ANN CHRISTINE TABAKA
BLIND FOR A DAY
If we all could be blind
just for one day
blind to status
blind to our differences
blind to the color of our brother’s
skin
if we could see with our hearts
not with our eyes
would we act differently than we do
now
If we needed to reach out
to hold out a hand
to help each other along the path
would we live differently than we
do now
for only through blindness
can we begin to see the truth
We are all the same in the dark
LIFE AFTER DEATH
A question is posed, is there life
after death?
There are so many deaths besides
the final one.
We die a little every day, kicked
in the gut by life.
Doors slammed in the face of
opportunity.
Relationships that have gone into
mourning.
Withered flowers, petals falling to
the floor.
Fleeting instances lost from
memory.
Dying embers from extinguishing
fires.
Each a little passing that chips
away at our existence.
Yet life goes on in heartbeats and
breaths,
prevailing beyond the extinctions
that bite at our backs
Until the final demise.
WHAT WE SAY
Sometimes words are not enough
But words are all you have
At times the words are accessible
Other times they are convoluted
You cannot take words back
Hoping things will turn out right
It is impossible to extract
The day out of the night
You know what you want to say
You know what you need to do
But the words sour in your mouth
And never seem to form
As you wait for the right time
Which never seems to come
And so you continue to
Swallow your own pride
ANN CHRISTINE TABAKA
ANN
CHRISTINE TABAKA is a nominee for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She lives in
Delaware, USA. She is a published poet
and artist. She loves gardening and cooking.
Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are Page & Spine,
The Paragon Journal, The Literary Hatchet, The Stray Branch, Trigger Fish
Critical Review, Foliate Oak Review, Bindweed Magazine, The Metaworker, Raven
Cage Ezine, RavensPerch, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, Longshot
Island, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, Scryptic Magazine Ann Arbor Review.
Well done Christine!
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