By Meena (1957-1987) founding leader of Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan (RAWA)
I'm the woman who has awoken
I've arisen and become a tempest through the ashes of my burnt children
I've arisen from the rivulets of my brother's blood
My nation's wrath has empowered me
My ruined and burnt villages fill me with hatred against the enemy,
I'm the woman who has awoken,
I've found my path and will never return.
I've opened closed doors of ignorance
I've said farewell to all golden bracelets
Oh compatriot, I'm not what I was
I'm the woman who has awoken
I've found my path and will never return.
I've seen barefoot, wandering and homeless children
I've seen henna-handed brides with mourning clothes
I've seen giant walls of the prisons swallow freedom in their ravenous stomach
I've been reborn amidst epics of resistance and courage
I've learned the song of freedom in the last breaths,
in the waves of blood and in victory
Oh compatriot,Oh brother, no longer regard me as weak and incapable
With all my strength I'm with you on the path of my land's liberation.
My voice has mingled with thousands of arisen women
My fists are clenched with the fists of thousands compatriots
Along with you I've stepped up to the path of my nation,
To break all these sufferings all these fetters of slavery,
Oh compatriot, Oh brother, I'm not what I was
I'm the woman who has awoken
I've found my path and will never return.
Empathy
By 16-year-old Amy Maddox of Bargersville, Indiana
He prayed - it wasn't my religion.
He ate - it wasn't what I ate.
He spoke - it wasn't my language.
He dressed - it wasn't what I wore.
He took my hand - it wasn't the color of mine.
But when he laughed - it was how I laughed,
And when he cried - it was how I cried.
Home
By Amanda, an 11-year old child who grew up in a home filled with domestic violence, March 26, 1991
Home is where the heart is,
A place to hide away;
Where children learn to love,
Where they spend a rainy day.
A safety net to fall in,
When the world is cruel.
A place to grow your dreams in,
Where kids play after school.
The place you rest,
When you are down.
No matter where you build your nest,
The country or in town -
Home is where the family is,
A place they all can claim -
Ask anyone where they feel best,
And home is where they'll name.
Through the ages home has been
A heaven to us all.
Home is where you should feel safe,
Within those four walls.
But home is sometimes just a house,
When all the love is gone.
And sometimes it's the very place,
Where you feel most alone.
For sometimes people ruin home,
By filling it with hate.
The pain and anger grow & grow,
Until it's just too late.
All it takes is a single thorn,
To make the family bleed.
To break apart a happy home,
One bad apple's all you need.
And home becomes a place to fear,
A place no child should be.
Abuse has torn my happy home,
And caused my heart to flee.
And so I hid, my home avoid,
Because of one bad thorn -
That grew & made things worse & worse,
Till hate for it was born.
I must steer clear of harms way,
And dodge the danger there.
I must find a safer place,
The question now is "where?"
Death To Hate
By Ian Glass, age 17
A world separated by colors and creeds,
filled with too many bigots that nobody needs.
They try to make you believe that its not okay
to think for yourself if you are gay.
They will constantly come back and attack you
and you're family if you are black.
They will treat you the same and won't question
what you do until they find out that you are a Jew.
They will lock you away, keep you under the gun
if they find out that you are a native son.
The world doesn't need people that hate.
And for the innocent it may already be too late.
Deep down inside we are all the same.
All that separates us are labels and names.
Don't sit there and let the hate take place.
Just so that you can save face.
Stand up and fight and raise your fist.
And say that's enough and resist.
We must stand together because time just won't wait.
We must stand as one and bring death to hate.
Today
By Sami Schalk, age 14
What if today,
We all went blind,
Would we still know,
Black from white?
What if today,
We all went blind,
Would our nations
Continue to fight?
What if today,
We all went blind,
Would we know one race,
From another?
What if today,
We all went blind,
Would you mistake me,
For your brother?
And if today,
We all went blind,
The world becoming,
An unknown place.
Would you be able,
To trust me?
Without seeing the color,
Of my face?
If today,
We all went blind,
Today would be the day,
When we would all,
Hate ourselves,
For what we thought,
But did not say.
For the Boy
By Erin, age 16
I cried for the boy who never knew me.
I cried for the boy because he was different.
I cried for the boy when they teased him.
I cried for the boy when they hurt him.
I cried for the boy when they took it too far.
I cried for the boy when he took his life into his own hands and left this world.
I cried for the boy because I saw it all happen.
I cried because I never said anything to stop it.
I cried because I laughed at their jokes.
I cried because he never hurt anyone.
I cried because he was alone.
I cried for his family.
I cried for not talking to him when I knew I could have been a friend.
I cried for the life he will never experience.
I cried for the boy I should have known.
Many of the creative expressions included on this page - and other poetry about hate, intolerance and violence - can be found at http://www.stop-the-hate.org.
