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Save meUnder roaring sky, amid the angry waves,
heard her piercing cry resound from deep below.
All alone, I fight against the current.
Out in dark, but lead by ardent heart
paying not the slightest heed to
what they call 'Insanity'
Down the depths, the darkness
palls. I find my moon;
dim, the sprites
guide us back,
back to -
VengeanceVitreous eyes aflame with anger:
a fiery pique -
that is no more a feeling;
it will have you encircled.
A face-off is imminent.
'There's no where to hide.'
Imaginary fettersBlazing squinting eyes
that watchful shadow
keeps sidling behind.
He bound himself with fetters
of sneering looks,
and opinions, if only he'd see,
The soul attire of conduct
and uttered words,
reflected but sham image
of the inside.
He scrutinized his portrait
in the looking-through glass,
but could not recognize the one
he had become.
He perceived he lived more
suppressing and profoundly hiding
that insipid life did
when he'd unleashed
his real core.
Years in her eyes Every birthday she wakes up early; and with her intimate diary and a pen she gaily trudges up a green hill - a fifteen-minute walk from where she lived. Under the one solemnly standing, big old tree there she sits down. It is the usual time she looked back at a year passed. A year torn between rapture and grief; hours of anxiety, and moments of relief; depressing falls, and soaring spirits. A year where there are chapters stained with the loss of the ones we loved, and others ornamented with such time we had with wonderful friends, and rimmed with rather great acquaintances.
This year the view from the top was overwhelmingly breath-taking that she'd to contemplate the beauty of nature for some time; and after taking few last glimpses of the gently bright orange disc, before it was far too unbearable to be an object for her delicate vitreous eyes, she went to her old seat. As she opened her diary, the morning breeze softly rustled stirring the withered leaves o
The story of my life One magically beautiful day or splendidly starry night, somebody accosts me and says 'I love you.', instantly lifting me up on top of the world. Days pass and I ,abruptly, take a shot right in the core blowing me off the edge. As I fall I see all our gorgeous memories fading away up amidst the clouds, except for two moments that stick to my head: the moment when they made me the happiest person in the world; and that when they took away everything leaving me with another stab in my heart..everything goes black.
I open my eyes to such ghastly atmosphere! Having reached everything around me, the fire of boredom devours any interest in them I might have, or even had have! Dull and gaunt, is what they had become. I shut myself up in my room dodging those intrusive inquires, though in consciousness meant but good - I do know, but that doesn't make them any less bothering: alluding to pallor, absence of mind, and loss of appetite to do anything. I just wanna be al
Brutal worldAwoke he was in dark and horrid place,
alone with neither guide nor shred of light,
where path of doubt and self-denial he'd face,
along with whispers that disturb the night.
'Won't clock's ticking ever cease?' Therefore -
a quick, but prudent, decision shall be made;
for chilly snags of life did freeze my core,
'O God, that night appears quite loath to fade.'
He wandered here and there with slouching back;
he had to find that starry skied-road,
to cast the arrows of light upon that track
and bury the weight of such a heavy load.
'Forsaking kindness or, retaining it?,
in such a brutal world which one does fit?'
Orchard of LoveO, orchard of love, how glamorous you are!
The moment she entered such effusion,
her soul was transfigured with elation;
the enthralling scenery silenced every scruple,
and had her vision bound to the merry present.
Amid the bewitching blossoms she danced,
and swayed in the gentle breeze;
conceived she'd got it all -
for what can be more worthy?
A passionate adoration, a poetic atmosphere,
aflame with his mesmerising charm.
She yielded utterly;
a feather carried by his wind.
A dainty sunflower under the star;
her sustenance for life; her beacon of dreams.
She loved him with no fear nor limits,
forgetting about her own will.
Insipid, she'd grown to him;
a change he desired.
Rebuffing all the heralds, she soared high.
He broke her wings.
What once was the pulse of glee,
is now draining tears.
Such change made her perceive:
not every love story a fairy-tale.
O, orchard of love, how sham you are!
Soul Painting Immersing the brush in a glass of water; dipping it in the palette within her left hand mixing up some colours; and then gently gliding the damp thick tip of the brush over the canvas, bringing her imagination to life. She kept doing this for some hours, and paid no heed to the late hour, nor to her sleepy state - for she was about to finish her masterpiece...
Beth is a very talented painter, and a passionate one. Painters usually care too much about details, but she was overly fastidious a person. Her only indulgence existed amongst her painting tools. Her life was a bit of a mess; she was never happy in her social life; she'd got no lover, nor friends, but enough fans. She was deficient in many noble merits that the power of fame had long ago covered - come on who's perfect!- so in real life not everyone liked her personality. As an artist, she could perceive the power of colours; she'd always entertained that colours' greatest power is being so meaningful
.the rabbits twitch
in their sleep;
of red bitten necks
wet with spit,
the birds dream of their eggs
and runny -
the mice dream of hearing
that tabby cat scream
as the teeth of life rip
a mother's love is boundlessi sat outside and i heard the crickets chirp
i sat outside and smoked a cigarette and listened to the sounds of space, the whir of neptune's rings in my ears
i sat outside and thought that if i died nothing would matter and that the world is pseudoscience and the stars are dying just as we are, every time someone dies a star does too and when they are forgotten the stars light stops reaching us
what if the trees know who we are and they are afraid of us
what if they hate us, senseless killers and energy consumers
what if the earth is living and we are the maggots gnawing away at her skin and her insides and sometimes she tries to stop us with hurricanes and tidal waves and sometimes she just lets us be because she's come to love us. like stockholm syndrome
what if that's what karma is
she sees us hurt each other and disciplines us like the mother she is
she wants us to love but we do not love
father space cradles her in his arms because she cries, she paved the way for us to live when
Once before...Once before
This planet was blue and green
But now I only see
Remains and memories-
Of a long forgotten evergreen.
Disappointed I walk between
No one in sight
But only greed
Where did the old Love
And smile go?
This planet was blue and green
Now even the skies ceased to shade-
Now even the Sun turned its back-
Yet we ask
Why should we care
If others feel this way
But we are not others
We are us
But we like it when others-
Are in control
But we like it when others-
Are the puppeteers
And we like it when others-
Tell us what to do
We like to be controlled
Yes, we like nature
Without trees, leaves
in a pool
Crystal, sky blue
in the air.
Clear cloud white
bubbles bursting with
warm summer sunlight.
The cool beauty
against your skin
takes your breath away.
No Fury Like WomanNo Fury Like Woman
No man alive can play dumb
Why the weather bureau gives a woman's name
To a tropical storm
When eventually either comes
She is a raging tempest
Bound to wreck his home
The storm bears woman's fury
And the man must leave them in a hurry
But I stay calm
No storm has the name Puabi
"Please come and rest with Puabi, beloved."
July 24 RainJuly 24 Rain
Tonight the rain cascaded round
Its voice like soft laughter
Then I looked beside me
On the bed
And her soft laughter was like the rain
The heaven may cry or it may laugh
Like the one I love
She was made there for me
She reflects all there is above
Winter's KissI am a child of snow,
An ice-touched queen
With a heart that burns as
Bright as summer and hot as hell.
December calls with frozen chimes
And songs of long dead travellers
Trapped below a frozen lake where
Sails flicker in static motion and history
Gathers dust amongst the rigging of time.
But the spring brings warmth and life and death
To all things I know. The frost melts, the ground thaws
And my heart begins to go cold against the heat of my chest.
I am a child of winter, touched by the cold dead fingers of a witch
Whose kiss tasted like the melting ice of the spring rains.
The MothThe Moth.
For a light unseen by man’s eyes,
But seen and worshiped,
A petticoat of faun,
Dazzled with black streaks.
The skull laughs,
And it mocks,
Between powdered blades,
It stares back,
Just as he too,
Trapped behind, within, and under the glass,
He stares back.
Offerings go unheeded,
No matter his thirst and hunger.
He stares back.
And in those eyes, I see.
I see that light,
The light of which he and his kind chase.
Forever out of reach, yet always present in the dark of night.
He follows this light not once, but twice.
Fate is not kind, nor does she chance a fool twice-fold.
He stares back.
I am not cruel,
I am not fate,
I simply stare back,
And I see a light behind those eyes.
With a twist of a door, and a tip of a crystal world,
He is free,
And the journey to find that light,
That summer nightSitting amid the silky sand grains
that glisten under the silver moonlight;
contemplating the forth worlds above,
I yearn to comprehend the eerie language -
of those forever-glittering gazing eyes.
The bittersweet northern wind rustles
blowing to me the spray of the mild sea;
I shiver, and then,
breathe in the most exquisite smell;
and along their melody my heart merrily leaps
Among so poetic atmosphere, a comet shines:
lighting up the horizon,
enthralling my soul, and mesmerising my mind,
as it sweeps the sky with its luminous tail -
of magical golden dust, and sparkling water drips.
To my feet I shift my weight to bid
my farewells to the transient guest as
it exists the scene;
drooping my eyelids, drowning in a trance,
I make my wish:
'May all the years' nights be as -
fabulous as this summer's splendid one'
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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