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 Sep 2015 Jayanta
nivek
fitting in
 Sep 2015 Jayanta
nivek
The Sycamores are becoming skeletal
all the long grasses have gone to seed.
and I wonder just where I fit in today;
an overgrown beard and aching bones.
 Sep 2015 Jayanta
ln
effort
 Sep 2015 Jayanta
ln
effort;
ˈefərt/
noun

to her, is studying during the wee hours of the morning
to him, is the time you spend asking how his day went
to her, is the lovely pair of shoes you got for her that flatters her dress
to them, is the days you showed up despite being ill
to him, is the admission slip into an ivy league university
to her, is the work you left behind to attend your uncle's funeral
to them, is the messages you send out, asking how they're doing

to you,
is to get out of bed each morning, even when you don't want to
is to accept that it is, by God's will that you are where you are
is to understand that your body is a gift and you will cherish it
is to learn that you don't live to please everyone
is to stand up for yourself, even when you are too timid to speak
is to fight for what you want, and never backing down
is to pick yourself up every time you fall, and come back stronger
is to fix yourself, piece by piece
is to unravel your mind &  live with the memories, even if they **** you

effort to you, isn't effort to her
effort to him, isn't effort to you
effort to them, isn't effort to him

but that is okay, we know you're trying

*we know
 Sep 2015 Jayanta
Yasmine
limits
 Sep 2015 Jayanta
Yasmine
I thought I could
hear the roses
smell the colors
taste the fire
see the halos
control the mind
kiss the storm
touch the prayers
swallow the lies
hold the centuries
and
escape the world
The terracotta shines in the westerly sun
when the man and the woman
fly on the temple courtyard
on the wings of time.

She touches the sculptured kiss
He stares at the ample breast
She blushes at the frozen mount
He awes at the curve and crest
She feels a longing to be his
He wishes seizing her for a kiss.

Shadows grow long on the burnt clays,

time to go separate ways.
the skies ebb and flow,

the unquenchable harmonics
of a lonely violin,

tenderness and flowers,
impressionism and ghosts,
layers of clouds rushing....

the brocades of the day
wrapping its skirts to
ankles that stride
like the wind.    

jealousy like
smouldering fire,
always wanting you
most.
 Sep 2015 Jayanta
Arfah Afaqi Zia
Who are you said I,
Shallow smile,
And cold eyes locked on me,
He began,
I'm no other than the evictor of sanity.
I take away peoples happiness,
And exchange them with tragedy.
Why would you do that ?
Is it not to you of any importance,
That tragedy leads to misery,
It shatters peoples memories,
He proudly said,
Why would it mean anything to me,
When people fall an easy prey to my ways.
Don't fall a prey to people who speak words to impress and torture you. They will take away your happiness quite easily.
 Sep 2015 Jayanta
Meghan Makenzie
Tattered and torn,
Old, and quite worn.
She lives in the street,
No shoes on her feet.

They call her "Old Hag",
Her clothes, but a rag.
Children throw stones,
Never leave her alone.

But somehow she thrives,
Lest her will to survive.
Despite her poor health,
And absence of wealth.

She sleeps where she's able,
Park benches, old tables,
Eats food from trash cans,
Her bathroom-- A bedpan.

Seeks shelter from rain,
Most often in vain.
Finds warmth in the winter,
From restaurant air-venters.

She smiles at the sun,
Gives birds half her crumbs,
Has only three teeth,
To chew what she eats.

And each night she does pray,
To see a new day.
Before she closes her eyes,
And quietly dies...
SJ Sinister
 Sep 2015 Jayanta
Dreams of Sepia
I found a missing angel today
he asked me for a ***

& then walked away
in rain and snow he has

nowhere to go
& he sleeps beneath

the endless stars
each night his lullaby

is the sound of passing
cars & the voices going by

he likes the girls
he likes the noise

he hides his wings
beneath his shirt

he sings & smiles
amidst the dirt

he dines
on the night air

& hope
my missing angel

of the North
This poem is about a homeless man from Manchester, John who sleeps rough on the streets of my town...
 Sep 2015 Jayanta
jennee
I would be lying if I told you that I am never bothered by the way you perceive the world. As a matter of fact, I am sick and tired of wanting to know what you're like with depression out of the picture. But if I were to repaint and reconstruct every feature of this portrait, I will see things as partial representations. You are incomplete without it. It has come to a point where it defines you completely. I can't even remember the last time you smiled and meant it or the last time you were genuinely happy.  
You've come to master getting used to being ignored, maybe not entirely but you are this book and in comparison to the many others, you are too complicated to be worth their time. They solely focus on other things that do not involve you, so you're left on your own to decipher your passages and you will remain as an enigma to them.
I promised you that by the time you reach this age, you would be too busy worrying about college and other things like if your boyfriend or girlfriend prefers your old hair over your new haircut, or if the girl that you like feels the same way, or if that guy in your class smiled at you because he thought it was finally time to make a move.
And now you've reached that age and you are worrying about college, but not over those other things.
5 years ago you wanted to die, and with each year that passed that desire grew into a shadow that always lingered behind you. Now it overshadows your actions and you're too busy wondering and worrying why no one has held your hand and looked at you the way you wanted someone to.
You're too busy trying to keep your watch from sliding down your wrists, too busy hiding the lines that overlapped on your skin. Sometimes you wonder if it's time to **** what was growing within instead of watching your outsides lessen to thin sheets, and yet you don't want to bother your best friends about things like this.
It's burdening, a load too heavy to lift, so you try practicing by doing all the carrying by yourself. So far you've managed, just a couple of scars and lashes, defined bones, suicidal thoughts and cuts too deep to mend. So far you haven't killed yourself, no, not yet but I hope you keep yourself together until someone sees the potential and beauty that you always thought were absent in you.
I hope one day they fill the spaces of your thoughts with contentment and happiness that you deserve because we are put into this earth to grow old with another.
This is the closest to heaven that you'll get, whether or not you believe that death is what ends a person's existence. It's just a shame to see that you think the life that was given to you is a way of wasting away, that it is a state of mind and everything you feel is not temporary.
I hope you've come to realize that it's okay not to fit in, that surely things will pass and you'll find the hand that fits perfectly. But never pass away too soon and early.
Never give into them, never let them take over, never let them make you do things that can hurt, because death is the only relief I wouldn't want you to have.

n.j.
to and from myself
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