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 Apr 2016 Amrita
ishaan khandpur
Your hair fell in streams of black,
Against your naked body.
Covering only your bare back,
I'd never seen such beauty.

The bones on your cheeks,
Held a smile so true.
Your eyes so wide,
That I dreamed through you.

I'd paint you a picture,
If words wouldn't do,
I'd bring you your desires,
And walk through flames for you.

I'd stay with you longer,
Than life would care to do.
In this life or another,
I'd always be there for you.

So hold my hand,
And catch my heart,
As I take the leap,
This deep dive fall.
 Apr 2016 Amrita
D W
My doctor offered me a cure,
For my dull ill heart so pure,
He nodded his head,
And grabbed a paper instead,
Which he left next to my bed,
"Don't open it till I am gone,"
He said.

I waited for a moment,
Till I heard the cracking of the door,
He gentley slammed it for sure,
''Why would he do that?"
I said.

I took the paper to unfold,
To read what was untold,
My hands shivered,
My heart stopped,
instead,

It was eloquently folded,
Like the coffin of the dead,
His black ink on white,
His italic messed up writing,
Not a prescript, but a funeral,
Instead.
Between those elegant lines,
He said,

"You, my dear patient,
Are lost in despair,
You are on earth,
With a lofty heart,
Pardon me,
Pardon my knowledge,
There is no cure for that,
You are a poet, cures are futile,
Medicine is useless,
Your desires are uncontrolled,
They are not meant to be,
But they are your drug,
You are addicted to that,
Pleasures are your weakness,
Such a lofty weakness,
But alas,
Such a dreadful terminal illness,
Try a poem a day,
instead.
As there is nothing to heal you with,
in my head.
A poem a day,
Keep me at bay."*


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 Apr 2016 Amrita
Tyler Zuniga
Endless love and incapable of anything else
I give it all to you and forget myself
Sunlight to my life you give me grace
A fiend to you, I'm addicted to your presence I cannot replace
An indescribable feeling you bring me bliss
I'm all yours never to remiss
The missing piece to my grand plan
Finally a reality that we can all understand
Keep my words and let them fuel your endearment
Love only grows and never shows indignant
Paste my soul where you can see it, drown in my thoughts, and burn in my voice.
I have found a fire I cannot extinguish, a soul that understands and a love to rejoice
 Apr 2016 Amrita
The Flipped Word
Guess I should've written it down
Long ago when it had entered my mind
It's  like all the ink bled right out
From the pen I've been ignoring for a while
Almost as if the words got tired of being tired
And walked away from this tunnel of a mind
They dutifully packed up their bags and left
Trudged on into the night
And try as I might now, to place that typewriter
The sounding of the keys sounds hollow
just like the clanging of fake jewellery maybe I've lost it, maybe I never had it
And finally has that realisation dawned
This is all just a rant anyway
I haven't slept properly in too **** long
 Apr 2016 Amrita
Shreekant Dhuri
The wheels draw to a halt with an ominous screech,
Dazed, I look up from my broken revery;
Murmuring voices, shuffling footsteps alight,
A diffracted spectra, some dark, some bright.

To the windows shift my moony eyes,
As the engine spurts with a burst of life.
Through a tunneling limbo of seamless dark,
Slash ribbons of rail in swirls and arcs.

In this labyrinth, this state of oblivion,
Memories trickle, in ounces, in millions.
Lights of saffron on the arches bloom,
Will-o'-the-wisps, my conscience assumes.

Emerge awed, under a canopy of stars,
An infinity of dreams one could wish upon.
The country bathes in the moonlight deluge.
Utopia, I muse, for my poetic refuge.

The cosmos smiles, enchanting yet so strange.
Would we ever know why, if we weren't so vain?
Gold, moltened crimson, at the horizon streaks,
Warm like the dribble, of tears on one's cheeks.

The last station nears, the wheel rhythm slows.
I get up, wishing the end weren't so close.
The final chapter. Is there ever a further plot?
Perhaps, I decide, on another train of thought.
 Apr 2016 Amrita
Ryan Salt
Red
 Apr 2016 Amrita
Ryan Salt
Red
I've noticed I'm loved in my most familiar state.
Red had been my obsession, my color in my mind, since I was small and whenever I come back to it, people come back to me.

The more light I let shine through, the more people notice, the more they want to know.

I am not often bright enough.

Black is creative. I stall in Black, I waste away in the dark creating non stop.
Black is familiar territory to most but it's not a place people love to return.
In Black, I am alone.
I am once again, in Black.

Red was love and loss and flowers flowing from my body like I was spring.
Red was nights dipped in cool blue, a reminder of love and colors that couldn't be forgotten.
Red became orange, I was faded but desperate, and soon Red wasn't the same. Red was a foreign land, a shade cast over a garden to rest.
And the night set, and Black was all I could see.

I tried to add the colors I saw, I tried to keep dark but vibrant and suddenly nobody wanted to watch, to learn anymore.
If I could trust in the fact of Red, if I could trust that I could go back, I would dive in.
But who's to say that I will be loved again, as I attempt to fool the eye into the brighter?
A dark state is just as comfortable, even if not lovable.
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