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An island lets itself go.
In rising  water finds a friend;
The past comes to naught.
Rain on me,
For I have been longing to be free.
Lost in my world, needlessly.

Rain on me,
For I am too tired and I need sleep.
This world is a herd and I cannot be its sheep.

Rain on me,
And show me the way.
This place is empty and I cannot stay.

Rain on me,
It has been too long.
I am sick and tired of pretending to be strong.

Rain on me,
I want to see the lightning pierce the sky.
As the thunder roars and the clouds fly.

Rain on me,
Let the winds take my mind to another land.
No one needs to know and no one needs to understand.

Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved.
I came up with this while I was watching the rain from my window, a few days back. I hope you like it.
 Nov 2018 Filomena
Bus Poet Stop
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-Job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!

the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs

summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)

but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early

got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
 Nov 2018 Filomena
I want my love for myself
To overflow
And I want my overflow of love
To seep over onto you
But for now
My cup is empty
And maybe you can sense
That I have nothing to offer you
What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?
 Nov 2018 Filomena
 Nov 2018 Filomena
She overlooked things,
She saw everything in details,
And details in everything,
And nothing in simplicity,
Which to some,
Seemed complicated,
But to her,
It was easier than breathing.
Clouds-light ,swift and bright....
played hide and seek with the sun,
One dark roared and wept.
 Nov 2018 Filomena
Reagan Brooks
We light up when it’s dark,
We are cowards in the night,
We set fire to these war signs,
And let them brainwash our minds

How many symbols that burn,
How many people who have to die,
We only agree with mass genocide,
If it doesn’t involve us

We are leaders, we are presidents,
We are the only ones allowed to breathe,
We are prime ministers, we are murderers,
We are government policies

How many lives that are lost,
How many and at what cost,
We take your privileges away from you,
We have no right to do what we do

Set fire to our country, set fire to yours,
Burn it to the stake when we are hungry,
For power an and when we wake,
Well here is my take on you

I’m disgusted for our nations,
I’m disgusted at this terror,
This has become less of a poem,
And more an open letter

Bombs and war and drones,
Dirt collected with our children’s bones,
Is it safe out here in the world?
Are we safe out here in the world?

We know not, yet we survive until we rot,
But I for one will not be broken by this,
All is not fair in love and war,
Though this is neither, this is power and greed.
 Nov 2018 Filomena
Reagan Brooks
Your sense of direction,
Does not always tell you where to go,
And this is fine,
Sometimes you are in the right place,
When you are in the wrong.

Some people think you are a quiet soul,
I know you are not,
Until they get to know you though,
They will not question why or what.

Often you get lost inside places,
And inside your head,
But I know it’s full of wonders,
Just waiting to be read.
 Nov 2018 Filomena
 Nov 2018 Filomena
It's because of you somebody's day is made
Your one smile could mean more than the Worlds' 7 billion
You're loved and cared for,
Even if you don't see it
Wipe those tears away
I'll always be here
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