Our first contributor is from Mongolia, Agatha Khasimkhan and she is a poet.

 

The King Behind the Mask

 

From the distant pages of history,

I saw a young man wearing a crown.

Amid the sounds of war,

I saw, from afar,

the silent pain within your heart.

 

Young king,

brave heart,

life of endurance—

your destiny

was far too short.

 

With every victory I read about,

my heart fills with pride.

And every time I learn of your suffering,

my heart quietly weeps

for you.

 

You walked the path of Christ;

I walk the path of Allah.

Two children

from two different worlds.

 

And yet,

perhaps the heart

does not ask about religion,

nor does it count

the years between us.

 

If I had been there in your time,

I would not have fallen for your crown,

but for your strength to endure.

Not for the king,

but for the young man

who deserved to be loved.

 

I would have held your wounded hand

and made you smile each morning.

On the darkest nights,

I would have simply sat

silently beside you.

 

But I was born far too late,

and you left this world far too soon.

Between us remained

centuries upon centuries

that would never let us meet.

 

So there is only one thing

I can give you—

a poem.

 

Even if I cannot reach you,

I can love you.

Even if I cannot meet you,

I can remember you.

 

If your short life

was ever missing someone’s love,

then from centuries away,

there is a heart

that still loves you today.

 

You remained

as a piece of history,

while I cannot leave you

a history of my own—

 

only

this one poem

written for you.

                                    Once upon a dream  by Pete Cook-Jones

 

The cuckoo in my cuckoo clock is sick, it feels unwell

 

Then I stepped on a thought today, it rang just like a bell

 

 

There’s fish floating through the room, whispering forgotten names

 

 

My cat looks on while deep in sleep, my nightmares call him James

 

 

While silence wears a large red hat, and time just sits there eating

 

 

The moon blinked from inside a drawer, the snowflakes formed were fleeting

 

 

An elephant sang out of key, although the words were charming

 

 

It fell out the tree and was all at sea, its screams were quite alarming

 

 

A mirror in the hall refused to give me my reflection

 

 

I argued it was mine to use, or lose, and to follow my direction

 

 

I awoke inside the story deep although my eyes were still asleep

 

 

Then the clock finally smiled in rhyme

 

 

I think I'll do this again some time