Vision+Voice

THE DRAIN is a memory,
I am ready to pitch the baseball,
I aim right for the glove,
I come set.

My mom says, “right down the middle Bran,”
I lift my leg and throw the ball,
I release too early,
the ball goes flying way over my mom’s head,
the ball hops and jumps down the street,
It “bangs” off the curb and keeps rolling,
We yell, “no!”

The ball rolls into THE DRAIN,
my mom looks at me and sighs, “go get another one,”
and we do it all over again.

A hope and a wish,
the dying desire,
of just a
Vision,
Just a flurry
Of a view
Of our screwed up
Made up
Fake of real currency
Fat, tall stacks from floor to ceiling.
Spit out across the hall, the drawers, across the walls.
And whatever happened to gold and silver?
Not this fraudulent trash you lay out in front of me.
Real worth, hard work, and yet fake value,
It’s just paper, paper, and ink
Controls our lives, yeah thanks government.
For messing up
This country we live in
What the heck is life for
If our worth is determined
By numbers.
Yeah, it all comes down to numbers
And facing the facts,
Yeah, facts.
Those are kinda important.
Forget about facts, hmm world we live in?
Forget about the lives that you’re destroying?
The people, the ones that you pretend to invest in?
The victims.
The worth of ones
that you,
the leeches,
decide to suck up?
How does that play out?
And in our FAVOR?!
Yeah no,
I think not.
Who do you think you’re kidding?
You may be fooling them
The others
the ones without a sense of your doing,
But we, the people,
(the smart ones at least)
who choose to resist
To take a risk
To raise our voices,
Say
“Let’s end this madness. This stupid system,
that we’re forced through, yes violently forced. And we, the people, who are supposed to decide what this country is doing? But how, with all these empty promises, empty words? This human, this idiotic human is put above the rest of us who never got a chance? And just how is that fair, hmm? Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
You say it’s a democracy, but not for me.
You say we’re all even but that will never come to be.
No, we’ll never be even,
Just look at the facts.
The numbers and the stats everyone pretends to forget
The life that we’re leading
Never meant anything.
How can it if the numbers are all that you see?
Not the person,
but the value put upon them.
And by who you may be wondering,
Just ask the numbers.

A small town in the North
With Cornfields stretching f o r e v e r like interstates
And little shops,family owned

A park that people of all ages visit
Especially young kids who want to more than fidget
A local pool 5 dollars a person
With a long slide that makes you ribbon to get in line

The doughnut shop a w a l k i n g distance away
That sells a wide array

Always friendly people
Who b b e with joy at the simplist thing
u l

The Centerville I know & love
Is up in the
e
v
o
b
a

A
Pilot had been
Sick for a while
And a lot of people
Weren’t getting to where they
Needed to be for the holidays
Then one person stepped
Up to be the pilot and
Nobody knew who he was
Because he kept hiding in the
Corner of the cockpit
Until one person saw him
“Slimer,” and Slimer said,
“I’m so hungry I could eat a buffet.”

In the library
A girl holding a book.
“The Hunger Games” It read.
The girl held it
And read the summary
Smile on her face.

She turned to go check it out
“Just this one?” a woman asked.
She had dark hair in a braid.
She looked like a movie star.
“Yes please” The girl said grinning.
“This is a story I think you’ll like”
There was a pause that lasted
Forever
As the woman scanned the book.
“There you go” The woman said.

As the girl left
She spotted behind the table
A bow and arrow.

There are bells ringing
people are singing
long lines
all the time

family comes
all kinds of traditions
happen on this day
from all over the world

gifts are given
smiles on faces
empty stomaches are like
santa after this day

when it ends
familys slight deflate
but it is a day
to remember

A hand
F
L
Y
I
N
G

across the paper
Pencil in hand
Trying to influence
Trying to make a stand
Color on the paper
And on my hand

Sculpting figures
Out of clay
Out of paper
I can do this all day

“Ring”!
That’s all for today

The child lay down,
The monster was still,
He wanted to say hi,
The child knew he was real.

The monster was different,
He was the child’s age,
The monster just wanted a friend,
But the child raged.

The child wanted a “normal” friend,
One like you and me,
The child didn’t want the monster,
The monster was told to flee.

The next day at school,
The child saw some peers,
The ones that were like you and me,
The child looked over at their sneers.

They were better than the monster,
So the child went to talk,
They looked at him when he approached,
Before he could speak, they started to mock.

The child felt hopeless,
He felt weak,
Before he knew what was happening,
The air began to speak.

It told the bullies to leave,
The child was still,
And that’s when the monster knew,
The child was real.

I am from Pakistan
where gunshots are fired when birth happens
like a war zone.
I am from the schoolyard.
(Scary, frightening
on a very hot day.)
I am from Lady Margaret Hall
where I fought for girl’s rights,
but they never listened.

I am from two brothers,
from Atal and Khushal.
I am from Ziauddin and Toor Yousafzai
and the land of gunfire BOOM.
From”your opinion is stupid!” and They’ll never listen!”
I am from Grandfather
who helped me with my opinion
and saw a lot of pride.

I am from the bus where I got shot,
“Are you ok”
“Stay with us”
and rushed to the hospital.
From the inspirational speeches
of never giving up, The
Noble peace award.

The school that I missed.
Recovering from the hit, that
changed my life.
Who shared the love with me and my thoughts
and told me not to give up
I am from the land I love
called Pakistan.