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  Sep 2015 Laurent
Pradip Chattopadhyay
In the village today is one more widow.

Only last night
on the warm love bed
was smudged her sindoor
all over forehead!


Her skin is still raw with his claw,

his neck fell today to the jungle's law.
People living in the fringe of the Sundarbans go inside the forest to hunt for honey, fish and *****, putting them at risk for a tiger attack. In almost every village there is a man or woman commonly referred to as a " Tiger Widow".
Summertime, naked and hot, in winter,
still blazing,  buried tinder of our heart;
never healed love bites arrow's splinters.

Enchanting two violins move red roses
to tremble in light wind. A song to see,
souls craving to play starry night's glee.

I know, I was borne for your body, male;
A season too late, too long a foolish desire!
tearing us apart, as omnipresent love tale.  

Many a night, your lavish words touched
me, yielding under your immense beauty,  
should I savor for you tremendous desire!

Owl's wakeful eyes are thoughts beyond
Realms. And you take me there upfront!
Summertime, naked and hot, in winters;
Never healed love bites arrow's splinters.
Imagined by Impeccable Space Poetic Love
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I was searching for a music You remind me of; and
found a proximity of everything you stand for. . . .
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnxPuRPW8VU
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  Sep 2015 Laurent
Solaces
I can see you.   It has been dark for so long.  And you are shining in it!  Tears fill my eyes.  At the sight of light.  He is getting brighter and brighter.  There is even a warmth to his glow.  I feel it on my skin.  There are so many of us here in the dark.   Its then rings of light begin to emit from him.  But how? And why?  What illuminates him in the infinite darkness?  He then got so bright that he became the sun itself.  Dawn is here yet again.  The new morning has vanquished the eternal night.  I must discover what is the science to his Belief.   Its what made him shine.
Belief comes from the heart not the mind.
  Sep 2015 Laurent
Dark n Beautiful
When my poems flirts, it can find a way to get into your heart
As it ****** you my audiences it’s becomes imagery and symbolism
The bouncer of the entry way, but somehow waltzes its way into the mind of the nonbelievers: activating the rhythm and rhymes

The language of emotions felt like a prickly face, against my long neck,
Every emotion has its place: like the smell of the bourbon breath
which make my pulse leap and my body tremble
"To dream of lust is to dream of me it whispered, so ecstatic!
Effortlessly, I tried so not to give in to the poetic teaser,

*I am the black child of a white father, a wingless bird,
flying even to the clouds of heaven.
I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me,
even though there is no cause for grief,
and at once on my birth I am dissolved into air. What am I?
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