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 Sep 7 Saanvi
Marsha Singh
It's what you wanted,
right? A prime cut, cool
in the middle and hot
to the touch— toothsome
and tender, fresh from the
embers, a just-how-you-like-it bite.
There was this message someone send
Saying that I'm loved, it's not the end
I'm fine, that was I pretend
But I took all my strength and send a mail, through darkness I went

I trust this good old friend all time long
And luckely, he didn't proofed me wrong
I felt, the there was no where I belong
But with this friend, I feel now strong

The Message went on, listen to your hart
And never to the dark
He reminded me of that song of a lark
That was lonely in the park

It said, you are not alone
You don't have to do it on your own
And through the Park whispers of angels were blown
Follow our voice, not the dark you known

thanks alot my good old friend
Was the message that I then send
In future I'll listen to my hart and not to the darkness, that made me bent
I'll look for help, 'cause my life isn't for the demons to rent
I met a friend today
His name was Death
He smiled big with pure white teeth
And minty fresh breath
I asked him what he did for a living
Staring blankly at me, batting his eyelashes
He did the opposite of giving
What did that mean?
But the closer I got to Death
The better I understood his scheme
In his sharp black suit he won me over
I felt an irresistible draw
Like to a diamond in the rough, or a four leaf clover
He convinced me of the beauty in the night
That when the moon was hidden from view
There was nothing better than the lack of light
He led me from my lust for life
Sang to me in my sleep
Whispered sweet nothings and handed me the knife
I tried to pull away from my newly found friend
But his choke hold was so tight
On him I started to depend
The world could see me deteriorate into nothing
He held me harder and closer
With shortness of breath I stood huffing and puffing
Enclosed in the lackluster of our friendship I became numb
The emotions drifted with my vitality
I tried to retrieve them but could only attain 1/5th of my former sum
The more time you spend with a person
The more you become like them
I suppose I couldn't see the situation worsen
Collar around my neck he leashed me like a dog
I cared so deeply for him
My haze filled mind ignored the dense fog
I came to terms with my life long trap
Death circled like a satellite around my position
No matter where I went he found my place on the map
Eventually I succame to this fate
Despite his control
Death, I could not hate
I loved him too dearly to notice the signs
I couldn't think clearly
His presence was odious and it wasn't benign
 Sep 7 Saanvi
Meera
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
 Sep 7 Saanvi
Molly Hughes
My voice box has been cut out
and laid bare and ****** upon a table.
My tongue has been severed
and tucked away in a drawer,
a slab of hidden whispers.
In their shadows,
a new voice box has been installed,
a new tongue fitted in the empty hole.
They feel stronger.
Louder.
Different.
The voice box is loud enough to scream into the ocean
and have twisted,
unknown creatures at the bottom shudder at the sound,
the tongue is strong enough to slap and caress,
to climb a mountain and run a race,
with nothing but words to mark it's trail.
The old ones will sometimes try a feeble wail,
a shake of the drawer,
ghosts that I will welcome with open arms,
but the new ones are a gift.
And I will treasure them.
I got into my first choice of university to study creative writing. Never been happier.
“Ye without sin cast the first stone.”
No one is perfect, but I’m not justifying crime.

Men roam the streets as their little children sleep,
Ready to attack the obvious prey.
While hard working people that wants to make ends meet,
Pray with their little children or go their separate ways,
Subconsciously hoping to wake up the next day.
Though four miles away and even across the world,
Someone’s being shot, stab to death or *****.
We the country gasp in fear,
Though we the  country created the problem.
Young men and women hooked on drugs,
Partying like rock stars while hitting the clubs.
Showing off the material things, “Yea that’s wassup.”
According to the older folks this nonsense has to stop,
I do agree though, before friends create props.
Are we are neighbors keepers, or do we continue to hate?
While we make money for our bread and butter,
Some families have nowhere to stay.
Young men turn to violence,
To make money for today.
Who knows what goes on in our country,
While the light are off and the street lights are on.
What shall be revealed next?
“All a we,” suppose to be, “One Family.”
Yet our nations need to be healed.
Let’s come together “This Bahama Land”,
And lend one another a helping hand.

©
© RGN - Nov./3/10
 Sep 7 Saanvi
rk
bruise
 Sep 7 Saanvi
rk
you might not
have been my first love
but you were the one
who hurt the most.
- i ache for you but i'm still bruised.
 Sep 7 Saanvi
August
in my dreams and idle violence
I imagine that I’m loved and lovely,
that she rests upon my chest in silence,
her breath testing the finiteness
of my heart that ticks defiantly.

so tricky are these fickle dreams,
I hear no real beat beneath my bones.
where the river goes, so do the boats,
and daylight has decreed
that we are gone the way of ghosts.
 Sep 7 Saanvi
Bekah Halle
And the train pulls out
Of the station,
Taking travellers forward
And leaving others behind.

Depending on the time
Of the day,
This act is done
With little to no sound.

Like a silent movie,
Especially the cool of the morn.
Where are we all going;
Where are we all bound?
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