I want to be a hippie but my
mum says no, she says i smell to clean  
an short hair as a hippie just doesnt go.
  
I want to be a hippie but my dad
says no as the only drug i take is
asprin and son asprin is a drug a
hippie just cant smoke.
  
A hippie loves peace and the thought
of love, you build war machines so death
isnt for hippies and you think
love is a joke.
  
So my son you dont drink you
dont smoke or do any kind of drug, you
have short hair so a hippie you'll
never be so no means no.

A blank canvas on an easel
Not splashed with hues, yet
Yearning for the stroke of a brush
And be painted with the painter’s dream
Most intimate of moments coming alive
Reflecting the colors of the heart and mind
Stroke after stroke, brushes caresses it
Coming alive, with passionate undertones
In cahoots with the painter, an **** of colors
Brushes of passion, colors the emptiness
A masterstroke of the painter; the canvas is filled
With these kaleidoscopic moments
Vivid imagery of the painter’s heart, is an Arts saga  *




© Amitav (Radiance)

Trace these fingers
On the scars etched into skin
This past
Is now a work of art
Its the mystery
That leads to
An interesting conversation
These are survival wounds
The rough bumps like medals
Worth more than bronze silver or gold
It's a Bafta
The lifetime achievement
And each story
Is the best-seller
Worn with honour and pride
Each stitch represents
Bravery and strength
You stand
Tall and powerful
Undefeated
Meet the gazes head on
And use your past
As the exciting build up
To the ******
Be the idol
To create your own unique blend
Of perfection
Perfection with an art of scars

The poet that didnt know but wish he did,
wanted words to flow like a river,
but the river bed had evaporated like
the ideas in his mind.

Wanting, needing the thought to manifest
on paper just one word or letter,
would make him proud.

But alas there were clouds where there was
sunshine and the ideas were not raining down,
for there was a drought in his mind.

Just needing a few droplets of thought,
of imagination to gently hit the ground,
to let his thoughts flow once again
down the stream of poetry and write again
once more making the paper proud.

I wish to scream, to explode
the mirror in front of me, I
see unclean, I see weakness
within me.

I wish I could hit out, to remove
this fear with in, to hide the marks
given to me for just being me.

My rage and anger are deep, but to
you I am weakness never a chance
to fight back as you stain my child
hood with violence bruises where
others can not see.

You install terror and fear, is this a
life worth this much pain will it
ever end will I be free.

Silent screams at the mirror as I see
only weakness that you have made
me feel, I am, I will not give up I
maybe just a child but I will grow
and then one day the fear you will
fear will not be on me but retribution
for the push bag you made me..

My eyes a shimmering pool
of hate as I look as you, the
blue waves like a storm in
a tea cup as they splash against
the white of my eyes.

Red on white like lava angrily
scorching at the white of my
eyes, showing the feeling
boiling with in.

I was just innocently walking,
you took my safety away
when you shoved that knife
in to me, all that pain to feed
a habit of destruction, and my
only sin was to walk where your
next fix was, my only sin.

I see you behind a mirror, with
a toothless grin, number 5 I point,
I could never forget you burnt in
to retinas I see you every time its
dark but I will not be weak I will
fight the darkness the fear you
installed with in.

I am a survivor of violence, my only
crime was to be your next victim, but
the tables have turned, and your life
in a cell, freedom taken like you tried
to do to me

If I give
you the five
finger crunch
hello,  don't take
it personal its just
telling you I really don't like what you said.

My pillow an ant nest of noise
as my ear heard every thing
inside, I look inside, disbelief
as nothing, I rest my head
and hear them scurrying
around inside one again.

The darkness kept me awake
with its blackened noise its
shadows keep my eyes closed
tight but not with sleep with
fright.

I leave the light on TV too, the
bliss of seeing all around, the
noise of Hawaii  5 o in the
back ground subtle are the
beats of noise and light that
send me to blissful sleep..

⠀            there is one girl i know.
⠀            her voice is of angels,
⠀            too perfect for this earth.

⠀            her voice could make
⠀            even the most stubborn
⠀            flowers bloom early.

⠀            her voice is the rising sun
⠀            and i can’t wait to wake up.

⠀   yes i do like music and catchy tunes
⠀         but the song that is your voice
⠀              is my favourite one yet.

⠀                          - BZQ

I tried to climb to the
heavens but the rope
snapped, it frayed under
my weight of how high
I tried to get.

I tried to fly but I fell
to the ground, to lick
my wounds and get
back up from the
ground.

I climbed the highest tree,
the mountains where the
air was thin, I couldn't
climb fly any higher.

Then I realised that I
was reaching for some
thing that wasn't there.

I should have faith in my
self in others not trying
to rely on that which is
not really there.

I relied on some thing
that we all fall under the
curse of believing in some
thing non existent.

But  now I believe, believe
in myself and others not
something that isn't even
real just words wasted in air
my feet are firmly on the
ground.