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  Mar 2018 Srijani Sarkar
Sarah Meow
Why
To start --
being an adolescent with autumn eyes,
seeking a prophecy for long-standing bravery
to further the spinning spokes for minutes, five more,

I burned the drapes to reveal a humanity only I could see.

The expectations were elaborately existing, unsatisfying. Sons
and fathers, years refrained from matters
that reverse reverse reverse curses and maturity
without purpose.

Those idle accepted neglect, and the existence of an
unsalted bridge was quickly detained. Alone, the foolish described
to search for the future in geometric formation and coffee ring
stains fading the desk.

But the sense proposed in my decided equality drank dignity
straight from the bottle. The road that lead me between two cliffs,
Propriety and Statistics, with the rocks already pelting down,
could not diminish my enthusiasm for necessary absurdities.

There's no flesh in declared mediocrities.

I became a luminary for pleasures of eminence, hope with resolve,
opportunities in destiny. Blind gambles obliged the fear of exacting
sensibility. Passionate follies created no-regret-consequences,
satisfied stability. Only the **** are granted victories in eternal gaiety.

Mortality is irrelevant if you let mystery be your urgency.
  Mar 2018 Srijani Sarkar
August
I drafted my dreams out on a string from window to window

                                                         ­                                               Where they could see some sunshine

                So that they could feel the breeze that whipped the willow trees

                                                          ­I lay on the grass for hours hoping something would change

                                        Everything seemed so strange and sadly serene

My dreams used to be such a large part of me
  
                                                           ­                          I finished my cigarette as the wind writhed, breathing

                                    Pulled down the preliminary principles made of follies, folded them quietly

       Walked inside, adjusting my somber eyes to darker lights

                                                         ­       I open the closet door gently, hands full of my old fabrications

                             I keep lying to myself & trying to tell myself I'm
                                                             ­                                                   putting them away for
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                     *'safe-keeping'.
Amara Pendergraft 2014

I'm sorry I disappear so much and for such long periods of time.
So there I saw-
and then I curled
into my fetal ball of envy

my happiness had coagulated
and chilled
like a refrozen popsicle
at the back of the freezer.

even if you melted
my
stale
cracked
enclosure
you would still smell
the jealous-
like
hangover
on my breath

I swear it even
exploits my muscles
my tendons grimace
like massive internal
pulley systems.

when my mind
frowns condescendingly
at my juvenile grievances,
the follies laugh their
disassembled modulations
and ignore my pleas

no-it takes more than that.
my every yellow Laureling
becomes a necessity
to coax, soften my
serpentine
charity
from whence I have locked it.
  Mar 2018 Srijani Sarkar
M G Hsieh
Do not go out softly
but like a free verse
rain into the Pacific

splattered then spent.
Odious vessel,
dry and salted.

Come watch comets
graze mountains,
with their audacity.

And eclipses! Behind
blue lights and fluorescent skies --
foibles of exigency.

Form was not made
for free spirits
to crash into. Watermarks

dance lively now, like petals
that once spiralled
outside our window.
  Mar 2018 Srijani Sarkar
Aron
The overwhelming sadness that had covered my heart,
that day it melted away into the summer sky.
October 1, 2014
They put me in the oven to bake.
Me a deprived and miserable cake.
Feeling the heat I started to bubble.
Watching the others I knew I was in trouble

They opened the door and I started my life.
Frosting me with a silver knife.
Decorating me with candy jewels.
The rest of my batch looked like fools.

Lifting me up, she took off my wrapper.
Feeling the breeze, I wanted to slap her.
Opening her mouth with shiny teeth inside.
This was the day this cupcake had died.
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  Mar 2018 Srijani Sarkar
Duzy
No one can know your pain
Not nearly as well as yourself
But the rope won't take it away
It just gives it to someone else
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