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the world turns never so dark

light is seen
only with closed eyes.
i'm fed up with isms and faiths and dogmas with apparently lofty goals in effect battering humanity.
I know a bad poem when I see it
yet strange enough
never seen or read one,
my tablet refuses me,
my writing hand shakes
incontrovertibly
the dictionary confirms,
proper usage forbids,
the conjunction of the words
bad poem,
t'is a linguistic impossibility

every poem ever writ
resides inside my customized
pantheon,
tho spell it a tad different,
Pantheone

every poet/poem lives forever
in a
pantheon of one
for the courage to expose,
deserves the honor
accorded by their fellow immortal muses
The light that ruled the day receded
Fragments of you
Seeped through the cracks
Of a perfectly orchestrated facade
Your authentic self lay
Exposed to the elements
Your halo unhinged overnight
The leavings of your unmasking
Some faceless thing
Fading into the mist.
little words
with big meanings
shared over coffee
and toast

beginning the day
with sunshine, love
and ginger lime butter

it is the simple things
it is....the simple things
i love....
/
Many days
I do not read any newspaper
Even do not see television
At all
Many days have gone
After You
I do not read any poetry

How to feel that since this morning!
Repeatedly hear identifying tunes on the air

Your arrival in the sky,
The air reverberates
Looks like another day
In the Paradise,
In another song,
Which brings the soul
The Aroma

Everyone is coming out
From all sides
Young Old
Babies Boys
Women Men
Everyone
Everyone is clapping
Singing the song of the same tune
This song is not the song of Rain
Not even a lamentation

The Southern breeze whispering your words
Slowly Said,
The Little Tailor Bird
No, No,
Not such a summer afternoon
Not even a hurricane warning

Each of the human eye
Follow the Eastern Sky  
Tireless Eye
Watching the sun,
The Red Sun,
You went to bring dreams for us
From the Sun

Hundreds of thousands of people
In his next question
Hand with Flower
Shoulder to Shoulder
Today will be the day of strangers,
The poet will come
We are standing in the flowers
Fist full of dreams to take

Float in the sky with white clouds
My dreams are calling again
Today is not such an Autumn
But Still feel like an Autumn
Indeed,  
The poet will come,
A poem in the New

Where each word will be spoken dream
Love to be evacuated
Poems that will repay
The debt to my Ancestor
Take revenge on thee
For their injustice,
Torture
Poems that would bring the stars
For our next generation
A poem that would bring the red rose for my darling,
Would bring such a smile to my mother's face
As Moon that smile
And that is simply killed false dreams
Will we ever Released
Sing Freedom Songs

The Poet,
My beloved Poet
You will come,
Will surely come
And will recite your immortal poem
/

@ Musfiq us shaleheen
/
dear respectable fellow poet, poetess readers
if you like this poem please share your comments and repost the poem.
I will be grateful to you.....
/
I tune the radio to a station I know won't come in.
Because it sounds just like the ocean to me.
And a fake ocean is far better than no ocean at all.
It sounds like a place so far away from here, so free.

I place blankets over my curtains, which are over my windows.
Because it makes me feel safe when I sleep.
And a bit of sleep is a lot better than none at all.
It seems this new habit I've formed, I'll keep.

I run outside every single time it rains.
Because the cold jars my lifeless body awake.
And some feeling is nicer than no feeling at all.
It hopefully cleanses me, for I know my soul's at stake.
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