Category Archives: Original Poems

Poem / Song Lyrics: Nowhere



That’s how

I see who I am

My humanity

Is questionable



Where am I from?


Where do I belong?



Worthless document

They think it is fake

My nationality

Defies fascism



Where am I from?


Where do I belong?



Just pigment

Yet, key in my life

My race

A construct



Where am I from?


Where do I belong?



The truth

Although, recovering it, is painful

My ethnicity

Most important



Where am I from?


Where do I belong?



African heritage

Stolen, erased, trashed and enslaved

My soul

Invisible essence



Where am I from?


Where do I belong?”


By Emilie F. Yaakaar

All Rights Reserved © 2017




Poem: History is Today

“Back in school

I was taught about tragedies

Wars, deaths, genocides

The darkest crimes

Which were supposed to be

Things of the past

Never again seemed a true promise

That I have never seen materialised

Apathy has always been

Evilness’s best friend

While action has always been

Goodness’s inseparable pal

Yet, good and evil

Are misleading results of power

Which is used for greatness

That tends to end in restlessness

One of the present cases

Were promises are just words

Is the Holy Land

Also known as Palestine

A forgotten land

A disputed land

A deathly land

Where justice is on demand

Occupation has wrecked the nation

An illicit wall broke community bonds

Spread checkpoints are playgrounds for mortification

Inexplicable arrests cause daily unrest

Racist profiling is okay for the security of Israel

Apartheid is normalised through lies

War crimes don’t matter because all lives no longer matter

And settlements expand in indigenous land

But be aware, Palestine is more than repression

It is a beautiful region sweetened by nature and art

Mother of Abrahamic faiths

Father of the holiest places

Home of delightful culinary arts

Grave of the bravest hearts

Bed of intelligent dreamers with vivid minds

Full of beings like the rest of us

Resistance is the norm

It is a pledge kept by sword

Spread through writing

Maintained alive with turmoil

The right to return

To live and breathe

Is at the heart of a revolution

That can’t remain unaddressed

Liberation is pursued in different ways

Calls for nonviolence and diplomacy

Often silence rather than make change

Giving more power to the oppressor

Determining the way to liberation is not my task

Supporting the struggle is my right

Which I will happily exercise

Till there is a free Palestine”


-Written inspired by my time in Palestine in August 2016. You can read about it here:

By Emilie H. Featherington

All Rights Reserved © 2016

Poem: Just a Number II

“You touched the sand with tears in your eyes

Grateful that you made it alive

You gave thanks for the new chance

Faith made you the warrior you are now

You looked around examining your peers

Some faces from the beginning are no longer there

You looked ahead thinking of the future

Leaving your lifejacket on the ground together with your fears

The beach is two-faced

It hosts both funerals and celebrations

The land is inviting

Disguises its dangers with uncertainty

The sky is grey

Has witnessed as much life as death

You walked miles with nothing but hope

Just to settle in a place that resembles hell

You endured storms and threats

Waiting months for a change of heart

You constructed a new community from the scratch

Some months later, half of it was destructed

You protested and sought justice

Threading your voice in an act of defiance

The plants are stunted

Representing life that can no longer grow

The rain is heavy

A mix of with tears and blood

The fire is unpredictable

It comes, erases, hurts and leaves

You showed me your church

Shared your beliefs and sorrows with me

You asked me for socks and shoes

With your innocent young heart that is too demonized

You talked to me about your ambitions

Privilege and injustice never became so palpable

You invited me to your house for tea

Yet I can’t invite you to mine”


-Written inspired by my volunteering experiences in the refugee camps in France (you can read about them here:

Link for “Just A Number” Part 1:

By Emilie H. Featherington

All Rights Reserved © 2016

Poem: Erroneous Honesty

“It will get better

A short promise

Which has never materialised


It is full of power and hope

Which do nothing but deceive

And anger a hurt soul


Why is no one frank?

I wish the revealed truth wasn’t subjective

Naivety is to blame for my heart’s death


Suddenly nothing matters anymore

Apathy is my new invisible friend

Silent, but as toxic as its predecessor


Everything I loved

I craved and even fought for

Has become everything I hate and want far away


When did my favourite days of the year became the least favourite ones?

My birth and the birth of Christ

Days of sorrow rather than joy now


All because of lies

Nobody likes to be played

And without apologies, the game doesn’t end


At least I’m not a wishful thinker anymore

Too familiar with arrogance to expect anything better

Just wish people thought before acting and hurting others


As if growing up in care, black, poor, and a woman wasn’t enough

I can’t lie, I try to love my identity, but it sucks

To be sane, I have to pretend these handicaps aren’t real


I don’t enlighten myself to seem smart

I don’t want to be an activist for praise

In my life these aren’t options, it is either do them or die


Struggles don’t make me strong

They just make me wish I was never born

While weakening my mind, unleashing my dark side


They say scars make you perfect

But, what if they don’t heal?

Infections like mine kill


Gratitude is so important

Still, it won’t tame the pain I have endured

Nor the silent calls for explanations


I cherish my professional career

My studies, my grades

And the few friendships I have


My friends are the biggest gifts life could have ever given me

Not many, I can count them with my hands’ fingers

Yet, invaluable, life-saving and matchless



However, I can’t stand

Who I am, who I am surrounded by

When I didn’t choose our ties and I can’t left them behind


They influence my life too much

Burning my neurons, altering my hormones

Clotting my vessels, asphyxiating my lungs


Also, attractiveness remains my most unattainable goal

Love for me is a dangerous fairy tale

And I’m not a princess who thrives in chaos


So much ache that can’t be spoken about

And can barely be written about

Repression becomes the only option


I used to be optimistic

I believed in the possibility of change

I thought good times were coming



After twenty years of seeing a cycle that never ends

I buried my confidence and did a funeral for it


What did I do to deserve this curse?

I’m starting to believe in all the stories about magic

This bad luck is supernatural


I guess, not everyone is born to live

Some are just born to survive

Be productive for the world and die


Facing reality may have saved my mind

I no longer poison myself with denial

My mind is clearer now that my illusions evaporated


Everything might stay the same, probably will worsen as always

At least I won’t waste time wishing anymore, since now I know

It won’t get better”


-Written with the motive of my 20th birthday.


By Emilie H. Featherington

All Rights Reserved © 2016

Poem: Keywords


What was lost

What was stolen

What was hated

What was misinterpreted



The silenced words

The burned scripts

The enslaved souls

The destroyed science



Which aren’t open for you

Which systematically exclude you

Which you still enter

Which you, against the odds, conquer



That upholds supremacies

That reinforces stereotypes

That deconstructs binaries

That frees the oppressed



When fears meet the present

When hate becomes more than mistrust

When hope resurrects the past

When lies can’t be left behind



The ignored formula

The uncomfortable necessity

The sought goal

The ultimate achievement



Who suppressed it and hid from it?

Who found it and suffered because of it?

Who gives it and owns it?

Who practices it and self-applies it?



That breaks oxidised chains

That alters unfair imbalances

That strengthens free minds

That recovers the voice of some



Where traditions were buried with no funeral

Where the dispossessed laid dead, waiting for an uncertain end

Where naive settlers became privileged

Where battles are still being fought for the unknown



The cruelest game

The deadliest desire

The end of the tunnel

The most honourable sacrifice



How it challenges the mainstream

How it contradicts misguided narratives

How it offers alternatives

How it nurtures difference

That makes us less indifferent”


-Written after being inspired by the #DecoloniseSussex week events, particularly the conference on Monday the 11th of April (Decolonizing Education: Towards Academic Freedom In Pluriversality) and the talks & performances by poet Asma Elbadawi and rapper Akala on Wednesday the 13th of April.

By Emilie H. Featherington

All Rights Reserved © 2016