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It's gone.
I've checked.
I know.

But then,
it never was
much.

Made mostly of scraps;
A rough frame of old bush lumber;
Walls of flattened fuel cans
and lime coated hessian;
A roof of corrugated iron,
battered and rusting.

Scorched by searing summer heat;
Blasted by dust storms;
Chilled by winter frost.

Insubstantial
against the vastness of desert
that stretched in every direction
from the tiny bush town.

But it was home.
Within its walls
were love and care.
At its table
were sustenance and conversation.

For three years
we lived there
when I was a boy.

I'd rise early
and sit on the edge
of the gibber plain
with our dog
watching the sunrise.

One morning
I heard
the jangling of hobbled camels
returning to town
from a night
in the desert.

On another,
there were herds of cattle,
walked in from
an outlying station
for drafting and yarding,
then transport southward
in a train
hauled by a small steam engine.

At the stock-yard
we'd pretend to be cowboys,
prodding the cattle in the loading race
with sticks,
revelling in the dust and noise,
caring little for their terror
or their destination.

One day we hiked
out past the stock cemetery,
of carcasses leering sightless,
scavenged by crows.
We trudged
to the red sand hills,
then back to the rail-line
for a ride home
with the fettlers.

We went barefoot often -
foot-soles like leather
from the searing sand.
In the heat of the day
we'd pause in the scant shadow of a bush,
to choose the next meagre patch of shade,
then run like the wind
to roll on our backs,
waving scorched feet
in the air.

It's still all there in my memory.
Every few years
I take the old track north,
just to check,
to experience again,
to remember.

Other than the vastness of the desert,
it all seems smaller now -
one tiny settlement
within the compass
of an unbroken horizon.

The old house
is just a memory.

It's gone.
I've checked.
I know.

But then,
it never was
much.
If you fold up your paper,
turn off your radio and TV,
sit on the steps and sip your tea,
watch the birds and speak no words
as the sun rises yellow and round,
making rainbows on the dewy lawn,
you could fool yourself into thinking
there’s no ****** war going on.
What it takes for a poem to trend
I fail to understand
When you expect the least
It trends and trends
When I am serious and deep
The poem flops like a fish on the deck
May be I "No Poet" category poet!
  Jan 18 khina maya ghimirey
Laila
They’d waited too long to say

“I love you”.

3 words. 3 syllables.

Yet they held millions of emotions unspoken.

and now that they’d done it, they wouldn’t,
couldn’t, stop

they told each other all the time. In the end of the argument and before the good news.

In the middle of the storm, even though it was hard to see, and after, when the raging winds had settled on a breeze

before the rising sun turned the sky pretty colors and after it flickered out and faded away into the dark

Underneath the stars that their love had been etched into

There was no love until death for them. Because it would never stop. Their love was beyond. It rose above any border that would dare to try and stop it. There was no finish line

because they were each other’s end game.  
-L.R
'Letting go' is a crazy time,

Letting go of the madness

Letting of the inner struggle

Of the Yess and the Nos

Will wake you up like it do to me

Will send you drifting with the music

Dancing your way to the night

Writing your entire story

In the solitude you find when all go asleep

It will clandestinely wrap you in fault, in guilt, in sorry

Steal your soul, leave you just a little poorer

****** you away from the worldly routines

Glide you through various moments of your life

When met with a melody

Oh! what would you do without good music

I would not even be able to give a face to emotions

And every other day I would mask it

Conceal it.
Let’s me see things clearer

Than what my bare eyes would let me  

Brings far off images nearer

Makes it easier to understand what there be

Does away with haze in my vision, as well my ‘thinker’

Accompanies me as a guide I see

as a friend who’s dear

brings fulfillment and glee.

To help figure

Life's mystery

I put it on thee

look at the mirror

Start my day with cuppa tea

Tryna be positive hereafter  

I call myself me
Your dreams are no lesser

Your dreams are never too unworthy

Neither too crazy

Nor too trivial

Your dreams for you are as real

As the divine force prevail

Don’t look down on it as people do so

Don’t let go of it as it’s hard to get

Don’t let go of it to live someone else’s dream

Don’t let go of it as it seems to starry up there

The very place you dream to be

Don’t you let go of it even if you come from a humble place

Don’t let go even if challenges seem bigger than opportunity

Don’t let it get pass you

Believe in it and go follow it

Chase the faint light that constantly calls upon you

Chase it till it has no way out but to come to you

That’s when you realize your dreams were never too less
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