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 Jul 2016
Ismahanwrites
She wasn't Anti social
She expressed her feelings through Art
It was Poetry that Made Beautiful and different from the Others.
 Jul 2016
Torin
Do you ask yourself sometimes?
What it is and what will be?
Who we are
Trains may arrive in stations
The hands on the clock
Our fingers
But our hands have never been pure
Who we are

How it feels
To feel
How it feels to feel just the way you do

Don't you want love and silver and gold?
What is truth and how we seek
Who we are
Clocks always strike the minute
But our hands toil with the devils work
Our faces never stay the same
Marching forward
Who we are

And how it feels
To feel
For you
Time doesn't give a reason
 Jul 2016
Ismahanwrites
Poetry was all she talked about
and Poetry was all she was.
 Jun 2016
Prathipa Nair
In my chair near the table
Sitting with my hand to the chin
Holding a blue ink pen
Closing my eyes slowly
Drowning myself into thoughts
Some four lines came out
Poured it on a white paper
Eyes closed and back to thoughts
A hullabaloo woke me up
Blue ink sprinkled on my words
Few dry neem leaves on the table
Distracted by some chittering
It was the mischievous but cute
The three lined little Squirrel !
 Jun 2016
Mohd Arshad
At this hour of solitude,
Don't be mistaken
I am burning alone,
When the tail is hopped off
Both groan in the grass,
I am penning
these verses to you,
For I want to know
You are, like always,
On the platform
To catch me,
Or like never before,
Have already boarded.
Whatever is with you,
Or going to happen,
I am waiting
To watch the episode
In which
You are hitting the floor,
Holding his alluring arms,
Or drinking a glass
At the counter
Looking to the door.
As you know
My dumbness
Is not numbness,
Or may be
The vice versa
Is within you,
And if you desire
Like a mother
To see her missing son
Or daughter
After a long summer,
Run and do the same,
For I am sure
You can't live
Without me
As my love as true
As waves to sea.
 Jun 2016
shaffu shafiq
Here is the deepest secret.
Nobody knows.
Looking into your eyes.
Some secret shows.
Turned back to see you.
By Shyness your head bows.
And just slightly blushed.
I like your black veil.
Lips so red.
It makes me dead.
with black goggle.
No words,me just boggle.
Glow Smiling face.
Shining teeth.
Dashing eyes.
Enchanting me.
Believe me or my eyes.
It is true not a lie.
Really it is you.
Dazzling girl.
I become dumb and mute.
Becoz you look so pretty and cute...
.....
 Jun 2016
onlylovepoetry
~
the Nth culling
~
she gentled sleeps besides the imperfect poet,
who has wandered the hallways since four am,

retuning his returning

to their temple bed,
to cull, pluck, her each precious breathing sound,
source material for his
Nth
love poem

smirking at his own
Nth foolishness,
weeping tears at the consequences
of human interactions,
he wonders,

why does he worry,
searching to distinguish
between the black and white of life,
hunting for meaningful words

when all the while
he has the vein of her breathing to mine,
as if he were a
Ruth,
following behind
the harvest reapers,
culling a bounty of
dropped grains,
fallen unto him to
garner, imbibe and memorize


those Nth breaths,

that last but seconds,
but here memorialized for
his own
all time
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