Love, when summoned before its season,
Spoils the soil—defies reason.

So I remain uncommitted, not unfeeling,
My solitude is not silence, but healing.
I am the free bird, not caged by trend,
My sanctuary begins where false rituals end.

This poem challenges the romantic urgency often imposed on youth, reframing solitude as a sacred space for growth rather than a void to be filled. It honors the slow bloom of purpose, the sanctity of self-authorship, and the refusal to mortgage one's becoming for borrowed affection. A manifesto for those who walk in cadence with their own name.

#solitude #selfauthorship #youth #infatuation #poeticactivism #modernpoetry #spokenword #freedom #identity #growth

sumaiya jannat 13h

Wombwrought, Forsworn: A Dirge for the Unfilial”

They bore thee not in ease, but in crucible flame,
Nine moons of tempest, no laurels, no fame.
Mood-swung maelstroms, spine cleft by steel,
Yet she bore thy breath no barter, no deal.

Anesthetic hush, then blade’s cruel hymn,
Scissor-born silence, backache grim.
She sits not in solace, nor lies in grace,
Her vertebrae chant thy name in trace.

Father, the silent steward of coin and creed,
Barters his breath for thy school-need.
He eats last, dreams less, buys none but thee,
Yet thou trade his love for a boy’s decree.

We, the heirs of sacrificial lore,
Sell legacy for lust, and ask no more.
Hide truths in shadow, veil hearts in guile,
For a fleeting flame that lasts a while.

Doth he thy paramour, thy fevered muse
Know thy soul’s ache, thy silent bruise?
Will he rise at dawn to fetch thy cure,
Or vanish at dusk, love insecure?

Parents primordial poets of pain
Are cast to margins, cold disdain.
We rage at their rebuke, spit at their plea,
Yet kneel to a lover’s tyranny.

When mother weeps, we turn our face,
But for a boyfriend’s silence, we lose grace.
We beg, we bend, we break, we bleed
Yet for our parents, we sow no seed.

Shame be thy shroud, betrayal thy crown,
Where womb-born bonds are cast down.
No lover’s touch, no whispered vow,
Can match the love they gave till now.

So let this verse be thy dirge, thy flame,
For children who forget their name.
Return to the roots, the sacred tree
For none shall love as endlessly.

This poem is a dirge for forgotten roots — a lament for children who trade unconditional love for fleeting romance, who rage at parental care yet kneel to the whims of temporary affection. It honors the pain, sacrifice, and silent devotion of parents, especially mothers whose bodies bear the cost and fathers whose dreams are bartered for their children’s futures. A call to remember, to return, to revere.

#parenthood #sacrifice #love #betrayal #family #mother #father #spokenword #poeticactivism #modernpoetry

sumaiya jannat 13h

“Elegy of the Unheard Bell” —A lament for the silenced student soul

In corridors where silence screams,
Where chalk dust drowns our fragile dreams,
A sovereign sits with granite gaze,
Unmoved by pain, immune to praise.
I came with fire in throat and bone,
A whispered plea, a muted tone.
He scoffed, “Then why attend at all?”
His heart a vault, his mercy small.
He vowed to climb the vice’s stair,
But vanished in the stagnant air.
I waited in that echo tomb,
Auditorium turned to gloom.
Each absence fined with ruthless hand,
No grace, no pause, no reprimand.
He counts our wounds in ledger sums
The toll, the wrath, the crazy ***.
He sees not nights of sleepless ache,
Nor hears the soul begin to break.
He mocks the sick, the shy, the numb,
And brands us with his judgment drum.
A class should be a sacred flame,
Not crucible of guilt and shame.
Yet here we walk on blistered stone,
With hollow hearts and hope o’erthrown.
So let this verse be requiem’s cry,
For every tear we blinked to dry.
For every voice he left undone
We mourn the bell he would not rung.

This poem speaks to the emotional toll of authoritarian teaching — where absence is punished, vulnerability mocked, and students are reduced to numbers in a ledger. It’s a protest against pedagogical cruelty and a tribute to those who suffer in silence. A requiem for the unheard voices in classrooms that should have been sacred.

#education #teacher #studentvoice #academictrauma #spokenword #requiem #empathy #classroom #poeticactivism #modernpoetry

sumaiya jannat 13h

“Glassborn”

They were born of glass four shards in bloom,
A boy, two girls, then dusk’s last plume.
A house once held their laughter tight,
Till fate collided wrong with right.
Steel kissed steel, and silence screamed,
Two souls erased, two dreams unseamed.
The cradle cracked, the walls grew thin,
And strangers bought the blood within.
One sold to silk, one sold to shame,
One wore a badge, one lost his name.
They wandered near, yet knew not kin,
Their roots erased beneath their skin.
A mother’s love, a borrowed lie,
A party mask, a hollow eye.
She danced for men who broke her grace,
While daughters drowned in silent space.
One touched by hands that should not dare,
One blamed for truth too raw to bear.
One drove the wheel, one wore the crown,
Yet none could see the blood run down.
The eldest searched with fractured breath,
To stitch the seams of scattered death.
But destiny, that cruel disguise,
Kept every answer veiled in lies.
They should have grown in garden light,
But bloomed in shadow, out of sight.
One moment tore their world apart
A crash, a cry, a shattered heart.
So let us hold what time can break,
Each breath, each bond, for memory’s sake.
For life’s a thread, not iron-spun
And glassborn souls can still outrun
The silence.

This poem traces the aftermath of a family torn apart by tragedy — a crash that shattered not just bodies, but identities, futures, and the fragile threads of belonging. It explores how trauma disperses lives into roles, masks, and silence, while one soul searches to stitch the scattered pieces. A meditation on memory, loss, and the quiet rebellion of glassborn resilience.

#family #trauma #loss #grief #identity #kinship #memory #poeticactivism #spokenword #modernpoetry

sumaiya jannat 13h

“Clinical Drift: Phase Shift in White”

Photosynthetic void—walls bereft of chroma,
No photon cascade, no serotonin spectra.
A chamber of entropy,
Where mitosis mourns in monochrome.
Chrono-displacement:
We arrived at 8:20,
But spacetime dilated—
A tachyon chase beneath scalpel orbit.
Dual patient states—pre-op/post-op—
Entangled in Schrödinger’s queue,
Their vitals suspended
In probabilistic purgatory.
The medic? A quantum migrant.
From outpost to outpost,
Clinic to cloud,
A baryon of ambition, unbound by Hippocratic gravity.
Washroom:
A microbial biome of neglect.
Fee:
A kilojoule transaction for placebo empathy.
This isn’t care.
It’s thermodynamic collapse
In a coat of sterilized prestige.
He holds the scalpel,
Yet forgets:
The heart is not a ledger.
And time is not his to hoard.

This poem critiques the mechanization of care in clinical spaces, where time dilates, empathy collapses, and patients become quantum states suspended in bureaucratic purgatory. It blends scientific imagery with emotional truth, challenging the illusion of prestige in systems that forget the human heart. Inspired by real-world medical encounters, it is both protest and elegy.

#healthcare #entropy #quantumpoetry #medicalcritique #empathy #modernmedicine #spokenword #clinicalspaces #poeticactivism #schrodinger

sumaiya jannat 13h

“Coven of Clocks & Hollow Crowns”

I stitched my soul in borrowed thread,
A saree spun from words she said.
She spoke in sequins, smiled in ash
Her promises, a dopamine crash.
I matched her hue, her scripted glee,
While she rehearsed duplicity.
Three days drowned in bridal haze,
My books undone in cosmetic blaze.
No echo came, no tethered grace,
Just phantom friends in photo space.
She played wife to a borrowed man,
While I decayed in waiting’s span.
Her exit plan a lover’s whim,
My day reduced to shadow limb.
Even my blood boiled past its name,
A tongue unleashed in grief and flame.
Better no orbit than one that spins
With hollow crowns and plastic sins.
I learned:
Not all circles are sacred,
And not all smiles are kin.

This poem explores the emotional aftermath of a ceremonial betrayal — where tradition, performance, and borrowed intimacy unravel the speaker’s sense of self. It contrasts the glitter of social rituals with the decay of personal truth, and questions the sanctity of circles that exclude, erase, or commodify connection. A meditation on kinship, grief, and the cost of waiting.

#betrayal #identity #bride #saree #grief #ceremony #loss #feminism #socialperformance #poeticactivism

Moonbeam Dec 2016

The Dark Side of The Doom

Where the hell is humanity
All I see is insanity
Focusing on wars and vanity
Speaking up gets people mad at me
Nothing on this planet is flattering
People starving and freezing; teeth are chattering
Police taking blankets from the homeless
Even in the places where snow is
People are so violent and shameless
Is there even a way to tame this
Or do our efforts further inflame this
It's time to collectively claim this
Look at all the problems that we make
By blindly following the side we take

Politics and money are one in the same
Why must we think life is all about fame
We have so much more that we can do
Like question why the sky isn't blue
What are those lines that expand all day long
Is questioning their safety so ******* wrong

Everything on this planet is basically toxic
And people wonder why we're all so sick
Plastic, chemicals, metals, and poisonous water
Feeding processed foods to your son and your daughter
When the aquifers are empty, what will you think
You're going to rely on toxic water and oil to drink?

I swear to God you need to look around
In the sky, at the world, and what's underground

Did you know that bees are life and so is clean food
If the elite continues to rule, we're all ******* *******
False flags, terrorism, furthering their plan
For a one world government, that rules all the land
We're already slaves, but it will get so much worse
If we continue to forget that we all come first
Nobody should get left behind or feel like they're stuck
Let's show each other love and actually give a ****

Selfishness and narcissism run rampant in our world
Walking around like we own the place, our lips slightly furled
Looking into each other's eyes but there's not much there
I see shallow complacency, that infamous fluoride stare

The world is going down, unless we turn it around
Look at Syria, Palestine, and all areas that surround
Fear, violence, and terrorism is life
No husband is safe, no child, no wife
They're eating the grass
And rotten food from the trash
Starving and freezing throughout the winter
They can't even leave their towns, they're stuck in the center
They've been targeted by rulers of this sick twisted place
The banksters are evil they don’t belong in our space

How can they be so far removed from the rest of the planet
If anything benefits us they make sure to ban it
LSD, mushrooms, cannabis, and DMT Anything good for cancer: B17 and CBD
Essential oils are what's next on their list
I swear if they take my lavender I'll be so ******* ******

Alternative energy is more than suppressed
The need for clean energy should be more vocally addressed
But when it is, someone intervenes and hides great inventions
Laws and patents are created to stop our intentions
For a clean world and a safe place
The elite couldn't care less about the lives that they waste
They build on the dark side of the moon or possibly Mars
They're preparing themselves a new world, while they **** up ours

I only feel solace when I look into space....
Why must it be so hard to save the human race?

#love #homeless #empowerment #wakeup #corruption #knowthyself #nwo #killuminati #poeticactivism #fuckmonsanto