In the velvet expanse of starry skies,
A whispered secret only dreams reply.
Amidst the whispers, a lone soul flies,
Dancing with shadows, where moonbeams sigh.

With heart aflame, like a comet's tail,
You streak across the celestial sail.
Leaving trails of stardust in your wake,
A cosmic map, for hearts that seek.

In the mirrored halls of forgotten time,
Echoes of memories, like whispers entwine.
Forgotten scents, like rose petals fade,
Yet, in the silence, love's essence stays.

Like a lotus blooming in the night,
Your spirit unfurls, a radiant light.
Illuminating paths, where darkness slept,
Guiding dreamers, through the labyrinth deep.

With every breath, a universe expands,
A tapestry woven, by cosmic hands.
In this grand dance, we sway and spin,
Together, our hearts beat within.

In the symphony of the spheres above,
Our whispers merge, a celestial love.
A harmony that echoes, wild and free,
A cosmic serenade, for you and me.

Time
           steals
                     moments,
                     lost
              in
     air,
Memories
               fade,
                 beyond
repair.

We danced in the moonlight, our footsteps a gentle hush
By the river's whisper, where shadows play and rush
I wore a mask of laughter, a disguise so bright
But you, my love, saw through the cracks, into the dark of night

You never wore a mask, your face a canvas of truth
A beauty so unflinching, it cut through my youth
I searched for solace in the hiding places of my heart
But you, my love, were the seeker, tearing us apart

For to you, love was a test, a game to be won
A prize to be claimed, a trophy to be shown
But I, my love, was the prize, the one to be sought
A mystery to be unraveled, a heart to be caught

In your eyes, I saw a glimmer of a love so true
But it was a fleeting moment, a spark that flew
For in the end, it was just a game, a play to amuse
Leaving me with just a whisper, a haunting muse

You are like a perfect love
that flies in the air,
which radiate my heart.
That in between the glow of your lips
And the sweetness thereof.
You still create a way to make me feel
like am the only one in the world.

Let us all smile.
Let us all smile always,
Like a river that never runs dry.
For beauty is only attached to a smile.

I try to  smile always,
With  a  coherent effort,                    
with what the taught me appearing so resolute.
"Be a man always. "
This sentence has ruin great men.

My heart beat so fast in aversion!
Bleeding in green and white!
If hatred eliminate men,
Then hell dry you up with its flames!

I wish you could hear me speak in person,
I wish you could feel my pains,
and my tears rolling down like a double crystal lattice.
Then, I will sing and dance in merriment
That at least WINTER could hear me speak.

Across the dandelion
Where wine sprout out like daisy.
There I came searching for you.
Like winter,
So you came.
How can I love you
My moon and stars!

You are like a sunflower,
So pally you are.
That, even with the dust
in between your eyes
You still choose me.

As
     peaceful
                   as the naked
                                           heaven.
                                           Love
                                    also
                             fly
                     like
              a
   dove.

In thousand crystal
And in millions given.
Nothing worth a living
Like a heart in love and care.
Throw it to the air and it is gone.

A spark of different hallows
With easy effort
A flower of blessing
and a medicine to the soul.

The blossom of sweet color.
Dripping with every catch and taste.
The mighty facet which enrich the eye
The envelope of man's beauty.

Standing under the ethereal
glow of the light,
it's easy to forget yourself.
The realization of the enormity
of the universe washes over you,
and you feel small
in a good way
and full of
wonders.

In looking at adoring you, I think about homicide. think about your gun

of a mouth, jaw long and smoking. when I ask you how to be beautiful for you,

you recommend ******. shield it. consider a dead lady the least vain.

in looking at cherishing men, my mom recommends adoring a blade

first. learn if sharpness can be a decent dad, if a cutting edge can make kissy faces.

each lady needs a man, few need a decent blade. I name my kitchen an affection

war. search for you in the cutting cabinet. search for you in my razor. make a sentiment

out of scratching. I have no mysteries for first dates. simply continuing slashing. put his edge

to your neck. he will give you a chance to drain first (no,​ ​after​ ​you​). furthermore, this is the reason I leave

what's more, return. I know I'm a lady, by the manner in which I take war. by the manner in which I let weapons

give me kids, even cut and fixed. by the manner in which our affection is squeezing the injury.

Since she was conceived on a homestead,

she wanted to speak cow,

particularly when they lay

in daylight on the *****

beyond the oil well.


At that point she wanted to talk wild rose,

the one that developed beneath the horse shelter,

it appeared to address her

of everything she couldn't yet have

or know, yet she proved unable

to address it, even of it, for a considerable length of years.


At that point she want to speak plantation

where pears turned the ground gold,

where yellow coats swarmed,

where she couldn't go alone.

A long time later, markets were more secure,

she overlooked this one.


Others she always remember—the lake

with its trim edge of *******, the foot

prints of cows and steeds along the edge

making a kind of writing.


The roughage that clung to her dad

and siblings, following into their sweat

as they worked in August

to bring it into the horse shelter,

where notes of it hung

in that house of God.


Also, the magic her mom worked

with peaches, tomatoes, green beans,

how her little hands turned them

always delightful—sparkling in the basement,

glowing on the dinner table

Listen, the world stated,

Listen !

Father is figuring out how to sharp the knives

from YouTube, satisfying a long-held ambition.

It has overwhelmed him;

this is the first time he's searched there for anything.

Later he will indicate me

exactly what number of layers of skin

he can pare from a cherry tomato.

I find footling activities with my hands;

he answered to my question, yes he's alright,

and courteously declined my recommendation

of whisky, so this is everything I can offer.

The shadow of the shadow on my father's

father's lung isn't said resoundingly in light of the fact that

breathing says everything for us. He has

an old oil stone somewhere. He is absolutely consumed.

No man ever love to hear
that name.
Lest death strike
and your body
taken as food
and sacrifice
in Ama river.

Amaterasu-the baddest goddess.
Tormentor of all with eyes
whose powers are
so strong and cruel.
We pray
for your early death to come.

We gather in tears
with shield and sword
to take you back alive in chains
and found each warrior
without a head
with horrid looks
of pain.

Amaterasu-the baddest goddess
the owner of the night.
For those so brave
to dance out
still tremble
deep in fright.

Amaterasu-when shadows come
the village gates are barred,
the lantern lit
until the dawn
to dance away our
night horror.

Rumour spread that
at night you come
like an hungry lion through the sky
but when the light
from the lantern glow,
death strike
like a fist.

They say you'll die
like human being.
One day your regime
will pass
but till that day
we bar our doors
until you breathe
your last.

After our love, I lie in the shadow of your shoulder

also, float to the sound of the seventeen-year locust outside,


their forlorn tenor buzz that ascents and falls together

and all of a sudden it stops, and flares out once more.


Their cadence clears against the sides of the house,

stirs like late leaves, a delicate edgy scratching,


the ave, ave, ave syllables of air, skin against skin.

When we happened to come upon her yesterday, inside the church shadows,


the youthful soloist deserted herself to the words she sang,

her interpretation like a nonattendance of dialect. Her music


cast itself away and away, beating on, until the hush

of a vacant room had its spot, where the heat of day


is just lamplight through the recolored windows.

It channels over the dusty floor. It lights


upon a light blue divider, unpredictable in what it touches.

What's more, the deriding, mating voices of the grasshoppers return once more


in their consistent journey out of the earth,

out of the dull, into the shadows.

I looked in the mirror and what did I see, yet a little old woman peering back at me. With packs and sage and wrinkles and wispy white hair and I asked my appearance, how could you arrive?

You used to be straight and incredible and now you're stooped and feeble - when I made a decent attempt to shield you from turning into a collectible.

My appearance's eyes twinkled and she gravely answered, 'You're taking a gander at the blessing wrap and not the gem inside'- - a living pearl and valuable of un-envisioned worth, one of a kind and genuine the genuine you, the main you on earth.

The years that ruin your blessing wrap with different things more savage ought to filter and fortify and clean up that gem.

So concentrate your consideration within, not the out- - on being kinder, smarter, more substance and more dedicated.

At that point, when your blessing wrap is stripped away, your gem will be without set - to transmit God's wonderfulness, all through endlessness.

I take into account those days,
when i used to be a young, innocent infant.
I in no way had understood what was occurring,
For the ones lengthy, darkish six years.

It first commenced with the radio,
My mother and father chatting nervously,
while rushed reports had been heard on
That old ‘speaking container.’

Then, the noises got here.
They might wake me inside the middle of the night.
The whooshing of airplanes flying overhead,
And mom remaining those ****** curtains.

those days father refused for mom and that i
to head outside onto the streets.
i used to be so happy because I wouldn’t go to high school,
but little did I know approximately the actual cause.

whilst dinner become scarce,
and that i ate each last crumb of bread.
once I looked out the window to see
bad human beings being beat to demise.

I recollect the ones days no longer as truly,
As I did again then.
and even after all those years,
I nevertheless wonder why someone might do this to another.

Why do we do this to one another,
Are we animals: predators and prey?
We need to discover a way to get together,
and spot where peace has gone.

I wanna begin this off with I'm sad for everything that I did

got on your every single nerve when I was a child

played with some of your feelings

pushed each and every catch

be that as it may, there was never a period where you didn't demonstrate to me a mom ma's loving

there's kin out there that has never held their mom's hand

I'm sufficiently blessed to state you helped shape me into a man

indeed, even in the most wiped out of well being

you still dependably put us before yourself

I was excessively youthful, making it impossible to perceive the amount you needed to give up

long days

longer evenings

at work simply wanting to be home during the evening

I realized that you didn't generally have additional cash to pay a sitter

since regular that momma went to work

every one of us children would run with her

none of us at any point truly minded

it got every one of us to spend a tad of family time

you generally dealt with us kids transforming each house into a home

giving every one of us something that we could call our own

I realized that I was sheltered with you I never needed to stress

since on the off chance that I at any point required you

you were in that spot in a rush

in the event that there was a mother of the year grant

you would be the one

I would never truly thank you for everything that you've done

I truly am advantaged to have a mother like you

no mother could ever come close with everything you do

The woods ...

... where the snowstorm blows

......where the rain is sudden

...........where the trees have arms that span in and ****** at life

..............where the mists sprinkle and move

...................where the owl sat as a watchman as we settled beneath the stars

........................where the breeze mumbles tribal mantras

.............................where the greenery conceals a huge number of sins

................................where the animals be-companion solitary **** Sapiens

...............where the way twists up and into and over and liberates the lost


I've seen the woods…

… ..and I sit alone

… .… and the quiet is all

… and the ears hear just the leaves falling

… and the morning light comes in streams

… ..and the undergrowth scents of ages past

… ..and the creek sings a despairing song

… and the hawk leaves a shadow upon our tangled dreams

… .… and the growths pay respect to the cycle of life

… and blooms come into bud

… ..and I've felt every one of its favors… and felt its rot


I am the backwoods…

… .it inhales underneath my skin – whispering breeze

… .… it races through my veins – prospering waterway

… .… it houses the owl – isolated home

… ..it whispers to the towns – lost heritage

… ..… it develops contorted roots from the dirt of my yearning - verdant rot

… ..it discovers life inside my folds – rising sapling

… it spreads an overhang over my casing – memory's shadow

… .it mumbles to the hearkening ear – achieving bark

… I've felt the excursion inside its ignored heart … it offers elegance to the lost

In the event that I was allowed to do as I wish

I would hold you and grasp you

your body against mine

I would feel your glow and your torment

your distress and satisfaction


I would take your face inside my hands

What's more, tenderly kiss your feelings of dread away

I would take your weakness

what's more, put it in my heart.

On the off chance that I was allowed to do as I wish

I would grab this minute and cherish you until the end of time

They say with time it shows signs of improvement

33 years despite everything I'm still waiting

I battle, I cry, I shout

I'm still waiting


I wake up hesitant to open my eyes

Hesitant to begin my day

Apprehensive who or what will trigger it

Apprehensive consistently

I'm still waiting


I'm hesitant to exit the entryway

Apprehensive of who is out there

Apprehensive of what will happen

Apprehensive that I can't get away

I'm still waiting


I'm hesitant to close my eyes

Apprehensive of what I will see, hear

Anxious of what I will dream

Anxious of shouting

Anxious I won't wake up in time

I'm still waiting


I'm hesitant to begin another day

I'm still waiting

These kids were guaranteed a superior life. Some picked up this.

This is the narrative of the numerous who did not. It is told from a girl's perspective.

No bitterness filled our adolescence days, my folks did their best to raise

their posterity in a climate of care.

We knew they both were English conceived, transported from an existence miserable,

ousted into a halfway house stark.

A stage they'd needed to repudiate, so till this day we had not known

what they and different transients needed to endure.

A mission by some for reward implied ventures to conclusion could start,

with governments and individuals more mindful.

For tribulations of the past, 'Conciliatory sentiments' have come finally

to casualties whom society denied.

Overlooked once they'd left their field, this descendants of country's poor,

no follow up to perceive how they'd survived;

no enthusiasm for these adolescents' predicament – put out of mind when beyond anyone's ability to see –

the balm of greener fields very much plotted.

Two issues understood by their expel. To help grow, the English fashioned

an arrangement affirmed and shrewdly thought up.

For individuals attempting to survive – no aid to keep their young alive –

this offer appeared the solution to their supplication.

They marked their kids to the plan, surrendering to bait of dream,

"They'll 'ave a superior possibility at life down there."

One hundred thousand crossed the ocean, far from home and family

entangled into the predetermination they'd share:

for probably the first time they'd gone, at that point they were lost, quite recently throw away like deny hurled,

also, the individuals who endeavored to contact them confronted give up.

Survival turned out to be lifestyle, these kids compelled to endure strife

created codes of comradeship to bond.

The feeling of mate ship loaned relief, simply small solace to soothe

the weight of facade that each had wore:

for expulsion to south of Earth persuaded them that they had no worth,

conveyed questions and fears excessively crude, making it impossible to ascend past.

Their stoic activities planned to conceal feelings covered somewhere inside -

the requirement for affection, with nobody to react.

The injuries of the evenings alone, far from all that they had known,

apprehensive and detached, set apart,

while during that time of steady drudge at dairy tasks and working soil,

depleted youngsters combat from the begin.

What sins had brought deserting? No news from family or letters sent,

as mail was screened for wrongs it may confer.

Unpaid-for work, benefit based, saw fundamental tutoring soon deleted -

overlooked, similar to the torment inside the heart.

The stories that were never heard, mishandle by discipline and word,

the pole of iron used to keep control

by gatekeepers yet inadequately instructed, responding to their dread, troubled,

lost, and very unsuited to their part.

Cruel hardship ruled through ruthless measures unexplained

to kids deprived of poise. Some stole

the remainders of their confidence with acts more unsafe than disregard -

debased *** that wracked the very soul.

Too long kept secured, concealed ills, with fear and blame such wrongdoing imparts –

refusals, casualties frightened, staying stupid.

Presently at long last the quiet breaks, affirmation of past oversights

uncovering embarrassments unbelieved by a few.

Oh dear, my Father's not any more here. Those times of hardship and of dread

had made his psyche and body capitulate.

In any case, Mum is remaining close by, she's stood up, reestablished some pride,

she's demonstrated the valor that can overcome.

To state we're sad's only a begin to alleviate unsettling influence of the heart.

No word, or deed, or store can adjust

for absence of home and family rights, for work-filled days and dread filled evenings -

this token is too little come past the point of no return.

But my mom feels finally, through acknowledgment of the past

- contrition for the disgrace that was their destiny -

that injuries now cleansed and opened wide, not left to putrefy somewhere inside,

may mean her tormented bad dreams can subside.

Overlooked youngsters - youth lost, still scarred and hurt, awful cost,

spurned, banished, and by all scolded.

To push forward's their exclusive course, on past lament and profound regret,

the revulsion of their childhood should now be recorded.

Bad form has been exposed. My mom's petition is this may

keep the bitterness of some future kid.

Maybe remorse, cruelly earned, may imply that lessons have been educated -

also, with this expectation in heart, my mom grinned.

My mom sits alongside the bed, a calm, quiet scene,

be that as it may, at that point, yet again, a feeling of fear crushes what may have been.

I see the no man's land in her eyes… a desolate, forlorn place

where gestures and grins can't mask the pity in her face.

She strolls where nobody else can go, very not too sharp and visually impaired

to anything she used to know, for haziness mists her brain.

Rather she sees a ghost world, where truth and dreams join,

like smooth strings of spider webs twisted around a shriveled vine.

Also, I can't enable the route to feel, the musings I can't deny,

the hurt that essentially won't recuperate, the outrage that won't kick the bucket.

Regardless I detest what she's progress toward becoming, what she has done to me,

and afterward my blame just abandons me numb, for I can't set her free.

Where used to be love, there's just dread at what she now may state;

I prefer not to figure what I may hear, the value I'll need to pay.

She hurls a moan and grasps my hand, at that point tears my life separated.

I know she doesn't see, however yet she makes me extremely upset.

"If you don't mind let me know, dear, how is my kid? I've not seen him for quite a long time.

He used to bring me so much delight, however now there's just tears.

I adored him along these lines, my exclusive child, and thought he felt the same;

I can't think what I have done to give him cause for fault.

I see him out there on the track… he goes to meet his Father,

and after that they both return striding… he's such a great looking chap.

The child and father, next to each other, both look so fine,

what's more, I stand viewing, loaded proudly to realize that they are mine.

Be that as it may, now they're gone, I don't know where, and I am expelled here,

with one little room, a bed, a seat… they've given me a chance to vanish.

I can hardly imagine how they'd do this, fair basically leave

without a word, a grin, a kiss, to help me as the day progressed."

I need to yell "That isn't valid!" yet mute any revile,

for belligerence does not traverse, and just aggravates it.

Dementia stalks its defenseless prey, and hits with unobtrusive power;

steadily, that moderate rot seeks after its lethal course.

Her memory would wax and wind down, and regularly she denounced

my Father and I of some crusade to keep her everything befuddled.

At that point came the day she got very lost while going by a companion,

furthermore, that was the point at which we learnt the cost, and knew where this would end.

This injury took away her life… where once she'd generally driven

as little girl, mother, cherishing spouse, an outsider strolled.

She must be in full-time mind, a decision that we lament,

in any case, back at home, to our despondency, her needs couldn't be met.

My dad won't visit now… he can't stand the torment,

what's more, discloses to himself that still, some way or another, she'll act naturally once more.

So I am left to confront her distress, to see her gradually age,

tolerating that there's no help from persistent wrath.

However as I watch her staying there, an apparition of days now gone,

I find I'm much more mindful of how her light once shone,

as she battled bushfire, dry spell and surge, and never stopped to endeavor

to spare our territory, our fragile living creature and blood, and keep our fantasy alive.

For she was energetic, solid and intense, a pioneer to all,

a lady who couldn't develop old, who addressed any call.

She never let a neighbor down or turned back one in require,

what's more, she was respected in our town for thought and word and deed.

Be that as it may, now she's caught, she can't get away from this no man's land of the brain,

a damnation that has no frame or shape, that can't be characterized.

And after that it comes, the frightful idea, however narrow minded it might be,

that nobody's sheltered from getting gotten… it may one day be me.

I'm a pragmatist: on the off chance that I see a pack of hoods drawing nearer, standing around,

acting a littering of open walkways, I basically

move to the next

side of the road, take no chances. I keep it on me constantly,

for well being purposes.

In case shooting start,

you'd be a danger I revealed to them when I, unfortunately, proved unable

permit the parcel of them into the gathering.

We're a piece of the same

political gathering, as indicated by every one of the numbers I've seen.

When I close the schools down, I was simply

doing what must be finished

to adjust a city spending plan crooked. When I put what

I found in his trunk on adjust,

it was sufficient to tip the scale

towards a lawful offense. I used to be a server, and they never

tipped extremely well as far as I can tell.

While we were putting down wagers,

I saw him tip his hand marginally and there was

a ̶̶r̶a̶c̶e̶ confront card in it. He didn't appear

like a lot of a bluffer, so I stood

my ground. On the grounds of legitimacy – that is the manner by which I got

into Harvard. I'm simply not that into dark

young ladies, by and by. That is to say, actually,

I don't SEE shading. I'm so sad, I truly didn't see you there.

There they go, utilizing that word once more:

on the off chance that they can state it, at that point for what reason right?

I can't comprehend why everyone is so touchy nowadays.

I concede, what I said sounded a tad

inhumane, yet trust me, I'm definitely not

a bigot. I'm a pragmatist: in the event that I see a pack of hoods drawing nearer, standing around,

acting a littering of open walkways,

I basically move to the opposite side.

I keep it on me consistently, for purposes: in case of a

danger, start shooting I let them know, unfortunately,

taking a gander at the body spread before me.

Inside me carried on a little *******. I didn't

put stock in enchantment, however the *******

was a sucker for the stuff. Mystics,

illusionists, arthritics who'd foresee

the precipitation. That was the year I experienced difficulty

strolling. I over-thought it and proved unable

get the cadence right. The ******* re-showed me.

"This foot. Indeed, at that point that one. Also, swing

your arms as though you're going to trial

to be absolved of a wrongdoing

you've most unquestionably dedicated."

Next, inconvenience resting in light of the fact that

I'd have to wrench the generator in my chest

so much of the time. Seeing I was exhausted,

the ******* at last pulled it out—

it looked sparkly and new, a silver dollar—

also, hurled it into a rush of feathered creatures

who needed to fly far to discover well being.

I knew then I was an expansive and perilous man,

what with this ******* living inside me,

however, felt pointless. One day, amid

a last lesson on relaxing,

the ******* solicited what kind of pants

I was wearing. I stated, "The serious ones."

"Poor child." "So will you remain on

for a third year, *******?" "No. I think

I ought to leave soon. I think

I ought to go and anticipate your landing next to

the folded waterway." "Yes, I assume

you have numerous vital issues to go to,

be that as it may, perhaps one day I will come and go along with you

for a drink, or maybe, for a short rest."

After the earth at long last touches the sun,

furthermore, the long blast stops all of a sudden

like a heart rundown,

the world may appear to be white and calm

to something that watches it in the sky during the evening,

so something may feel little,

what's more, feel almost human agony.

Be that as it may, it won't occur once more:

the long evenings squandered alone, what's finished

in entryways oblivious by the youthful,

what's more, what could have been for a few.

Think about every one of the darlings and the companions!

Who does not accumulate his segment of them

to himself. in any event in his brain?

*** facilitated through everybody,

notwithstanding while slipping into death

as into a dearest's skin,

what's more, prying out again to discover

the body drooped, muscles slack.

furthermore, bones started their swing to tidy.

At that point nobody minds when one darling

holds another, similar to an emptied sack.

Be that as it may, reality enters toward the finish of life.

It enters like oxygen into each cell

also, the franticness it bolsters there in a few

is just a clear allegory

for something since a long time ago consumed to nothing,

like a star.

How would you get under your want?

How would you peel away each want

like unwieldy garments, each one in turn,

until what's underneath is known?

We knew private parts as little things

what's more, we were embarrassed they drove us around,

regardless of the possibility that the ***** where we'd rests

was a similar ***** the universe unfurled upon

throughout the night, as we watched the stars,

at the point when for once our breathing appeared to mix.

Each time, from that sweet weight

of hands, or the colossal alleviation of the mouth,

a man can be driven out of himself

Is it safe to say that it isn't forlorn in the body?

The myth says we overflow in regards to as spirits

until there's a body made to take us,

what's more, just substance is made by ***.

That is the reason we enter *** so tirelessly,

around the joy that comes

when we push down sufficiently far

to bump the soul ascending to discharge,

furthermore, the joy is joy of unadulterated soul,

for a minute all together once more.

So *** returns us to starting, and we groan.

Unadulterated *** ends up plainly particular and cement

in a touch of ***** or incline of midsection:

it flies through itself like light, it sails

on not at all like a wing, when somebody's there

to be touched, when there's not all that much.

So the genuine is touched in ***,

like a ***** through material: the genuine

rising stout and genuine, the psyche

dashing about it like a tongue.

This is the place I needed to be all along:

up on the planet, in contact with myself. . .

***, undetectable priestess of a decent God,

I think without you I may very well turn off.

I know there's no keeping you close,

as you flick by underneath a sentence

on a prepare, or change the last idea

of an old cloister adherent, or pull back for one minute alone.

Who guides you or secures you!

I'd surrender the rest to **** your dull lips.

I'd surrender the rest to settle you correct

in the universe, at the most out of control edge

where there's no such thing as shape.

What a disgrace I am, if contacting the ideal individual

in a diminish room, *** holds itself separated

from us like a holy messenger in a the great beyond,

also, with the thoughts nobody has even imagined,

it cries its odd music for unadulterated personality.

After there's nothing,

after the enormous explode of everything,

what voice from what throat

will reveal to me my identity? Every throat

on which I would have discreetly set my lips

will be tore like a modest sleeve

or, on the other hand blown separated like the ceased up

barrel of a weapon. What was inside them

all the time I needed dependably

to rest my mouth upon?

I thought generally everything

stuck dartlike in the half-arch of my mind,

also, hung there like phony stars in a planetarium.

It's actual that things there changed into names,

that even my loved ones were a bundle of signs,

so I felt frequently alone.

This is an approach to remain alive and nothing to wail over.

We know the first occasion when we broaden an arm:

the body achieves so far for so long.

We develop and love to develop, at that point stop, at that point rests.

I needed to manage inside me this delicate result.

I needed to know whether it got *** going:

does it show up definitely in touch and talk?

does it spill from the psyche, as warmth from the skin?

I needed my touching insightful, similar to a wonderful melody.

Since there's not help, come let us kiss and part;

Nay, I am done, you get no a greater amount of me;

Furthermore, I am happy, yea, happy with my entire being,

That along these lines neatly I myself can free;

Shake hands for ever, drop every one of our pledges,

Also, when we meet whenever once more,

Be it not seen in both of our temples

That we, one scribble of previous love hold.

Presently, at the last heave of affection's most recent breath,

At the point when his heartbeat coming up short, energy stunned falsehoods,

At the point when confidence is bowing by his bed of death,

What's more, blamelessness is quitting for the day eyes,

Presently, if thou woulds't, when all have given him over,

From death to life Thou might'st him yet recuperate

How Do I Love Thee?

How would I cherish thee? Give me a chance to tally the ways.

I adore thee to the profundity and expansiveness and stature

My spirit can achieve, when getting a handle on of sight

For the finishes of Being and perfect Grace.

I cherish thee to the level of consistently's

Most calm need, by sun and candlelight.

I cherish thee unreservedly, as men make progress toward Right;

I cherish thee absolutely, as they turn from Praise.

I cherish with an enthusiasm put to utilize

In my old griefs, and with my adolescence's confidence.

I cherish thee with an adoration I appeared to lose

With my lost holy people,— I cherish thee with the breath,

Grins, tears, of all my life!— and, if God pick,

I should however cherish thee better after death.

THE PREVIOUS EVENING

The previous evening, your memory stole into my heart—

as spring clears uninvited into desolate greenery enclosures,

as morning breezes revive lethargic deserts,

as a patient all of a sudden can rest easy, for no evident reason ...

WHEN YOU ARE OLD.

When you are old and dim and loaded with rest,

What's more, gesturing by the fire, bring down this book,

What's more, gradually read, and dream of the delicate look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows profound;

What number of cherished your snapshots of happy effortlessness,

What's more, adored your magnificence with adoration false or genuine,

In any case, one man adored the traveler soul in you,

What's more, adored the distresses of your evolving face;

What's more, bowing down alongside the gleaming bars,

Mumble, a little unfortunately, how Love fled

Furthermore, paced upon the mountains overhead

Furthermore, shrouded his face in the midst of a horde of stars.

MY EYES ON THE SURFACE

Your penumbra gleams with little print

in Papyrus text style, elucidations for the most part, live-

bolster passionate updates, amendments in your

shadow's edges. Your shadow is an idea

paper wrote broadcasting live, eradicated and re-composed

by everything you might do, recommendations stick-scribbled

in the sand as the following wave licks its finger

to flip the shoreline. For you, genuineness is consistent

correction: your position shifts and new

notes spool out from your feet – commentaries,

updated, an assortment of dissolving documentation

I endeavor to speed-read sufficiently quick to know you.

FIELD MARSHAL AT THE COMBAT FRONT
By Abraham Esang

The Field Marshal popped in with a brand new red beret
Down to the carcass-ripped front where the combat was;
Alongside with an affectionate General by his noble right hand
He established his path in the direction of the No man’s land,
Afterward a Resilient excellence Lieutenant General there they found,
And a Major General as well, to take them about.

Passing through the trench, their heads bow low,
In the direction of the attentive foe
They advanced through the dusk and the dust stink
Till the Lieutenant General muttered, “one-three-stance gulch!”
And the General repeated “one-three-stance gulch!”
And Field marshal responded-Not in gulch
“Okay, I notice it. “One-three-stance gulch!”

Once more they trooped with watchful pace,
Trailing on where the Lieutenant led
Across the damp and the gunk as well,
Till they popped into a different lateral.
They rested there in the slush and drench,
And the major general muttered “one-two-stance gulch!”
And the General repeated, “one-two-stance gulch!”
And Field Marshal nodded; “one-two-stance gulch!”

Still, as they went across marsh akin to *****
Till they popped into a neat and comfortable gulley
Good mimicry from airship
Where soldiers mounted their guns for firing command
And the Lieutenant General muttered “one-one-stance gulch!”
And the General repeated “one-one-stance gulch!”
And the Field Marshal muttered, “Okay, I notice.
How distant is the foe?”
And the affectionate General the Field Marshal questioned, questioned he,
“How distant is the foe?”
And the Lieutenant inhaled in a lower tune,
“How distant is the foe?”

The quietness placed in tons and piles
And the Lieutenant General whispered, “Just nowhere near.”
And the Major General whispered, “Just nowhere near.”
And the affectionate General repeated, “Just nowhere near.”
“Just nowhere near!” the Field Marshal swore,
“Why in god name are we muttering?”
And the Major General said in a gentle growl,
“Why in god name are we muttering?”
“Muttering?” the reverberation roar;
And the Lieutenant General muttered, “I am freezing.”