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 Mar 2019 jh
Evie
i had a huge wound on my chest
it has been bleeding my whole life and i knew i was eventually gonna run out of blood
so i didnt bother
i gave up
i gave up on trying to stop it
i gave up on speaking about it to anyone because they kept saying i was imagining it
but i never tried to deny
so i gave up on feeling
i wanted to laugh like i didnt want to laugh
i was hurting so much it eventually stopped hurting at all
i smiled at passengers without smiling
i became nothing
but then i met someone
and he has a soul full of secrets and magic
the kind of person who you dream about but you never did reach them
so i looked into his eyes with my empty ones
and i was suddenly back somewhere
back in a memory i didnt actually remember
and without a word
just this quiet promise that your eyes gave out
you tighten your arms around my chest where the wound was
and it stopped bleeding
i was scared that your body was going to get ***** from touching my dried blood
no one likes a stained shirt
or that you would see what all of them saw and you were gonna laugh or run
but you are human
and i felt that
you are me
you understood me
and you stayed
and i stayed as well
and i think the wound has disappeared
i have never been more scared of a relationship

also the title is not by me i took it from a movie "**** your darlings"
 May 2018 jh
jemma silvert
I think of you in colours that don't exist --
     that's not to say that I don't think of you at all,
          because, of course, technically every colour exists:
Even the ones we cannot imagine,
   Even the ones we cannot see.
Even the ones either side of the spectrum that light up the notes used for money, not music, because the notes used for money
   are
      not
         always
            real.
Even the ones either side of the spectrum that light up the heat of your body like your presence does the room
      and your eyes do my smile
           and your smile does my eyes;
You tell me that technically every colour exits,
   even if we cannot see it,
   even if we cannot imagine it –

For think of it now.
          Imagine in your head a colour that does not exist.
                    Now describe it to me.
Is it a splash of red with tints of a yellowy-blue?
Is it a pinky-purple hue,
    a hint of green, turquoise, maroon, sapphire, olive, violet?
Does it already exist in colours we already have names for,
      have we lived so long that every thought we think is no longer our own,
            every thought we think has been thought of before,
I think of you in colours that don’t exist
   but so has everyone else.

We cannot see it,
      we cannot imagine it.
But if we cannot imagine something that does not exist
   simply because we are confined to describing it
      in the words of an already existent language,
   what does that say about us?
We can imagine a waterfall of chocolate,
       a glass elevator bursting through the roof;
   shrinking potions and growing potions and talking rabbits.
We can imagine standing on the top of a building
      looking out over the greying city lights
            with lungs full of water
            a noose round our necks
            and the sole belief in our heads that we are jumping to fly
We can rewrite the future and make up the past
We can imagine wizards and witches and fairies and goblins
We have unicorns, ******* it,
     we have God.

And yet when I present to you a lover,
   an artist,
      standing in front of you now,
         yearning to make you his canvas,
You are too scared to fall in love,
              too scared to admit that you don’t have the words in your encapsulating little language to describe the things that you feel towards him.
For he does not need language,
   he does not need words.
He will stand here now,
   in front of you,
      and let you grace his collarbones with a diamond noose,
                          crown his withered corpse in a wreath of daisies,
                          dress his bones in slashes of rubies.
He will tear himself apart for you,
     for you,
     for you to watch galaxies flow out of his veins,
  velvet red blood screaming unwritten poetry,
  a torrent of unimagined colours pouring into him and out of him
          and with his one last remaining breath
              and a trembling hand,
he picks up his paintbrush
      and draws you into orbit,
  and like his fingers used to trace your shattered ribcage
    like the keys of an ivory piano,
he traces the outline of your lips.
And at last you draw breath,
         to whisper his name, to whisper your love, and all that remains
   is silence.
And you choke on the air and sound is still
         for all words exist so none can be spoken and suddenly everything
   is black.
And I think of you in colours that don’t exist
     like the wolf howls in lament of the side of the moon he will never see
          for all colours exist, and when I think of you,
there are none.

                                                      *-j.­s.
 Mar 2018 jh
Fire
This Is Art
 Mar 2018 jh
Fire
You ripped it
my pretty little heart -
but that's okay because
now I can pin it
to a wall
and scream
This Is Art.
The Infinite Seas
 Feb 2018 jh
witchy woman
I don't want to talk about what school I go to, or what program I'm in. I don't want to talk about how I work in retail part-time or how busy I am. I don't want to discuss where I'd go on vacation, or what I hope for in the future. These conversations are just spoken in order to have a response, I say my piece and ask "what about you?". You'll take a deep breath and start on where you started in school and how you're stuck right now in this dead-end job but you swear- you swear that you'll know when the time in right to make a move in the right direction. You'll say you want to go to Thailand, and Dubai because of the cultural experience, but you'll never actually make it there. I don't want to talk about my family, what my mother or father does for a living. I don't need your compliments on how highly I was brought up, how perfect my life must've been. I don’t want to sit there and agree with you, and smile and giggle and say “I know, that’s why I’m different.” The funny part is you’ll think I am. When I get to know you, you’ll show me vulnerability- you’ll launch into some story of how even though you had friends and everything was completely fine you never fit in. On how your grandparent’s death affected you, or your parents divorce or moving cities. And you’ll look into my eyes, wanting sympathy, compassion and understanding. Because, you know its there, I give it freely to anyone who needs it. But after its over and through, once you’ve told me… that’s it. That’s who you are, that’s all there is to you and when I ask you what you’re thinking all you’ll say is nothing. Nothing. Even when you’re thinking something. I don’t want that anymore. I want someone to converse with me about what’s beyond our limited human level of understanding, I want someone to be honest about who they are and what they feel and I want someone to look at themselves as a work in progress instead of a completed artwork with chips in the paint, for once. I want someone who will look out onto the ocean and sky and see what I see. Someone who will explore what could happen if we simply, suddenly just lost gravity. If we all fell into the sky, if we all just suddenly choked in space and died. I want to explore if we’d see one another on the other side. I want to lay in a field and listen to the wind in the grass. I want to feel the earth beneath my back and smell the warm fragrance from nearby lilacs. I want to be purely myself and not harbour any judgement, I want to love freely and openly without any punishment. I just want some sapience and a soul connection. Maybe I’m just asking for too much, or the universe just wants to teach me a lesson.
just a rant
 Feb 2018 jh
riwa
problems
 Feb 2018 jh
riwa
i never knew what it was like to be heartbroken in love until i met you.
because i can call you mine, but when i say it the words feel empty...
you are mine.
are you?

the sweet nothings you whisper in my ear are starting to sound more like nothing than sweet,
and i don’t know how to tell you that i am no longer happy most of the time.
i have both my good, and my bad days;
but sometimes even the good days turn to bad,
and i know you can turn the bad days good again, but i don’t know how to ask.
maybe thats the problem.
maybe I’m just too afraid for love, too shy to be selfish enough to ask for all of your attention even though i know it is what i deserve.

how can i tell you that i am a growing hurricane?
Still developing, i am what scientists would call a tropical depression, but there is nothing tropical about this depression.
i am sad
and i don’t know how to ask for help.
i think when you told me you loved me, i misunderstood and heard “let me help you”;
so i said i love you back, but i really meant "i can’t breathe"...
and I’ve realized you can’t help me.

you can’t fix someone who doesn’t know why they’re broken
and maybe thats the problem
i spend too much time trying to find a solution, without focusing on what I’m trying to solve,
and its ruining me.
i know one day the storm in me will grow so loud it will flow out of me like soda from a shaken can,
and i don’t know how to be prepared~
all i can do now is wait.
wait for the damage,
wait for the day you realize I’m not good enough,
wait for the day you leave me,
tell me, it’s good for the both of us,
we just need to "grow apart."

how do i tell you that without your presence, i can’t tell the difference between up and down?
i don’t know what is right or wrong.
i don’t know how to grow without you.
you are all i have learned to know, learned to love.

how do i tell you that i love you without making it sound like an anchor?
digging deep in the trenches so you can’t leave me anymore.
how do i make sure that when i say it you hear me loud and clearly?

my words are stuck in a glass bottle,
swimming atop waves in furious ocean.
my only hope is that they wash up on your shore,
my only hope is that when you see them you start to miss me again,
the way i’ve been missing you since the day we parted.
I wrote this a few months after we started dating and everything i thought would happen eventually did. Also this sounds a lot better when I read it out loud.

(?.?.17)
 Feb 2018 jh
Ron Gavalik
Famine
 Feb 2018 jh
Ron Gavalik
Hiding behind text messages
we believe immunizes the heart
is a forced loneliness
a perpetual confinement
in a dark room, with low music
which only breeds madness

In such famine, the body desires touch
the soul craves fellowship
the mind requires intellectualism
laughs between true friends
and shared tears
of kindred spirits

Once we can no longer bear starvation
comes the gluttonous feast
As wretched hogs at a trough
any form of attention is consumed
to fill the growing chasm of
worthlessness

Blinded by false admiration on backlit screens
the body, the soul, and the mind savors
cheap flattery of dark temptations
Vulgarity drools thick as blood from blackened lips
The sweet tinge of grief
that bitter hit of hatred
spirals descent into the dark void
that forever hides the light
To be included in my next collection, **** River Sins.
 Feb 2018 jh
RAJ NANDY
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY
OF HISTORY IN VERSE : PART ONE
              BY RAJ NANDY
              INTRODUCTION
The very mention of History brings to mind
many civilizations, its wars, with endless
succession of ruling dynasties and kings;
Its many dates and events, which appear to be
rather dull and boring!
“If history were taught in the form of stories, it
would never be forgotten”, said Rudyard Kipling!
So if a good teacher of History narrates those
events like a story within a broad chronological
frame work,
While skillfully linking the present in light of the
past;
Mentioning both important and lesser known
interesting facts to arouse the interest of his
class; -
History would be better appreciated by us!
Perhaps in its narrowest sense, History may be
viewed only as a chronological succession of
dates and past events!
But let me assure you that History is a dynamic
linear progression, adapting and evolving with
changing times,
As present recedes into the past all the while!
These changes could be environmental, socio-
economic, or political changes faced by mankind.
But we remain as a living part of History all the
while!
Yet while we live through History, we fail to realize
the impact we make upon history and time;
And this is perhaps the very magic and enigma of
History,
Which occasionally lends it a touch of mystery!
Our family album is a record of our history we
create and leave behind at the micro level;
Just as past civilizations have left behind their imprints
in their architecture, statues, literature, and works
of art at the macro level !
History breathes and speaks to us from the distant
past,
If only we could pause to hear its unspoken words,
As the Romantic poet John Keats had once heard!
Keats’  “Ode on a Grecian Urn” composed during
early 19th century, -
Harks back to the Classical Age of Greek History!
Keats waxes eloquent in his description of pastoral
scenes painted on the urn which lies frozen in time;
While Keats leaves behind his exalted and eternal
aesthetic message - ‘Beauty is Truth and Truth
Beauty’, - which shall outlive our mortal time!
So it is with History, like the Grecian urn the past  
remains eternalized in time with its lessons and
stories;
While it beckons us to unravel her mysteries!
For the historian, the architect, the geologist,
the anthropologist, scholars and the artist,
‘’History is a continuous dialogue between
the present and the past’’;
As observed by the English historian and
diplomat EW Carr.
Even though we cannot change the past, we can
surely absorb the lessons it has left behind for us!
The Spanish born American philosopher George
Santayana had said; -
“Those who cannot remember the past are
condemned to repeat it!”
The Dutch philosopher Soren Kierkegaard had
once remarked; -
“Life must be lived forward, but it can only be
understood backward.”
So let us learn from past History to create a
better future for humanity.
For the past gives us a sense of belonging
and an identity;
Since our very roots lie enshrined in History!
By the time you complete reading my entire
composition,
I hope to convert you into a Lover of History
by broadening your perception!

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND OF HISTORY!
Ancient Greece, the cradle of Western Civilization
during the 6th century BC, -
Saw the birth of Philosophy!
Thales of Miletus, Anaximenes, and Anaximander,
from the Greek colony of Ionia on the west coast
of Asia Minor,  (now Turkey)
Broke the previous shackles of all mythical and
superstitious explanations.
With their questioning mind and rational thinking
they sought,  -
To seek the real behind the apparent, and substance
behind the shadow;
By seeking natural and logical reasons for explaining
natural phenomena, -
Free from all previous religious and mythical
interpretations!
Thus, these Milesian School of thinkers in their quest
for truth with their intellectual lust, -
Gave rise to ‘philosophia’, Greek word for ‘love
of truth’, an early birth!
Subsequently, this newly born Greek Philosophy with
its progressive thoughts inspired scientific methods
of inquiry;
Along with Logic, trial by Jury, and the very concept
of Democracy!
The Greeks also inspired Literature, History, Tragedy,
Comedy, the Olympic Games, Astronomy, and Geometry!
Around 500 BC the Greek written script had stabilized,
going from left to right;
And the first addition of vowel letters by the Greeks
to the adopted Phoenician consonants, can never
be denied!
The first two Greek letters ‘alpha’ and ‘beta’ which
gave the name to our Alphabets forms a part of
early History.
Now Herodotus, during the 5th century BC, had
inherited this intellectual Greek Legacy!

HERODOTUS – ‘THE FATHER OF HISTORY’
Herodotus is said to have been born in the ancient
Dorian Greek city of Halicarnassus in south-west
Asia Minor, which is now Turkey;
During the latter half of 5th century BC!
During his days, the city was under the rule of Persia;
Since the Persians had captured the Greek colonies
in Asia Minor!
Frequent revolts by these colonies against the
Persians with help from Athens,
Made the Persian King Darius, and later his son
Xerxes, - decide to invade Athens!
The Persians also wanted to extend their Empire
into Europe across the Bosporus Strait, -
Which divided Asia from Europe in those days!

In 490 BC, when the massive Persian army of King
Darius landed at Marathon as assured victors;
The Athenian running courier Pheidippides ran
150 miles in two days, to seek help from Sparta!
Again later, he ran 25 miles from the battlefield
near Marathon to Athens, to announce that the
Greeks became the final victors!
This historic run by Pheidippides gave rise to the
discipline of Marathon, in our Olympic Games
later on!
Such Marathon runs are now held in many cities
of the world annually,
Thus we remain connected with our past as you
can clearly see!
Years later in 425 BC, Herodotus narrated these
invasions in his famous narrative ‘Histories’.
Cicero the Roman scholar, philosopher and orator,
Had called Herodotus the ‘Father of History’ many
centuries later!
Very little is known about Herodotus’ early life,
But from historical evidence which survive,
We learn about his stay in Athens, and his many
wanderings;
Visiting Egypt, Libya, Syria, Babylon, Susa in Elam,
Lydia, and Phrygia;
Collecting information which he called ‘autopsies’
or ‘personal inquiries’, and hearing many stories;
Prior to composing his famous ‘Histories’!

“THE HISTORIES”: HERODOTUS (430-425BC)
This was written in prose in the Iconic dialect of
Classical Greek,
Covers the background, causes, and events of the
Greco-Persian Wars between 490 and 479 BC.  
Scholars divided the entire work into 9 Books, with
each dedicated to a Greek Muse, - those goddesses
of art and knowledge,
Thereby the Homeric tradition they did acknowledge!
For example, Book-I was dedicated to Calliope, the
Muse of Epic Poetry, and Book-II to Clio, the Muse
of History.
Herodotus begins his narration with these following
words;-
“Here is the account of the inquiry of Herodotus of
Halicarnassus in order that the deeds of men not be
erased by time, and that the great and miraculous
works – both of the Greeks and the barbarians not
go unrecorded.”
Now Herodotus with his lucid narrative style, had
pioneered the writing of History with a specific
framework of space and time!
His style got emulated by later writers of History,
Who improved their narration with better authentic
source and methodology;
Thereby giving birth to the subject of ‘Historiography’.
(Historiography = critical examination of source & selection
of authentic material, synthesis of particulars into a narrative
whole, which shall stand the test of critical methods.)

HERODOTUS’ ‘INQUIRY’ GAVE BIRTH TO ‘HISTORY’!
The ancient Greek word “historia” meant ‘knowledge
acquired by investigation or inquiry’’, and the Greek
‘histore’ meant ‘inquiry’.  
It was in this sense Aristotle later used it in his ‘’Inquires
on Animals’’- during the 4th Century BC;
And this mode of ‘inquiry’ later became ‘History’!
The term ‘History’ entered English language in 1390
as a “record of past incidents and story”.
However, the restriction to the meaning “record of
past events” only, came during the 15th century.
But the German word ‘Geschichte’ even to this day,
Means both history and story, without making
distinction in any way!
Since the story element remains inbuilt in all historical
narrations,
And also remains as a tribute to its author’s creation!
CONCLUDING PORTION WILL BE POSTED LATER AS
PART-TWO. Thanks, - RAJ NANDY.
**ALL COPY RIGHTS WITH THE AUTHOR RAJ NANDY,
OF NEW DELHI
Friends, this is a short intro. to the subject of History in Verse, composed in a simplified form. The concluding portion will be posted later as Part Two. Hope you like the same! In case you like it, do recommend to your other friend! Thanks, -Raj
 Feb 2018 jh
Ai
Conversation
 Feb 2018 jh
Ai
We smile at each other
and I lean back against the wicker couch.
How does it feel to be dead? I say.
You touch my knees with your blue fingers.
And when you open your mouth,
a ball of yellow light falls to the floor
and burns a hole through it.
Don't tell me, I say. I don't want to hear.
Did you ever, you start,
wear a certain kind of dress
and just by accident,
so inconsequential you barely notice it,
your fingers graze that dress
and you hear the sound of a knife cutting paper,
you see it too
and you realize how that image
is simply the extension of another image,
that your own life
is a chain of words
that one day will snap.
Words, you say, young girls in a circle, holding hands,
and beginning to rise heavenward
in their confirmation dresses,
like white helium balloons,
the wreathes of flowers on their heads spinning,
and above all that,
that's where I'm floating,
and that's what it's like
only ten times clearer,
ten times more horrible.
Could anyone alive survive it?

— The End —