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 Jul 2020 Shrika
Eshwara Prasad
My poetry looks dull
They need a fresh lick of Paint
Paint it with love
someone once told me

-long before when i used to play music so loud
so loud to help keep the whispers at bay
      the monsters hidden within
            the unanswered questions, doubts, unanswered,

that to be able to appreciate music,
lower the volume, take it in, softly, gently, and
hear it calmly.

but then,
        the whispers
            the monsters
                the unanswered questions
                                              doubts

 ­  are louder, s c r EA mIng,
                   loud, louder than

     the heartb e a t,
       dum, dumdum, dum.....
                    too soft.... too..

hoax.
i wanted to, but i can't hear the soft music in the screaming of what's within.
 Jul 2020 Shrika
Traveler
Come home now
Dear lost savants

You can't save them all
It's not what they want

Weaving webs of sticky persuasion
Venomous insinuations

Looking through the dark
Of what love really means

The distance between us
Mere words upon a wing

Come back
It's a birds eye view

You've been lost
And their waiting for you

Dear lost savants
Please return

The world out there
Will always burn!
Traveler Tim
 Jul 2020 Shrika
Arthur Blank
To the humble ant,
A blade of grass is a tree,
In a vast forest.
A Haiku.
 Jul 2020 Shrika
Arthur Blank
I am the lone wind
A moment's song, I kiss your
Skin then I'm gone.
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