Spoken Word Poetry
Spoken word poetry is poetry that is intended for performance. It can encompass rap, story-telling, theater, hip-hop, rock, jazz, blues, and even folk music. Often using repetition, rhyme, word play, and improv, spoken word poetry often talks about politics, social justice, race, community, and powerful emotions. Spoken word poetry is similar to slam poetry and can use music, dance, and sound.
The Keymaker
by Preeya Ahmed
(Tata=Grandpa)
Dear Tata, I hope heaven has a mailbox,
Or I just sent this to an unknown address.
Does the “message not sent” message not exist?
I don’t hear that “bing!”
Although maybe I’m just not listening.
I still have your luxurious locks,
The ones that tricked me that you would never die,
The thick, persistent black hair that sheltered my eyes with such a believable lie.
How could you mask time itself so perfectly?
I wish I could do that;
Mask away all the pain that comes with the nature of time,
Make a song sound so extravagant with a note so flat,
Have the ability to rewind the clock,
Rewind my life map.
My heart’s keymaker tried,
But she didn’t do a good job replacing the key,
I don’t blame her,
Cause I’m too smart to pretend and be a sugar-coated me.
After all,
You can’t make a key with coping lies,
A key full of laughter and acceptance of the past,
With a colorful door knob for its lock,
A white ribbon surrounding the door knob to last;
That was the expectation.
But obviously that was not this situation.
Instead, I got happy memories turned sad with grief,
A blue ribbon,
And a door knob stained with tears.
Cause the only time I had the key was when it was you and me.
All those years,
My heart’s keymaker didn’t do a good job;
I never got back what I lost,
I didn’t get my key to my lock.
I have faith that you are near;
I only wish you were with me, right now, right here.
Dear Tata, I hope heaven has a mailbox.
by Preeya Ahmed
(Tata=Grandpa)
Dear Tata, I hope heaven has a mailbox,
Or I just sent this to an unknown address.
Does the “message not sent” message not exist?
I don’t hear that “bing!”
Although maybe I’m just not listening.
I still have your luxurious locks,
The ones that tricked me that you would never die,
The thick, persistent black hair that sheltered my eyes with such a believable lie.
How could you mask time itself so perfectly?
I wish I could do that;
Mask away all the pain that comes with the nature of time,
Make a song sound so extravagant with a note so flat,
Have the ability to rewind the clock,
Rewind my life map.
My heart’s keymaker tried,
But she didn’t do a good job replacing the key,
I don’t blame her,
Cause I’m too smart to pretend and be a sugar-coated me.
After all,
You can’t make a key with coping lies,
A key full of laughter and acceptance of the past,
With a colorful door knob for its lock,
A white ribbon surrounding the door knob to last;
That was the expectation.
But obviously that was not this situation.
Instead, I got happy memories turned sad with grief,
A blue ribbon,
And a door knob stained with tears.
Cause the only time I had the key was when it was you and me.
All those years,
My heart’s keymaker didn’t do a good job;
I never got back what I lost,
I didn’t get my key to my lock.
I have faith that you are near;
I only wish you were with me, right now, right here.
Dear Tata, I hope heaven has a mailbox.