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I hear the time was ticking.
Tic toc tic toc
With the leaf fall around us
From the blow of the wind.

I can't hear my voice.
From unheard breathing of silent.
With the rhythm of my heart
And trembling hands.

Why I am like this?

I feel the path
Getting shorter by the time that
I wish it was getting longer and further for the first time.

And

I can't feel my feelings
how sad that day was.
Because tomorrow the day we would be parted.

- Y
ENTRY #1
- The lingering feeling, that inspired me to write something.
Maybe

I know you well,
Enough to realized that
you not telling me the truth.

However, I know.
I don't understand you
Deep enough to know the reason
Why you're sad.

Yet,
It's kind of irritating but true
The feeling.

To be honest...

Knowing you,

I shouldn't ask
when I know the answer.

- Y
ENTRY #10
- I thought, i know everything about that person by naturally looking at that person. but actually, i just trying so hard to figure out.
“She just like a fire.
The fire, that melts you.
The fire, that keeps you warm.
The fire, that you're are trying to save.
The fire, that you Shield from the wind.
And, the fire that burned you.
Yeah, She burned you...
Because, she thought you were playing with a her.
Now you know
She is the fire.”
Fire
  Aug 2018 Amalinna Zainal
Pagan Paul
I slip the straps and release the clasp
of your over-the-shoulder boulder holder.
Gravity asserts itself, and you sigh as
I wonder if I should get even bolder

because

The jaws of love masquerade
as petals of a flower

so

Just say if you want me to stop.
We are, after all, in the middle of a shop.
I was attracted when I saw you smile.
As we passed in the frozen food aisle.
Now people are staring though the window.
Shocked at my nonchalant innuendo.
And if your purse metaphor extends to this.
We can go to the Bank for a little kiss

though

I may not be able to afford
nine feather mattresses and a golden pea.
But if you could make do
with a lilo and a marble
then …
You've pulled Princess.

© Pagan Paul (30/05/17)
.
Prequel to Even Poets ***** Up A Date (Mar 31)
The 3rd, Even Poets ***** Up A Night Of ***, to be published at some point.
.
  Jun 2018 Amalinna Zainal
Nishu Mathur
The sea is still today
It's cerulean blue and gold
I think of the thoughts it carries
Within its hidden folds.
It's  touch is soft and gentle
It soothes the ache of years
And I wonder how many waves
Are made from fallen tears.
Dear everyone,

This is such a surprise! Thank you all for your likes, loves and responses. I have not been very active on Hello Poetry, but will get back in action soon. So much appreciated. Thank you Hello Poetry for selecting this as a daily. Thank you so much my friends and fellow poets for taking the time to read this poem of mine. It means the world to me.  Love to everyone **
  Jun 2018 Amalinna Zainal
Arke
find a lover who writes you sonnets
who uses the darkest flecks of your eyes as ink
and the shades of your skin as paper
writing along the edges of your wrists and arms
with tongue and teeth
with purpose, truth, and love

find a lover whose heart sings to yours
a pianissimo summer sonata, dolce
using their words sotto voce against your ear
melodiously humming against your body
with their lips pressed to your neck
with passion, fire and tenderness

find a lover who creates art
using line weight in colloquy and canvas alike
to paint you with diamonds, as they see you
watch them carve your essence
with rainbows and pearls
with intensity, feeling, and beauty

find a lover who gives to you
who presents all the joys of life
unselfishly and without expectation
and when they give freely and openly
ensure that you, too, become a lover
who writes, sings, creates, and returns
●●●
the moon is lonely in the starry night
the sun is lonely amongst the cloud
●●●
the teardrop is lonely in the waves of sea
the heart is lonely in the countless crowd
●●●
the union is lonely while met so many
in the caravan too the loneliness found
●●●
wrote many pages yet lonely is one word
lonely is the matter, the night, things around
●●●
For Kim johanna Baker... translated my last poem
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