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 Jan 2015 Hashim ZK
Jedd Ong
You ask me
To write poetry
And I will tell you
To draw a face.
Any face.

Because the poetry
Is in your lips
Believe me
I've tried
To run away from it
But you,
There you are.

And when you
Ask me
To write poetry
I will ask you to sing
Because the poetry
Is in your voice

And believe me
I've tried to stop hearing it
But you,
There you are.

When you ask me
How to write poetry
I will tell you
To draw a wall.

Because this barrier of words
Is the only form
Of my love thin enough
To escape the crevices
Of your glance.

You are poetry
My dear.

The preservation of
A voice brushed away
And left to the
Winds of time.
You leave me breathless
Miss the familiar aroma
That keeps me conscious
Chances of my survival
Becomes bleak
Without the air of beauty
I embrace life’s exuberance
That keeps me afloat
I have got you
Within my senses
I didn't try to resist
And don’t want to wake up to reality
Want to live this dream
Till eternity
That’s life
Breezing together, let’s fly away
To distant lands
The vast blue awaits us
With freedom
And familiarity of every move
Let’s make this memorable
Forever in each other
You are mine and I am yours
It’s always eternity
Breathless, will never be
 Jan 2015 Hashim ZK
Tahirih Manoo
What’s in a name?
His name is what he is
Rishi, a saint, no one better than this
His actions that of his name
Innocent, compassionate, loving
Words match his tender existence

All he wanted was for peace to be among his kin
All he needed was the affection of one swan
To fit his half and make him laugh
He never asks for much, or rather nothing at all
But he prays and prays for the good of everyone
Standing alone, yet he fights for them all

His eyes gentle, like those of a lamb
His voice charming, like a nightingale at hand
His hands that offer so much, is soft to the touch
His smile, oh that smile beckons so much
His laughter rare, a sound that should last forever
Someday soon he shall have just radiance for his cover


His mind that ticks like a well-functioning clock
Takes no time to pause or stop
Apprehensive that his will may be dropped
Yet he strides onward, pushing past fears
His courage brimming over the top
No one knows how many battles he fought

The Lord is with him
And he with the Lord
What he doesn't realize
Is that he an Angel of Love
One that is surrounded by the cold hearts of loss
There, there       -  Handsome Dove,
They will all melt, sorrow will be tossed.*

6th, July , 2014   12:01 pm.
Rishi- Hindi: meaning saint. Poem about rishis
 Jan 2015 Hashim ZK
Raj Arumugam
so I brought my writer wife
(prominently pregnant)
to the hospital
and on her bed, she screamed:
"weren't" "hasn't" "couldn't" "shan't"
"aint" "hadn't" "you're" "isn't"
"aren't" "didn't" "wasn't"
"who's?" "what's?" "he's" "she's"


The doctors were confounded
and they turned to me and they said:
"What the hell is she doing?"

And I replied with double speed
and a violent sense of urgency:
*"Don't you know?
She's having contractions -
she's a writer"
 Jan 2015 Hashim ZK
Anand
I strive to be
like a Bo-Tree,
Dwelling so Deep
my Roots that Seek
water and nutrients from soil

Yet High I Rise
To be more Wise
by embracing
the nourishment
of Light!
This came to me when I was looking at the Pipal Tree in my garden. It has grown very tall in 8 years, and it's roots have spread far and deep.

This can be looked at from different perspectives:

1. To be strong and rooted to one's own principles, ethics and moral values. And building on them one should have a tendency to always learn something new, to attain wisdom.

2. To be strong believer of good age old teachings, traditional way of life that we are so accustomed to, that are passed on to us by our elders but also welcoming new changes and good reforms in the society.

Please feel free to reflect on your thoughts and express your perspective.
 Jan 2015 Hashim ZK
Isha Kumar
A voiceless cry
shivers, trembles,
struggles and falters.
A result-less try.

Break free and escape
from this corrupt world.
This life is yours
and yours to shape.

Spread your wings
and take the flight.
Be free and see
what joy it brings.

Rewrite you fate,
oh voiceless cry!
This life is yours
and yours to create.

Spin your way
out the web of lies.
Escape the void
to a new day.

The world is yours,
oh voiceless cry!
It is up to you
to open the doors.

Don't look so wry,
oh voiceless one!
Get up again,
and again, you try.
He Never Said I'm Sorry

He never said I'm sorry
For the bad things that he did
Or all the time that he missed
When I was just a kid

He never said I'm sorry
For never teaching me
All the things I would need
To help me through me teens

He never said I'm sorry
For not standing by my side
The day when I got married
Not meeting my new bride

He never said I'm sorry
For not knowing his grandson
Missed the day he was born
Never knew how he grew up

He never said I'm sorry
As he laid dying in his bed
Now for him I just feel sorry
For all the things he never did

He never said I'm sorry


Poem by: Carl Joseph Roberts
I guess the thing he did give me was that I now shower my son with love every day.

If you like this, please add this to a few collections and help it trend. Thanks. JOE
 Jan 2015 Hashim ZK
Isha Kumar
Poets
 Jan 2015 Hashim ZK
Isha Kumar
We stay up all night
to find words that rhyme.
We scribble. We write,
losing track of time.

We stare into space,
deep in thought.
From a child's fairy-tale
to the wars fought.

We can't stay still.
Our fingers, they itch.
With no path to follow,
in dreams we are rich.

We dance and fly
but crash to the floor.
We laugh and cry
with our emotions galore.

Smiling while judging,
we scribble. We write.
From petty love stories
to the furious fights.

Over incomplete lines,
we again lose sleep.
Muttering new words
as we silently weep.

We see the world
the way no one would.
We break the rules
the way no one could.

A new day begins
with all new themes.
"Which one to choose?"
Our minds scream.

We scribble. We write
with bees in our bonnets.
From epic ballads
to the melancholic sonnets.

With passion in our blood,
and a calloused hand,
we are poets.
Together we stand.
 Jan 2015 Hashim ZK
Marium Iqbal
Being drunk doesn't excuse it.  
"You didn't know what you were doing."
"I love him, he's my son."  
You don't remember what you did.
Do you know he still does?

The purple in his cheeks.
Lips split.
Eyes scared.

Look at what you have done.
Harmed your own son.  

It hurts when he laughs.
His cheeks sting as he cries.
Back jolts up as it touches the back of his chair.

Is it fair?
The boy scared of wearing a belt.

It reminds him of his father.
The way he cornered him, till he was a pleading and crying mess.  

The smell of alcohol lingering in the air.
It makes him sick.
He remembers.

He runs his hands up his left arm.
Cigarette burned holes scattered.

He couldn't take one more beating.
He didn't know how.

He tried his hardest.
As he closed his eyes.

He tried suicide.
He tried it all, the pills, the windows.

He couldn't do it.
Leave his mother and brothers behind.
Just because you were drunk, and can't remember. Doesn't mean they don't. They remember the betrayal. The broken trust. How does a parent do that to their child
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