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Beware the people
who are all talk and no walk;
I'd much rather walk in silence
and let Time speak for itself.
 Jul 2015
Musfiq us shaleheen
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When the inflated crunching sky turns into the black hole, one by one the expected stars slowly falling on the horizon, sudden deep dark clouds cover the silky face of moon, or the earth takes the full moon.

Long, long shadows darken the meadows, southern wind can’t open your closed window at all, standing along on the curve of a road, a sigh to fly in the wind, roaming heart finding a home.

See the mystic form of the known objects, distant standing old banyan tree suppose to feel a lonely friend of mine, a friend of rootless time, when silly, bogus thoughts engulfed me, want to break up but change does not cry out.

Melancholy beauty in the dark, floating with the imagine gulls in the sky, draw the red sun on the canvas of dark sky within the wings of dream, again see you are playing with the seven colors across my unfinished sky.
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@Musfiq us shaleheen
in the land of the white
live too the black men
apparently with equal right
but with covert disdain.

why couldn't the world be one place
when we are all from common gene
where humanity is the only race
across the color of skin.

in the land of the black
live too the white men
apparently of the same pack
but on a different plane.

why couldn't the world be one landmass
when we rose from one origin
where being humane is the only class
across the color of skin.

in the land of the white
live the white men
among them aren't equal right
exist disparity and disdain.

why couldn't the world be one unit
when together we all once had been
where brotherhood is boldly writ
across the color of skin.

in the land of the black
live the black men
among them oneness they lack
the inequalities still remain.*

why couldn't the world be one creed
where mankind lives as one kin
the white and the black can only read
love across the color of skin.
 Jul 2015
Helen
To truly know the fire,
one must taste the ashes.

To truly feel the burn
one must know the flame

To truly burn with fire
casts off the brightest light.

and in the ashes lay
the taste of another day
This was a "call and response" dash-off on one of my poems, "Unrestrained".  Check out the comment section; you can see how it came together.
As the day dies sun to west slants
my hands water the few potted plants
an evening dawns in melancholic hush
pesters my mood the cawing corvus!

The nose in the air polished jackdaw
can’t fathom why men break nature’s law
wipe out forests root out the green
then on the roof try to grow seedling!

Why at all shrink the men so smart
stretches of wood to build habitat
all the clever brains profound and wise
destroy wastelands to madly urbanize!

The corvus his eyes speak of dark scare
frightened beak caws how is unfair
denuding of trees in insane haste
leaving scarce space to build him a nest!
she came
when seeds were not yet sown
the sky had not ****** the river
clouds were far away from rain.

she came
when heart was mere flesh
eyes had not known rainbow
and mind was just a wayward place.

she came
when door was only wooden frame
autumn was blooming shy veiled
romance was yet to wear a name.

she returned
there was darkness gathering

love is she forever searching.
 May 2015
Jon Shierling
Here it comes again,
that feeling known so well,
when your heart hurts
and things start to stretch.

The machine you're trying to type
on is starting to fail,
the words you're trying to speak
are sounding cheap and ill used.

There is something you know,
deep down inside,
some seriously heavy hitting truth
trying to claw it's way out of you,
a drop of strange, a hint of deja vu.

Pulling back from the lies you've told
to yourself, afraid to see what is...
and what ought to have been.

I'm afraid to go through that door,
shedding the faces and skins I've worn
for so long, but I know that I have to
open it and walk through standing tall.
 May 2015
Poetic T
turbulent essence
rabid moments fluctuate
immersed in silence
Water rages above but then the silence below
 May 2015
Sally A Bayan



It is not only on her birthday, and the day she left
i remember her everyday...without fail
her thoughts visit me when i rise in the morning
she hints to me what she'd do if she were in my shoes
at night, i whisper, "talk to me...in my sleep..."

in my dreams, our eyes seldom meet...she's younger now,  lovelier
always busy pruning her bougainvillas and dama de noche,
the usual scene....maybe, she's telling me this is how it's going to be
that everything would be okay, even when i, too, am gone.

it's like, she's just outside, tending her garden
it's like she's absent, just traveling, for a while.

in the minds of my children and grandchildren
my siblings and their families
her memories play on and on, like a record spinning on a turntable
she's a serenade...a classical piano piece that won't fade
my late mother...she's a song that will not die.



Sally
Copyright May 7, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers in and out of Hello Poetry!***
As the winds break into small feathered kisses
and idly burden the heart this May day
I lament for all the long withered wishes
once whose petals bloomed on my way.

A begone time love feeling unfailingly true
a touch that left a long hovering trail
on the probing soul fertile they grew
before cruel days wore them frail.

Aspirations soared on sun blazed wings
they had to be have on awakened nights
the innocent's hunts for the most precious things
haloed in passions of untamable sights.

On feathered winds were they drifted and gone
notions of love and visions to build high
but by their fire made me a man
leaving imprints as the years went by.
 May 2015
Mercurychyld
There was a woman once,
a woman on a long trek
through the desert.

She was on a mission,
to find herself
and to BECOME…
the woman her late
beautiful mother
had raised her to be.

This woman was mad,
adventurous, often careless,
and utterly inspiring.

I began to envision
my own life;
my own mission in
that vast desert,
and realized that I too
was striving to BECOME…
to UN-become
all the things my own
mother taught me to be,
for her own twisted purpose,
her own power trip
and narcissistic need,
and draped in convenient
deafness and blindness.

Never did I imagine
the excruciating journey
or detestable, bitter path
this un-becoming
would ultimately be,
for me.

Like a puzzle of
a thousand pieces,
torturously forced together,
whether they fit, or not,
the un-becoming entails
shattering, finally, the mirror
image once created
and wrapped around you
like a paralyzingly layer of skin,
and carving out,
from the leftover,
a new image;
the true image
of who I am…

whomever that may
one day be.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
 Apr 2015
Traveler
And so here we are
Page after page
Hearts on fire
Exposing parts unseen
Beneath harden surfaces
Wounds unclean
Broken still we dream
On and on we pen
And so we breathe again
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