Written by Najah Rasheedah
It is cold and undead here
no tales or handled trials
they came to gather souls here
to foot the measureless mile
“All Hark!”, the angels cry
as the demons watch and smirk
their claws stretched out and mouths agape
the edge of time is nigh
Written by Najah Rasheedah
She untethers her tongue from the language she knew
so well
to form new shapes, new sounds
Lingua Franca from the days long gone
she will never belong
but she will know herself
A stranger in a strange land is
home to her
an idea-not for a lover or clout-
but an answer to a calling..
wanderlust is longing for her
hiraeth has found a home in her
she will know what turn to take
in her wake...
...she is unfolding...
© Najah Raheedah Monroe. All rights reserved.
Spring 2025: The Servant
She felt oppressed. Boxed in by her own choosing. To obtain another degree of knowledge and ignore the degrees of wisdom gained? Springing ahead five steps and tumbling down hill without grace. All for one and all alone. Indentured to all, but herself- and herself is locked in a cell and in the cell grazing through the virtual portal of make-believe. Soul is foul with impatience, but knows that She will quake, crack, and break under pressure.She will listen to the true master that she must serve.
Summer 2025: The Seagull
A lover. A whirl-wind ,of sorts, in the Court of Hearts. Every neglect unraveled on the floor, like the cunning Cleopatra rolling from her rug towards her magnate. She believed him. She followed his footprints in the sand towards a cliff straight into the North Sea. He transformed, spread his grey-white wings, and took flight. She watched him fly away and his bird song did not reach her ears, but blended into the frenzy of the cries in the sky. He did not look back for her and she did not call out to him. Her raw-heart burning blue, she fell silently into the cold arms of his ocean…
Autumn 2025: Jackal Red
A jackal howls in ecstacy. Earthly pleasures tie and bind her in red. She did not know that her plan was rehearsed and cursed to serve the silent watchers. Messages of urgency fall on deaf ears and a death of She is near. The lacy mask she wore to all the balls; enthralling and enticing the ravenous beasts once more. So thrilling and willing to play the game with nameless faces, no traces of the places they’ve been; just smiles and trials with judges that hold grudges who demand all of her will. she kneels before the court and offers her neck freely, as she grins softly, revealing sharp jagged teeth.
Winter 2025: The Initiate
She is worn
mending torn pieces of her flesh together again
Tara’s green crown aglow with secret gardens unfolding,
full of herbs to keep away the chill of winter’s breath
to clarify the fray of yester-year’s form
Green mother calms her
showers her with verdant arms of compassion
and patience
a crown, she wears, of mint, rosemary, and pride
Green mother claims her
all doubts and woes
for she knows
she grows
her roots deep into her purpose
written by Najah Rasheedah
