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The emptiness in my eyes,
The truth behind my lies,
The fall before my rise,
And the goodbyes;

It scares me.

The dark beneath my skin,
The light within my sins,
The voice that loudly sings,
And my broken wings;

It scares me.

The wounds I can't heal,
The pain I can't feel,
The loss I can't deal,
And when I am real;

It scares me.

The silence in my little talks,
The stillness in my moonlit walks,
The thought of separate ways,
And my numbered days;

It scares me.

The demons under my bed,
The words spinning in my head,
The blood in my sweat,
And my cold breath;

It scares me.

-Paras Bajaj #PoetrybyParas
Instagram : @mr.parasbajaj
 Jan 2019 Nashira Oben
Star BG
I write observing my own visions.
Seeing them come alive
as pen lands on paper runway.

OH to feed my addiction evermore,
as mind travels from line to line.
verse to verse, poem to poem.

OH to satisfy my own vibration,
and become explorer climbing
mountain peaks of script.

Oh to live in the reality of phases
where each word gets implanted
so others may excavate.

I write because I’m member of club
who needs outlet that becomes friend.
And so... I inflate
balloon in breath with ballads.
Poesies that just float away.
inspired to concept of observing self as writer.
 Jan 2019 Nashira Oben
Maya
how to have a good
haiku: make sure you do not
run out of sylla-


****.
This is my only and first ever poem
that I did scribe upon my phone.

A pal of mine does it, does it with ease.
She makes it look easy, just like a breeze.

But it's harder for me, with my thumbs of ham.
I prefer full-sized keyboards, as that's who I am.

Typing and retyping and then wrestling the spellchecker.
If I tried this while in my car, I would surely need a wrecker!

Squinting, so that I don't have to strain my eyes.
To say that I'm enjoying this, would be nothing less than lies.

Well there you have it, I'm finally done.
I'm gonna pass on this foolishness ... and let her have all the fun.
NEVER again.
I'll write it in Sharpie on my arm first!
I've always >hated< texting.
 Jan 2019 Nashira Oben
Pagan Paul
.
What is a poet to do
when his favourite muse
faints whilst making love,
a victim of passions fuse.

To carry on regardless?
Perhaps slap her lovely cheek?
Mouth 2 mouth no tongue?
Or maybe implore her to speak?

A lesser poet
shakes her anxiously
and writes a verse about prowess and spooning.

A True poet
carries on regardless
and writes a sonnet about his muse and swooning.



© Pagan Paul (23/05/18)
.
5th poem in my series Even Poets ***** Up ...
.
I only write these when in the silliest of moods!
.
.
 Jan 2019 Nashira Oben
Rose
Sometimes I feel like I'm so complicated
I can't even figure myself out
and other times
I feel so basic it is obvious.

— The End —