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 Sep 2016 Rigmarole
Nishu Mathur
A garden of marigolds....orange, yellow and rust,
Bright, soft and rich, touched with golden dust.

Quiet and regal, sun kissed and fair,
Basil -citrus fragrance that mellows the moist air.

A thousand smiling marigolds, a thousand smiling suns,
Sweet nectar, ambrosia, for natures gentle ones.

Woven into garlands, yellow with tips  of red,
Woven into memories with many a words unsaid.

Love's hopes of an Indian  bride, clad in marigold,
With dreams wrought,  promises that two hearts dearly hold.

Tearful farewell to soldiers who traverse through destiny's doors,
A garland weaved with love for  those from across the seven shores.

And when the being is but a thought, as life grays and  olds,
Wrapped in a hearse of love, their love, with weeping marigolds.

An offering so humble yet flowers that Gods wear,
An offering with love,  with a souls quiet prayers.

Orange, yellow, rust..to love, to pray, to mourn,
Golden, sun kissed, blessed.. marigolds that life adorn.
 Sep 2016 Rigmarole
Diána Bósa
Today a little
pale-veil vein was discovered
under your skin right
there, below your right
eye. I am aware that
it was a tough day
and you're so exhausted
too, but I just marveled it,
because I've never
seen it before; it
never revealed itself to
me, yet somehow, in
a strange way it made
me happy for I had no
doubt that you are real.
 Sep 2016 Rigmarole
Lakin
not the something prose can cure,
nor any amount of wine you pour
can help endure the pain of his evanescent face,
always being the one you're looking for
I met a boy, and I'm going to look for him in all the love I have from here on. Please, send your remorse.
 Sep 2016 Rigmarole
Autumn Rose
The brown leaves
that shiver on the
bare branches greet
the last rays of gold
as the sun goes down.
A melody rises over
that velvet, shade of
fading green.
Bells of the indifferent
wind chime, for I am led
to a miracle of ancient
mother.
How beautiful...
A rose that grows waywardly
from within autumn's woods.
Spirits delighted to see the
rose that will not die, her red
petals shame my lips while
drooped sisters weep bitterly.
And in my garden, exquisite
fragrance,
Old memories,so sweet,
despite the thorns.
Illusions of the happiness of
the asleep and the dead...
Yesterday evening as i was walking through the forest, i saw a gorgeous red rose in front of an old abandoned house that still has not drooped...
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