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Meet my new friend,
her name is Pain.

She always stays by me,
never leaves my side,
no matter what.

She promised to stay with me
my whole life long
until it is my time to go.

So we both wait patiently
until that day arrives,
when she will hold my hand
for one last time,
put me to my grave and
bid her last goodbye.
 Jun 17 Traveler
Cadmus
They asked me once,
“Why do you always take the hard path?”

I said,
“It’s not that I choose it
It’s just the only path I see.”

Not all of us are given options.

Some roads are rough
because that’s all there is.
Sometimes, life doesn’t offer a choice between easy and hard - it simply gives a road, and we walk it.
the isle is surrounded,
one if by day, and
too by night,
a thickening paste
of fog, condensed humidity,
and the mind smiles that
interloper explorers would sail
past by us, unawares,
for the waters are merely a
dirtier shade of green grey,
a "path" to follow and we
would be spared the noisy
pollution of politics and
and injections of identity
that divide, the tirades of
the overly righteous chest
beaters, who never question
their certainty, their compasses
always broken pointing their
"only one way"

sail on, sail past. this piece of
quiet tranquility, a place that
has just one of everything, a
sufficiency, a rejection of excess,
and the only melancholy is
the finality of passing of
the day lillies,
b u t,
the multi-colored irises, the
flowering of azaleas, rhododendrons, and the brevity
of the cheery cherry blossoms
of those;
secure, safe we are, assured that
their peaceful return is guaranteed
by the firmament and its secrets,
that, along with the overwhelming
greenery of this spot, for the
pleasuring enjoyment of all,
even the fog's quietude,
its surround sounds silences the anxious rapid heart beating,
slowed by one thought only:

Here,
herein is,
here within
lies the truths of
shelter

S. I. 2025
 Jun 16 Traveler
Aditya Roy
I couldn't walk
Another step today
So I wrote this
Line by line
It gave me the strength
That I once lacked
It made me feel like
I had a voice

This mind
This body
This soul
And ah...
I forget that there's a heart
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

   About That Full All-Out Full-Blown Hot Cold Shadow War Zone

Can a war ever be empty?
Can a war ever be some-in?
Can a war ever be some-out?
Can a war ever be partially-blown?
Can a war ever be a lukewarm war?
Can a war ever be an unshadow war?
Can a zone ever be anything but a war zone?
Can “digital content producers” ever learn to write without employing pointless adjectives and adverbs?
And let The People say, "Icon!"
Reality is cruel.
Fate is cruel.
You were cruel.
And me—
I’m no better.

Maybe I’m just…
Empty.

Not even lonely.
Just hollow. Void. Unmoving.
Unreal.

And now— I’m alone.
So alone.

I don’t know where I am.
I don’t know who I am.
I am clueless. I am lost.

"Help me."
"Miss me."
"Love me."
"And Tell me—why?"

Maybe one day—
I’ll begin to fill myself.
Because in the end,
no one else will do it.
No one else ever would.

But for now…
I’m just—
empty.

— The End —

© 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh.
All rights reserved.
“Some loves end quietly. Others echo forever.”

It is not a cry for attention, but a whispered acknowledgment of being stripped of feeling. A poem about heartbreak, abandonment, and the quiet ruin that follows. It’s not just about losing someone—it’s about losing yourself.
 Jun 16 Traveler
abyss
Shattered illusions.
Shattered hopes.
Shattered dreams.

A house with no structure
built from the remains of ruin.

A powerful soul
in a trembling body.

A house meant to fall.
A house that realized
it’s not a house at all -
just the memory of shelter
pretending to hold.

It asks,
"Then what am I?"

But no one answers.

And so,
what’s left
sinks into the soil,
quietly turning
back into earth.
Who are you when it all comes crashing down?
The sky is falling
ashes in slow motion,
  raining smoke laced with doubt.
I’m trying to figure things out – trapped inside
   of my mind, trying to map a way out.
Time wears you down like a borrowed face.
Money races laps around your mind—
  and we’re all so deeply
    invested in the chase.

I think locomotive thoughts—
   every train of thought heavier than the last—
but somehow, I keep losing track of time.
But what is time,
  if not something that’s never mine?
We spend every second like a dime—
  but not every moment
    is worth the time.

I dress up for someone else’s moment,
tailor my soul to suit their life—
wearing joy like it’s rented, hoping the fit feels right.
Every mistake I remember from yesterday
  becomes a brushstroke in the picture I paint today—
a portrait of someone better
  hanging up in my frame of mind.

And maybe, just maybe,
there lies the real way
to fit in.

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