We are the vapours in time,
proud, aloof and in our prime,
the transcendence of forgotten youth,
drifting through the parodies of truth,
we collect the black clouds of despair,
wear them as trophies in our hair,
souls amidst the tombs of hope,
woven together like coils of rope,
we dance to an unknown tune,
our redemption is upon us soon,
brother and sister you see it too,
that you are me and I am you.

Spinning in circles that have square corners
I'm the new Broadway sensation

The moon is wearing  surprise pink gel
And the wind is rosining it's bow

The Marquee is lighted by roman candles
That change colors as you observe

My name is carved into pumpkins
Lit from inside by gold sparklers

The Phantom Toll Booth is housing Will Call
And the ushers are all wearing drag

The Animal Rights folks are picketing
The unkind treatment of frogs

The clearing of throats often hurts them
And we're all a long way from the pond

My costume is still at the cleaners
So I'm dressed as somebody else

The fourth wall is now made of plaster
And my double is lost in the wings

I look but I can't see the footlights
Through the fog machine's oily haze

The prompter's asleep in the Green Room
And the Concert Master is ******

The Conductor is wearing a trainman's hat
But the Midnight Special won't be stopping here

Like me, it's gone off the rails once again
And there's nobody home in the Roundhouse

The outside decided to come on back inside
But all the seats now are taken

I need to stop twirling - I'm dizzy
I overlooked taking a point

There's somebody up in the flies
I think I see sandbags beginning to swing

I can't hear the music;  the air is too loud
And too many people are breathing

That isn't applause after all - it's thunder
And my key light has faded to three

My funniest line drew no laughter
And I've got to exit stage left

The curtain call was a barrel house polka
And no one presented me flowers

The stage door is painted an angry red
and it needs to be painted coal black

I'm back outside where I've always belonged
And no one is waiting to greet me

With autograph book and stub of a pen
Guess I might just as well walk on home
                     LJM

Losing my son' is like, I lost the world,
This feeling surprised me and it keeps in my heart so long,
A life without my baby is miserable,

Grieving over my son and no-one is there to relieve my pain,
I do miss, to see your playful activities,
I do miss to kiss you,

Sometimes the loss of my baby trigger for things back,
Which I want to forget, but all those grief recalled,
I not just lost you, I lost my friend,

I lost my everything, without you I am in an agony,
After the divorce, your presence becomes everything to me,
But now I entered the darkroom,
From where, has no escape,

You were and still a part of my body,
When I lost you,
It is as if I have lost one piece from my soul.

By: Nida Mahmoed

I want moon,
Solitude,
Bravery,
and patience in my soul,
it's been a while since
they were last together in me!

By: Nida Mahmoed.

poppies and chamomile bloomed roads,
covered in warm dust... such a pity
that these are the only ones left
to be pointing towards the eternal city,

where marble and stone still stand
on places gods used to walk bare-footed,
where belief was more than just demand,
until cassocks have had ancient ways sooted.

A place where manner was turned into art
And polymaths emerged from genius creation,
where Latin blood spills from heart to mart
In a continuous state of vibrant elation.

where green is the colour of oils and lust
and the sun can burn to a lemon flavour,
and the sand on the front of the boot is black
and the wine is more than a bitter-sweet savour...

There, where a walk through square paved markets
is bursting with hand-made stories,
where scratching through history's pride
would always end in timeless glory...