Dark buildings.
Yellow candle light shines through.
Afraid to show the good in the world.
If there is any at all...
Not the truth.
Though it may be now.

Smudges.
That's what everything is.
Watercolor paint.
Streaks and lines.
One long road.
A boy walks out.
The windows watch.
He looks for the signs.

Light fades,
But grows.
The walls curve.
Over his head
They shadow.
Unaware
Or uncaring.
I can't tell.
His face determined.
That's all I know.

Waiting for the signs.
Looks this way and that.
Yellow lines of the road calling.
He doesn't hear.
Waits.
Nothing passes.
He walks.
Nothing happens.

The walk across the road,
Longer than it seems.
Unnoticed.
He walks invisible.
Not to me.

The yellow lines.
He stops.
Looks at me.
I stop breathing.
A silent plea.
Those eyes a world.
Something's coming.
Warning.
No.
Can't speak.
He doesn't want that...
How?

Something's coming.
Move.
No.
Begging.
Then let me warn.
No.
Something's coming.
Agony.
Then why?

Silence...
Yellow turns black.
A silent plea.

Not him.
Me.

I stop breathing.
Agony.

I am trying to write best one for you, my love
And you gave me a chance
You went to so far away -
Now this is impossible to see you

How am I?
The light of sun come to me with full of shine
I skipped that, but
The moon is now also shimmering
How can I bare this heavy and mad pain?

I am very weak,
very weak in love
Because the river is on full of tide,
in a very full moon night
Where are you my Love?

@ Musfiq us shaleheen

SS
A tortured writer once there was
who toiled into the night
Locked in his lofty chamber
where stories could take flight.

'Twas a dark October evening
a moonless night and dreary
Tho ink was filled
no words would spill
He soon became quite weary.

The writer threw his quill away
and muttered with a sigh,
"No more midnight oil for me
the end of the wick is nigh."

Frustration with the flow of ink
had almost made him weep
Tho *** was full
His wits were dull
And so he went to sleep.

When next he woke
he found himself
Upon a stormy sea
'Twas black as pitch
The likes of which
He ne'er before had seen!

The sky was red and purple
There was a hellish wail!
A ghostly gleam
Glanced from the beam
And gibbered in the sails.

What is this apperition?
He cried unto the wind
Where am I sent?
I must repent!
My sins you must recind!

Ah, NO! Thus spake
The loathsome ghoul,
It is too late for you!
You know full well
That you're in hell
Your options are now few!

Her words sliced through
the lashing gale
And chilled him to the bone
For gazing 'round the
Phantom ship
He found he was alone.

TSP
Forsooth! bellowed
the tortured bard
For now I know your scheme!
Here's the switch
You foul old witch
This is but a dream!

You see this sand
Within my hand,
Which through my fingers creeps?
This is but illusion
And I am just asleep!

The banshee shrieked
And squeeled with glee!
She danced upon the deck!
That is true, but now for you
This is a shipwreck!

She spread her arms and chanted
The seas began to boil!
Double double
Cauldron bubble
Trouble for your toil!

SS
The red wind howled
Like a pack of wolves
O'r an ocean black as tar
His heart froze
As waters rose
'Neith a sky which had no stars.

TSP
Against this sea of troubles now
There's nothing I can do,
But in this dream
Perhaps is seen
An end to what flesh is heir to.

SS
The witch regarded him with hate
Let me assist! She roared
And swooping down
In devil's gown
She pushed him overboard!

He flailed about as he did drop
And couldn't even think!
She crowed with glee
For he could not see!
The ocean was of INK!!!

As he sank, his fear was rank,
Within those oily waves.
His voice was caught
But then he thought
This will not be my grave!

He asked for hell or heaven
To rescue him away
He escaped death
With his last breath
He began to PRAY,

Then sweet arms
wrapped 'round him
'Twas an angel! She did cry,
Hold on tight, and do not fight,
For we are going to FLY!!!

Out of the mirey ocean
She lifted him on high
The furious witch
Howled and pitched
Herself into the sky!

For a while she followed
Spouting curses as she flew,
But the angel's wings
Did soar and sing
There was naught
the ghoul could do.

And so the thankful writer
Got a brand new start
And so he plucked a feather
From the angel wing's soft heart.

Thus ends the epic ballad
Of POE. One Edgar A.
His legendary writing
Admired to this day.

Now at his will an angel's quill
To inspire him to write
For though he wrote of darkness
From ink as black as night.

He was an inspiration
For who could truly tell?
Annabel's love.
From heav'n above?
Or from the pits of HELL

Eating up books,
Chewing up lines,
No purpose or reason
Just passing of time.
A moment of quiet,
And clarity of mind,
For some unknown reason
The words start to  rhyme.

Readers forgive me
if it seems absurd;
if it looks unfinished
Or missing a word.
There’s really no telling
How ideas will start,
In moments of sadness
Or matters of heart.

Sometime a soul saver
In trials of stress,
When balance of mind
Seeks sated redress.
Tuning out life,
The kids and TV,
For a few simple words
And a mind flowing free.

Awakened at night,
When sleep is no rest,
Is often I  find
When I do it the best.
Or when no one is home,
With a nice cup of tea,
A few stolen moments ….
My pen and me.

Time flies at the
event horizon.
Started small
when I arrived
barely
baby fish size
grew
and
knew
everything
I did
not
know
tho
I now
stand
elongated in the event horizon
the black hole has me in its
grasp
half-awake
half-asleep
my eyes are open
but in a trance
as images pour into
the darkness below
as pieces and particles
of the galaxy we know
and do not know
fly by.

I recall your whisper
in my ear
mother dear
the night before you died
telling me of the art to
be created in the summer
sky
I am in surrender to these
forces
as every moment of my
self flies bye.
Some nightmares
some daymares
some hearts on fire
salted tears of desire
the black hole shines
in darkness,
nothing can escape
no amount of money
will buy your way out
everything you owe will
be left behind
we can only sail
through that black hole
alone
birth or death
no one knows
some peace is made
and then
we go.