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 Mar 2
Axrchx
Basking in the hazy dawn
staring at the dwindling moon.
Each passing second warmer than the previous.
The stars in the garden gently rise, tintless in the mist.
Surrounding as still as an isle in the ocean.
Soon at the demise of this silence
chaos of the chirping birds will prevail.
All these moments will permeate any heart with glee.
Then why is this heart drenched in sorrow
like the lines of an elegy?

Maybe its because witnessing the break of a new day
solidifies the yesterday that she let slip away
Maybe the roses in the mist appear gray
as an echo of her own bleak existence.
Maybe the silence irked a forlorn ego
her distorted mind kept at bay.
Maybe the blurry sight weighs her heart down
as it resembles the image of her future she pictured.
Maybe all these moments makes her ruminate
about the memories the merciless time marred.
wide awake at dawn w serene melancholy
 Feb 25
Dhaval Naik
In the gentle breeze,
Wrapped in a whisper of peace,

We grow weary of the endless chase,
Yet pause to gaze,
Realizing it was just a phase,
As we long for  the golden days.

The larvae fades, its time has flown,
The heart still desires the unknown
Thus begins the endless flight—
Chasing butterflies in borrowed light.
#butterfly #love #transformation #larvae
 Feb 21
Coleen Mzarriz
I exist in the abysmal state of solitude, where I, whose existence survives in profound literary pieces, could fall short of mere words penetrated—cast against me. Where would I be if I can't find the right words to say?

In front of me is a sweet orange juice menacingly teasing me with its dazzling pumpkin hue. Beside it is the apple pie I swore my life I would never put in my mouth. Yet, the sun glistened brighter when I gently put my fork down and absurdly ate it with my eyes closed.

The sadness that lingers deep within enthralls me more, as I swiftly swallow and digest it without tasting all its flavors—just so I can return to reality. I try to keep it all together, even as my spirit is crushed by the thoughts that seep in, nipping at the edges of my soul—through the cracked window of my vision, and the half-drunk orange juice. These thoughts keep coming in, like an intense downpour after a shower. I have tried to write this simply, yet I could never find the right words to say.

I could never forgive myself.
the first whole month of this year felt like unending closure and goodbyes of the past and the future. i wasn’t living in reality but between these two. a lot has happened from the first month until this day. i felt like a child trapped in a 20-something adult’s body, and it’s terrifying to know that i will never meet that child again. it’s like a cold january and a warm fuzzy december being distant yet closer in edge.

i still can’t fathom those thoughts that i am already an adult. i have to work and try and fail until i come of age and die. it’s unnervingly a hard pill to swallow. and it’s making me sad.

televangelism - ethel cain
 Feb 21
Arcassin B
"Love,
Should be a wonderful thing,
It's an impossible thing,
So many people in ya' contacts,
Its an optional thing,
The Audacity of this generation slumping out thing,
This a when in doubt thing,
No conversation,  never started,
I'm cool with it,
Not having a connection is my expertise,
I need another drink for all the women that I didn't waste time on,
Say you wanna' be friends but still ghost me,
Have you no shame.."

(Full poem below)
https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2025/02/text-sessions-1.html?spref=tw
 Feb 20
Carlo C Gomez
~
Maternal midnight

Metallic lakeside

Freon heart, fayence mind

Eyelids of iron ore

Influence feet into the water

Into an embargo bay

Clear and innocuous, innocuously blind

Hills like white elephants on a polar plateau

Mosquitos on her mouth

Drink the blood of encryption

Change the tone of her voice

They pass behind the blue vein

Become infinite particles of her

~
 Feb 15
guy scutellaro
beautiful flower

carried away in the storm
laid down in a thicket of thorns.

who will morn
the dancer and sinking sky?
the raven with a broken wing?
who will cry for you? O, flower
folded in the forgotten book of sorrow.
now, a shadow and a name and a tombstone.

my flower, my rose without thorns.

I'm gonna get my shotgun
climb the water tower,
shoot the stars full of lost tomorrows.
Mark down
the seconds between
the flash and boom

That's the distance
True love blooms

If cupid’s arrow found me, maybe then I would’ve known,
The unspoken poetry that lingered in my head,
Will fade in silence, forever left unsaid.
If Cupid’s arrow found me, maybe then you would’ve asked me


parallel valentines never get to touch
held the words as the letters hush
as we danced in the quiet to the echos of your heart in mine
spaces between our fingertips never intertwine

handcuffed, blinded in hindsight
but your soothing mythical kisses hold me tight
escape reality, into ambivalence prose
unveiled morning, I will love you until I decompose

enduring this serene adoration
nothing else wanted, you're my occupation
brown depths look into mine
exploring the treasured island send chills down my spine

*

hold me close for an
uncelebrated celebration
that's all it's been for me


simply it's all that it'll ever be

By: Zoulaikha
So here I stand—
unseen, unsaid,
waiting in the shadows
for a question that never came.
 Feb 11
guy scutellaro
sunset settles behind the trees
and the mayflies rise from the creek
to touch the water to deposit eggs.

the mayfly lives a day, a single night

and in twilight's glow
they rise and fall
in a delicate ballet
to caress the water,

this romance with flowing water,
so brief, so beautiful.
 Feb 6
Carlo C Gomez
~
the night starts here,
the night starts here
in the dunes,
fixed in time;
incipient waves falling into place,
their subtle purpose
to roll over and sing;
the fountainhead above us,
like it's above the shore,
attaching softness to a shell.

we blew on a dandelion
and the whole world disappeared;
love is a mysterious shape,
love is a remembered rhythm.

I have trembled
my way deep,
I'm a guest in here,
drinking at the stream,
seeking bliss in
the plural homemade kiss:
peppermints and orchid rain.

we please the night,
we please the night in interlude,
and it merrily leaves us that strand
of pearls called "good morning."

~
You can see her among Egyptian girls' styles.
Her rosy lips are like Tharia's when she smiles.

Her eyes glow like Thania's, twin stars shine,
Her wavy hair cascades, parted to the left, neatly in line.

With the sweetest hairstyle, she seems like Kamal's bride,
Her deep golden wheat skin mirrors Khadra's pride.

Her tenderness, as breeze, shows Sawsan's grace.
Blush roses on her cheeks, painting a glimmering face.

Oh my God, truly, she is a masterpiece.
Her photo moves from hand to hand, hearts aspiring peace.

A gaze of pity towards her youth,
While those unaware wonder about truth.

Djamila's fate, a truth, can not be silenced to set her free.
Djamila from Algeria, the land by the Mediterranean sea.

Proudly, knights of legends, our brethren sharing the Arab identity.
A flag planted, fluttering on the peak, symbol of fidelity.

Those abandoning their homes, comfort, and warmth.
Standing firm for justice, to live a dignity's worth.

A rebel from the people's heart, who hates the wrongs, brave and true.
She loves Algeria, songs, buildings, gardens, and children, too.

Djamila's fate lies beyond all imagination's might,
She runs while bleeding,O wound, endure the plight.

Locals count the days, and my love for Algeria exceeds worship.
Cut and run, with a bullet in her shoulder, bones shattered in hardship.

She bled, ran, until she crumbled from strain.
The attack dogs caught her, yet she never surrendered despite the pain.

Yet she never spilled, despite torture, crucifixion, and relentless force.
Oh, the sorrow for the youth, trapped in dogs' jaws, with no remorse.

They wrote torment upon her, where wedding vows should have been.
The world spins, and the eye has silently seen.

In her picture, her eyes, like Thania's, appeared.
Fading lips that once laughed like Tharia's, that now disappeared.

Her wavy hair, parted from the left side,
It was soaked in blood rather than cascading like Kamal's bride.

The apple of her mother’s eye, the sprite of strife,
Djamila’s fate is a load  that even mountains can not strive.

A single string from the violin's heart wailed in the anthem's prelude for her,
The remaining strings screamed without tears, reaching the throats of the masses everywhere

Before the courthouse door, the crowd stands still, singing a thunderous song,
While judges, a ruthless band, with hearts of stone, their judgment wrong.

As if upon their eyes, a haze,
A blood upon their hands, ablaze.
They listen to the songs, as in a distant land, so wide,
What good are meanings in mind, so dark and blind?

Through endless nights, the guillotine is whetted, chains are drawn,
While in her cell, she waits till dawn.

Throughout the night, the battles rage within the mountain’s stronghold deep,
And Jamila, through the storm and cage, lives on hope, her soul to keep.

O hero, move forward with the rifle in your hand,
Let the fire ignite, for the battle will stand.

For Djamila, her fate is naught but never to give up.
No escape from striving, nothing but to rise up.
-Written by Salah Jaheen, a leading Egyptian poet, lyricist, playwright, and cartoonist.
-Translated by Menna Abd-Eldaiem
Translator and Poetess
-Djamila Bouhired is an Algerian nationalist militant who opposed the French colonial rule of Algeria as a member of the National Liberation Front.
 Feb 4
London Paris
You’re
like a dream I never
want to wake up from,
And like a book of poetry,
I can’t stop reading your pages.

Impossible it may seems
You’re all
I desire.
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