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 Sep 2018
Satsih Verma
This truth was yours-
not mine. I was
fighting a lone battle.

Have seen-
the legends, tall claims,
of tumbling heights.

In my aloneness
I am searching myself
for the page of testimony.

Walked in pain,
to find you- O god I wanted
to believe in you.

Acceptance. The
world forgets. We talk of
paper dreams. There was no
green tree.

My hands were papyruses.
Who had drawn out
the mystery lines?
 Sep 2018
r
Tonight Hunraqan
roams the night
lifting the shroud
of dark clouds
so the moon can peek
down  on my long dreams
of water, and the mystery
of sleep; I am tranquil
one eye open, thankful
for the respite of brief light
while somewhere a plank
floats east to the Atlantic
carrying a forgotten book
of the K'iche' Maya language
with my name inscribed
just inside, I sigh, oh why
heart of my sky, why?
Wikipedia:  Huracan[1] (/ˈhʊrəkən, ˈhʊrəˌkɑːn/; Spanish: Huracán; Mayan languages: Hunraqan, "one legged"), often referred to as U K'ux Kaj, the "Heart of Sky",[2] is a K'iche' Maya god of wind, storm, fire and one of the creator deities who participated in all three attempts at creating humanity.[3] He also caused the Great Flood after the second generation of humans angered the gods. He supposedly lived in the windy mists above the floodwaters and repeatedly invoked "earth" until land came up from the seas.*
Season of Love
Season of love has come again
To remind me your presence around
I am fully enthralled by this rain
I am in the air and no more on ground

My love My searching you blindly
But I am not in a mood to disturb you
To take trouble or to aspire for plea
This is what as duty I must take ,do

So let me be in search of you dear
Let me taste of being alone in love pain
This pain of being alone but to bear
Love my love is part of heart not of brain

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2018 Golden Glow
 Sep 2018
Satsih Verma
I did not want
to know you. Then why-
asking the way
to your home.

The dilemma of the
musky scent. Do you think-
it was a traditional
way of carrying the love
of unknown.

This world does not
suit me. Shame to the doormen,
how did you reach there
unannounced under the night's sounds.

The tone you will miss.
The tree has walked away.
No sin was left.
 Sep 2018
Satsih Verma
Listen,
take your call.
You can smell the
musk of a wandering deer.

Retrieve,
the lost soul of
the wounded age. Ravens
are increasing in number, waiting.

The grace,
disappearing fast. The
random silence, in terrible
commotion, remains unheard.

I step outside,
my body, my thoughts,
on flat earth. You touch
a poet's dilemma.

On your bones,
lies a small bundle
in white, of the future
child- stillborn.
 Sep 2018
Courtney
Fresh after the rain
I hike in the woods.
The leaves are turning to
yellow yams, auburn brick, pumpkin pie.
The ground is wet and the wood is damp.
The leaves lay vibrant on their death bed.
I turn around.
I see through the spaces
fallen flowers,
departed shrubs,
vanished birds,
the trees that once protected my eyes from the placid lake.
The air is bright with mist.
The grey sky surrounds me.
The cold breeze comforts my skin,
and forgives my lungs.
I take it all in.
But the cold air can never forgive
the dying trees and life dissolved.
Others will pass by.
Leaves will crunch and crumble
under feet that won’t realize the forest decline.
The music to their ears will return each year.
But the crunch will fade.
Less trees, less leaves.
A Decrescendo,
A whisper.
Silence.
 Sep 2018
Blade Maiden
The wolves are hungry tonight
and so is she
her heart does know no fright
with her pack she longs to be

Under the bloodmoon
see her limbs grow
her feral body is to swoon
turning wolf into lady from head to toe

Her brothers and sisters sharp teethed
running with the winds of winter
in this cold and star-bright night they will feast
blood smearings in the snow look just like cinder

Hear her song howling through the air
all ice melts underneath her fiery feet
as they catch and bite and tear
lucky ones see her eyes before their demise they meet

'Tis the night of the hunt
benighted men will not run
shouting "Begone! Animal! ****!"
happily she devours them, flayed bodies in the morning sun

She's always lurking, lusting for your smell
Dripping wet her mouth with the juice of life
no one lived for the story to tell
of the wolf woman, dark wood's feral wife
 Sep 2018
Courtney
The day I realized 
among willow trees
and lilac fields
that I was just like the others,
that the holes in your watering can
weren’t made for me,
that I have been starving myself of life,
withering, wilting, weeping away
I let go.

I’ve walked through storms
I’ve climbed mountains
And crawled through ditches in the dirt
To realize
that rain provides more shelter than your words ever will
that my reflection does not define my beauty
that my molten eyes do not determine my strength
that I can grow without you.

I’ve learned to root myself in something else
stem by stem
leaf by leaf
I pulled away from the need 
to feel validated by 
your sunlight and attention.

In years to come
You will find
that all along you forgot to water me
and the drops will spill on barren land
when you learn that
I have traveled
to a garden of my own.
 Sep 2018
Sandoval
Sometimes
I wish I could
rewind time;
other times, I wish I could
fast forward it.

Its the middle
that drives me crazy,

the one where there's no
you nor no me.
Just a vague memory
of what we used
to be.



*Sandoval
D
 Sep 2018
Blade Maiden

Is it wrong to feel
it all unfold
to want my tongue to peel
off the words that have been foretold
to let my chest burst open
feel the nectar of flowers all find their place within
My body's nothing more than a token
caught in darkness for far too long my lively swarm has been

And oh, the misery
I can't let them out
The only bliss, you see
is when the humming isn't so loud
But today my ears can't take the noise
my body aches, its been holding and breaking
I thought somewhere in all that buzzing I heard a voice
But I'm afraid I'm just anothers nest in the making

In my dreams I see my bees leaving
they all fly away
and I can't blame the spider for weaving
turning this hive into her own flowery array
Soon this place might as well be forgotten
for I know nothing about actual flowers
and they will all be rotten
and there over my lost mind an old tree towers

This tree will be my grave
I shall be buried alive
til something may save
the leftovers of my overgrown heart, this bee hive
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