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 Nov 2020 Kiutiemae
Sk Abdul Aziz
The greatest disaster in life is not failure...it's not learning from it.
 Nov 2020 Kiutiemae
Surkhab
Valerie
 Nov 2020 Kiutiemae
Surkhab
She is strong enough
to hide her wounds and tears.
And meets the world with
a warm hug and bright smile.
Even though the wounds are deep
And she knows, it will take years
to fill them...
But she disgusts over herself
As she can't stand being weak
So she picks up her sword
to bring an end to it...before it ends her too.
Every girl out there is a born warrior, fighting with a grace like that of a queen.
 Nov 2020 Kiutiemae
annh
ᗩ ᗷᑌTTEᖇᖴIᑎGEᖇEᗪ ᖴEᒪᒪOᗯᔕᕼIᑭ Oᖴ TᗯEᒪᐯE
ᑭᒪᗩYIᑎG ᑕᗩTᑕᕼ ᗯITᕼ ᗰY ᑕOᑎᔕᑕIOᑌᔕᑎEᔕᔕ.
'When all the archetypes burst out shamelessly, we plumb Homeric profundity. Two clichés make us laugh but a hundred clichés move us because we sense dimly that the clichés are talking among themselves, celebrating a reunion.'
- Umberto Eco, Travels in Hyperreality
 Nov 2020 Kiutiemae
annh
Let October’s fool fall
With the autumn dusk;
A cornfield tatterdemalion
With terrible teeth
And broomstick hands.
High on the hill,
Encircled by dancing children
And harvest lovers,
Jack’s pumpkin blazes
As yellow as prairie gold
Under the ghostly lantern moon.

A belated Halloween experiment - partially reconstituted poetry. More dilute and less tasty than its CS inspiration. ;)

‘I spot the hills
With yellow ***** in autumn.
I light the prairie cornfields
Orange and tawny gold clusters
And I am called pumpkins.
On the last of October
When dusk is fallen
Children join hands
And circle round me
Singing ghost songs
And love to the harvest moon;
I am a jack-o'-lantern
With terrible teeth
And the children know
I am fooling.’
- Carl Sandburg, Theme in Yellow
 Nov 2020 Kiutiemae
Dead lover
I bleed through words,
From the cuts given by the society.

I want to escape and fly like birds,
With a hope, it all ends my agony.
 Nov 2020 Kiutiemae
ali
moon talking
 Nov 2020 Kiutiemae
ali
perhaps I talk too much to the moon
and don’t listen enough to the universe

for I long for a love
too extraterrestrial
to ever find on this planet

perhaps a poet’s true fate
lies in solitude

for we yearn for connection
too shakespearean
to ever survive this modern day
I turn 21 on Saturday but feel around 70 if i’m honest.
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