Jael Uribe

Statement

From the Dominican Republic where she is President of Women Poets International and organizer of the Woman Scream Poetry Festival.

“we find many words for war, but few for peace.”In my humble English, I want to say how much truth lives in those words! As for me, it is not the first time I’m asked for poems about peace, and when I searched among my writing, all I found were poems of war! not the word WAR literally, but most of my poems are about my own personal struggle with anger, pain, and survival, with the war inside of me… the other morning, I’ve searched on my computer for the word PEACE and nothing came up, which made me think. What am I doing to make the difference? Is writing about peace a long term solution or is it working inside of me a more efficient way to contribute to world peace? Will a more settled me teach others a lesson of what real peace is? As I’m sure this is what Sati Raxena means when she speaks about no need to search for peace as this is already inside of us. I understand what she said perfectly.

I have been fighting my demons for so long for a better me, and yes! As all of us, I’ve been resistant…but never felt more peace in my conscience as I feel now after that so much struggle I‘ve been through.

I do believe we need to push further. I think in a way, that’s what a war means, do we have to face war in other to find peace? Do war helps in a bizarre way to appreciate it? Some of us seemed to need the struggle to open our eyes…as your poem for peace request opened mine. Does the lack of the word peace on my computer means I’ve never cared for others suffering? Some of us are warm in our beds, never lived the brutality, but media shows us another side of war, and ugly one. A side we can choose not to see by turning off the TV. Yes! In a way we are resistant to believe such evil exists. Hummm…it still makes me think.

There is always resistance, as I've said before, Waqas in a good example...specially since many people ask me every time if my poetry festival can help women facing violence...but then I read stories of a woman who wrote to me that she was woman shut down and left to die by her husband because he was jealous of her success. I receive many other emails from women who tell me how important participating or just attending Woman Scream is for them since it has changed their lives; it made them braver and more aware of the talents they got but never dared to show till then. And that's exactly what keeps me going every day, namely the hope I'm changing one conscience at a time. In the final end, there is no way to change the masses all of the sudden, but one person at the time can be positively influenced by us and become our muse...

I do believe we can make changes with poetry and, by becoming good examples for others. I feel I do it everyday thanks to Woman Scream, and thanks to my own believes and hard work. I do believe in POETRY.”

As seen on TV

We heard them rumbling

We heard them speak

Gunshots leading symphonies

over Gaza’s ceiling

You can buy them with your credit card,

Don’t miss this opportunity:

Death children corpses over a barbecue

Women crying about them

praying for a cease fire

Don’t you dare miss the 50% discount.

Call now!

Get the best price

for human brutality.

In the murdered peace

We shall be buried in the silent breeze

under the eyelids of absence,

inside the colour between our eyes,
in the waving rags of lost peace.
Facing the defeated sun
with our mouths drained of words.

We shall be dead when the birds’ song stops,

and ravens come to party on the battlefield,
while the germinating seeds of anger shall flourish
in the graveyard

to ask us the price of our uncertainty.

We shall be lost in the past tense,

swinging unsuccessfully swords into blindness,

wishing for the one we’ve lost in shadows,

paying high taxes for the mending of our broken wings.

Be careful of broken ribs

(To the soldiers)

This city reminds me of terror.

Broken corpses paved on the grey walls

for eyes to see.

Open arms that welcome shadows,

noisy singers with screams out of steam.

This city is lying out loud

about truths for sleeping ears to hear.

Don’t you listen!

Don’t you follow

the path made of red bricks

in front of your feet.

Remembering peace

What is peace if not an incessant beating,
or a flock of birds nesting in our tongue?
If not an open heart shutting out sounds,
then pigeons raining hard on our chests.
But rooted arms embracing these pages,
may be fruits of love extended on earth.
With a fire burning joy,
and a kiss of light making up for all.

And we, inconstant humanity, are ignorant of peace.
What seeds have we planted in our dreams?
What have we done to make things differently?
We say peace by calling for arms
or we say love like saying death
and poke anger through our eyes
with endless apathy.

.
All symbols written on the walls of time
are marked by bullets of our history.
We are lost seekers of troops
changing stars for raining guns.
A bullet pierces our meat.
A shovel penetrates our souls
sending our names to the tomb.

And we, rotten tree roots,
children of dust and wind,
we are fighting for peace in trenches
with blurry weapons rumbling aloud
betting on silence’s kiss.

Too many bullets shut into our bodies,
too many voices blown out as if candles!

What is peace but a call to an end
of the beginning of the cease?
Awareness claiming to be insecurity:
No more war, no more death!

Let us be free.

Being human is embracing life,
with courage and strength.
Killing anger from the inside

by sinking deep to find love within.

To be human isto tear at our throats
crying out for violence-no-more!
Becoming mirrors reflecting conscience
to ignore the night around our heads
like crowspecking on dying pigeons.

Let's sink blindness to the bottom!
filling ourselves of everlasting peace,
from the mouth to the soul,
from the soul to our deaf ears.
Don’ let the words die in our hands!
Let’s long for an end without tragedy.
Because we have opened a crack on hatred’s plan
picking constantly, and ruthless,
the same path of blood.

No more sounds

And so, there was peace.

Her eyes were closed,

she heard them no more:

No more fierce guns echoing outside

No more blood drumming or trembling.

Suddenly silence reigned among villas

and the road forgot the footprints in the mud.

And there was fog in the sky

And there was peace in her soul

She could no longer hear them any more

on her way to eternity.

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Jael Uribe