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I wake up and barely move my body
From my curled up guarded position
Strong struggles bully me into
A difficult state of submission

Our bed is somewhat unhospitable
I feel my welcome is outworn
I whisper to my forlorn pillow
"Have sympathy, for I am torn."

Gazing at morning's wrinkled sheets
My brain ceases to dream shining sights
Breathing the broken scenery in
Tears wash away fear silence invites

Pain is a mat to welcome tall waves
A home laced with stress waiting to be explored
Walls condemned to live in a quiet calamity
Vibrant hues hung along halls in a hoard

I glimpse a small strand of light intertwining
With the unspeakable darkness shadowing my eyes
Willingly taking each wound life inflicts
Love slowly overtakes the pain with every sunrise
Time does heal all wounds. Slowly but eventually.
why is the open road?
are you sure you want to know?
some questions are not helpfull
unfortunately after being known to be real

if we believe in each other
then all of a sudden there is a lot of difference
never saw that problem the dry
river's bed
most always had an overflow
into the forest's toes
of  water gushing overflowing
the river's banks
washing the salt off the roots of a
water mocassin ten feet from the bank
hissing
trees roots her trunk wetter
'n they ever have been to pull
her long tresses up
around her *** walk tippity toed through once dry banks
caught the fervor
began
to sashay a bit
dance her  top limbs swaying left
as her trunk had gone right like a whip

root tiptoeing off to the high spot on the hill all the rest the feeling trees had gathered
crying more rain filling valleys
feeling lost for those root bound who couldn't feel
the first drip of empathy dense when it came to sympathy
and you'd think natural selection might take her part in this
and wipe those who don't feel off but I think
they is this Noah dude for the  uncaring he builds a big *** canoe
and herds up one of each *** of the uncaring two them
narcissists a male female those psycopaths one each of breeding ages
one pair each of all the woes
and floats down the river into the swollen *** sea so
they live too,
those whose brains are not capable
of feel of poetry of art.
those are on the ark.
those who have apathy of a dry eye
 Apr 2018 Debanjana Saha
Nylee
We never took more
never took any less
of our share
for our hunger
when everyone stared
it is rightfully ours.
Long before
we were
the beggars,
When we had nothing
no more,
did millions of tiny chores.
We were wronged
no one shared,
we looked at them
gave them pitiful stare,
we wanted the same care
and now that we
climbed the ladder
we are no better
that we are having
our healthy dinner,
there is someone
rising upper
working under the sun
this summer
and maybe
we were wrong
and someone knew it better.
She writes her pains
In between the lines
Of the story of her life
..
Forever stuck in
What could've been
Forever wondering
What should've been
Forever tormented by
What would've been

Never stopping to think
How if she finally
Imprisoned the ghosts
Floating in her future's past
She wouldn't really know
What to do with them
(Some broken parts of a poem I found in one of RH's old novel drafts which I absolutely loved. Happy Writing!~ BM)

(Front Page 4/21/2018)
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