Bambipoetry - Hello Poetry

The clock is ticking ticking… ticking… tick— My brain is floating As it almost sinks That piano sounds lovely And the clock again blinks And my brain In a cacophony Of beautiful sounds And a daunting harmony Dancing Whirling Ticking

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Mar 9, 2021

Mar 9, 2021 at 5:53 AM UTC

attention

The clock is ticking ticking… ticking… tick— My brain is floating As it almost sinks That piano sounds lovely And the clock again blinks And my brain In a cacophony Of beautiful sounds And a daunting harmony Dancing Whirling Ticking

13

One rose; another. Just wait for the rain, no thorn touching the other.

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Jan 28, 2021

Jan 28, 2021 at 3:32 PM UTC

Little Miss ‘Rona

One rose; another. Just wait for the rain, no thorn touching the other.

3

You scan me With your Western eye Standing tall, clinging To your elitist lie. With your righteous mission, You desire is to teach me, Yearning for my submission, Refusing to free me. The lies you tell yourself Do not deceive me; You claim to make me more, While forcing less of me. More? More ‘educated’ More ‘cultured’ More ‘literate’ More Western. More you, less me. The volume of my voice Is not primitive, nor savage It is my culture, my heritage, Which you have ravaged. My culture, my language, My education, my literature, Are slowly eradicated By the standards of worth You have dictated. My language is not irrelevant, Nor menacing. It is my heritage, my legacy, Tainted by your supremacy; It is not powerful as Athena, Rather it burns with the fiery Passion of Nuha. I will not be silenced, I will not lightly tread, For those who fake alliance, Whilst wishing me dead.

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Jan 28, 2021

Jan 28, 2021 at 3:30 PM UTC

The Other Eye

You scan me With your Western eye Standing tall, clinging To your elitist lie. With your righteous mission, You desire is to teach me, Yearning for my submission, Refusing to free me. The lies you tell yourself Do not deceive me; You claim to make me more, While forcing less of me. More? More ‘educated’ More ‘cultured’ More ‘literate’ More Western. More you, less me. The volume of my voice Is not primitive, nor savage It is my culture, my heritage, Which you have ravaged. My culture, my language, My education, my literature, Are slowly eradicated By the standards of worth You have dictated. My language is not irrelevant, Nor menacing. It is my heritage, my legacy, Tainted by your supremacy; It is not powerful as Athena, Rather it burns with the fiery Passion of Nuha. I will not be silenced, I will not lightly tread, For those who fake alliance, Whilst wishing me dead.

38

A sunflower Growing in a garden of roses Searching for its home Always wandering, Alone. A sunflower, With auras of red, White, And yellow. Hues entwined In a weave so painfully mellow. In a garden of roses, Moving, growing, searching A sunflower remains Alone.

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Jan 28, 2021

Jan 28, 2021 at 2:26 PM UTC

Sunflower

A sunflower Growing in a garden of roses Searching for its home Always wandering, Alone. A sunflower, With auras of red, White, And yellow. Hues entwined In a weave so painfully mellow. In a garden of roses, Moving, growing, searching A sunflower remains Alone.

15