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Be still...
Try to remain silent.

Listen very closely...
Her pleading may be heard
As it is carried through the wind.
Her emotional appeal
Sounds desperate -
It is unbearable to an epath.
Her pleads are ever so faint
And gentle, they are far from violent.

Be still...
It is her soul's agony
Which is vibrating
A disturbing frequency,
At such a rate that it constitutes
A wave.

Cries, which nature, alone,
Can hear and feel...
Cries, which shake the leaves free
From the branches of all the
Majestic trees; neither her soul
Nor the trees, can you save.

Be still...
Can you feel the faint tremble  
Under your barefeet?

Be still...
Rest your cheek upon the earth,
Feel her spirit, which is trapped
Deep down inside.
Inhale her essence- it is buried below,
In the fragrant moist soil...
Taste the droplets, she is in the dew;
Even in pain she is a soul
So gently sweet...
~ She is tinged with sadness--

By Lady R.F (C)2017* ⚘
Is it okay to not be okay?
To feel so out of control and out of touch.

What happens if I make a mistake?
Will it affect how people see me?

Does everyone struggle to sleep?
Surrounded by the screaming voices of guilt.

What happens if I lie or cheat?
Can it ever be enough?

Does everyone feel worthless?
To have no true purpose of being here.

Is it normal to feel broken?
Scattered pieces floating in the wind.

Does everyone welcome the idea of dying?
The sweet release of nothingness.

What should someone do when they are always sad?

I’m asking for a friend.
She loved him,
They were young and stupid,
She was sad, he was happy,
Their relationship moved too quickly,
Although young they indulged in intimate love.

She loved him,
They were young and stupid
She was sad, he was happy,
He was busy being a child, this upset her,
She hurt herself and blamed it on him.

She thought she loved him,
But they were young and stupid,
He was tired and hurting,
He asked to confide in a childhood, female, friend.

It was not taken well.

She loved him,
But she was too young to understand,
There was no reply for 37 minutes,
She facetimed him in tears,
She reversed the camera to show what she had done,

Crimson blood ran down her arms,
It dripped down, corrupting the beige carpet,
Tears fell alongside the dark drops,
Her mum entered. The call ended.

She loved him,
2 hrs later he thought he’d killed her,
He broke up his ******, prepubescent razor,
Without a second thought he dug it into his leg.

Crimson blood ran down his leg,
It dripped down, corrupting the beige carpet,
Tears fell alongside the dark drops,
But no one entered, no one to help him.

She loved him,
She got stitched up and it became like it never happened.
He loved her,
He was left scarred and that image of her wrists never left him.

4 years later he sat in his room,
He wrote a piece of text.
This Isn’t a Poem. Its My Life.
This isn't a poem. I know that but im drunk and depressingly happy, this is my story. i hope it helps you <3
Its long but worth the read if you need someone to relate to. Never forget, you are loved.
Love is awkward
Makes you do unmindful things
like staying up past restful hours
mind racing of kisses from no one
imaginary lover dancing in your head
nothing but the wait for a
seemingly simple
phone call
pick up the phone and melt into me
you have all the time in
the world to wait for him
or to browse her pictures and texts
we will never learn from the calm or logical
just hopes from longing
suffering love in the recesses of the dark...
Love take notes.
In the floodgates
                of forever
                    I see you standing,
                 arms out, so ready
    the multiple layers
of silky delicious
       that we have created
                           until now
     swirling about us,
a storm of veils
beckoning like sea waifs
     and I am opening up
like never before
       my heart practically
                 out of my chest
                               until it is
                       flying forth,
                        a mythical
             winged creature,
prehistoric birdling
and you,
      with  your strong arms
your third eyelight
turned on
              catch it
                          hold it
                   nuzzle it
            until the rest of me
can reach you
   bursting forward
        through swathes
           of time
           turbulence a mere
and we meld
and merge like oceans
     hearts lit up
in electrical surge
time and place not existing
We are the sea.
We are the Earth.
We are the desert velvet
We are the wonder
in the hallways
of our arteries
We are the bloodflow
of the universe within us
We reign the
ever changing existence
that keeps us whole
allowing room to breathe
to bloom in mystical
                   wild gardens
                yet binding
through realms
of our light's
endless expansion
our souls embracing
as we dream future visions
upon our tongues
and as I gaze upon you
our eyes a magnet
you ignite my glow,
the king of my citadel
festooned with
for your
 Dec 2017 Malvika N Hasrajani
from a dream*

...My student's name is Ari
and he's dying...

“No serious talk today!” he warns
He wants to laugh –
and so we do

He wants the Patriarchs and Prophets
on this tropical island
He names them doing something funny
and I pick up where he leaves off--
with the second line:

      “Elijah, with his ravens on a blow-up raft...”
     “...Ascends with ham sandwich, sipping wine!”

    “Jeremiah throwing mud *****...”
    “ Zedekiah's white garage!”

We rewrite the Old Testament
laughing till we cry

“Now that's what I'm talkin' about!”
He's pumped
and kicks that rebel trashcan 'cross the room
...and suddenly shouts out--

“For everything there is a season...!”

I do not finish this one....

“I'll tell Solomon you said Hi”

...and in that moment half aware...


I'm wearing a grass skirt
in someone else's dream

I'm on Instagram
and I don't know how I got there

I have coconut halves for my ****
but for the life of me –
can't figure
how to keep them on

So I let them sway with my grasses
to the languid freedom of marimba music
toes clutching warmth of sand
No one here to see
but Instagram?

Nagging in the background:
How did I ever get here?

Dreaming like this... right?
Thanks to Anon for the suggestion to switch the order of the two pieces to this dream.  Yes, definitely makes it more sensible.

These two different dreams just somehow blended together.

I have never been to the tropics, but it's nice to dream, seein' as how it'll be
3 degrees here tonight.  I've worked with kids and as a teacher in public schools, so I guess that's where the rest comes from--that, and I've read the Old Testament.
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