Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Sep 2018 AditiBoo
Iska
Pain-ters
 Sep 2018 AditiBoo
Iska
Scattered words
Broken frame
Was once a lovely picture
Now just faded paint.
 Sep 2018 AditiBoo
egghead
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."
 Sep 2018 AditiBoo
Dev A
I went through my pictures today
And I realized I used to be happy.
Something I haven’t been in a while.

The person I see in those photos
Is not the same person looking back through the mirror;
There’s a faint resemblance, nothing more.

I used to smile and laugh, always so joyful;
I still do, but it’s no longer genuine
No longer healthy.

People used to say my smile made their day
And all I could think was
It’s just a smile, how can it make such a difference?

I never understood what they meant
When they said the smile should be seen in the eye;
That there should be a glitter, a sparkle.

Now when I laugh, when I smile,
It’s polite, lacking reassurance
Missing the light heartened warmth

I went through my pictures today
And I realized I used to be happy.
I finally know what that glitter, that sparkle is.
.
.
.
It’s what’s missing from the mirror.
 Sep 2018 AditiBoo
Noni Winters
I stumbled upon you
Like a child
that finds a pretty stone

Bewildered by your presence
I sat and admired
Counting your cracks
Caressing what makes you glitter

You stood infront of me
Bold and beautiful
Like nothing I'd ever seen

And as you gave me your attention
I think I misconstrued your intentions

I wanted to put you in my pocket
But you said no

So there you sit
Perfectly unpolished
A love

I can only visit
 Sep 2018 AditiBoo
Path Humble
left my phone unlocked
on the taxi’s back seat,
won't be the last time

called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up

he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was now headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office

and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,

we met on the street,
he rolled down  the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
beaming,
handed me my phone

I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my hand  
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,
saying:

"No sir, no no, not necessary!

Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
  no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"


to which I replied,

"exactly!
Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"


and with an equally, beaming smile I continued,

"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was


Inshallah!" ^

something he could not dispute...
or my knowledge thereof and it’s
proper pronouncement,
nor
his amazement,
to disguise!

  we parted ways
   each believing,
   each receiving,
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the
single
supreme taxi dispatcher
Arabic for ^"God/Allah willing" or "if God/Allah wills," frequently spoken by a Muslim


^^a meritorious or charitable act in the Jewish tradition

FYI,
NYC taxi cab drivers are suffering economically by the explosion of ride hailing app cars, many unable to pay their bills, earn a living, have committed suicide over the past few months
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/sixth-new-york-city-cab-driver-dies-suicide-after-struggling-n883886

true story, poetry is there for the taking
 Sep 2018 AditiBoo
Gods1son
You were raised with a very high standard
It meant nothing to you, you just wanted to be hard

I remember your parents were very strict
For some reason, you just loved the street

They taught you good morals
You didn't care, you had your own role models

They were consistent in teaching you good values
You refused and lived by your own rules

They showed you to live upright
Clearly, you chose your own path

Now, you look back and regret it all
You wishing you didn't neglect the love!
Next page