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 May 2017 Tap Head
nivek
blood pools and congeals
thickens, clots.
as colour drains away

from your lips, cheeks
rosy fresh
turns deathly ashen grey.
 May 2017 Tap Head
nivek
a poet is in constant meltdown
nuclear fusion on a page
in a deep pool slowly deactivating
 May 2017 Tap Head
Aditi
"sometimes, the poem has more friends than the poet."

And I kind of find it beautiful and I kind of find it sad
But at least the poet has his pen.
When all else has left
He can look across all these version of himself
Scattered on the floor,
Across all these pages.
Maybe that's why he writes,
To give tribute to all parts of himself,
All the damage he has endured,
Or maybe he just writes to feel less lonely,
Or he writes because he just has to,
Like one has to breathe.

Whatever the reason may be,
I'm kind of glad,
That when all else has left,
An artist still has his art,
And it may not be much,
But it's at least not nothing at all,
Maybe his works are a result of all his pain,
A consolation price for losing more than he has gained.

A pen might might not always be mightier than a sword,
But sometimes it's all you need to get through.
 May 2017 Tap Head
Arpan Rathod
I'm thankful
That your words
Moved me
And
I'm thankful
That your words
Helped me
Move on.
 May 2017 Tap Head
James Court
Hey Siri,
Which suits me better - the red, or the blue?

Hey Siri,
Where did I leave my keys?

Hey Siri,
Why doesn't she love me?

Hey Siri,
Who cares?

Hey Siri,
Did my housemate use my coffee mug?

Hey Siri,
Will I enjoy that new Woody Allen movie?

Hey Siri,
Do I look tired?

Hey Siri,
Am I crazy?

Hey Siri,
Do you think I'll ever truly be happy?

Hey Siri,
If you don't answer me, how will I know?
 May 2017 Tap Head
Pedro Mathias
If the world is against you
Don't worry, my child
These difficult moments
Will make you grow up
Cry, suffer
Then recover yourself
At the end you will reach
The day you're strong
I know life isn't easy, but I hope one day you will feel that all of it was worth <3
 May 2017 Tap Head
Robert Herrick
Sweet western wind, whose luck it is,
  Made rival with the air,
To give Perenna’s lip a kiss,
  And fan her wanton hair:

Bring me but one, I’ll promise thee,
  Instead of common showers,
Thy wings shall be embalm’d by me,
  And all beset with flowers.

— The End —