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So now,
Losing the three last night,
Takeing them back today,
Dripping and dark the woods . . .
 Sep 2015 Lena Bitare
betterdays
what if we had
  
just
one day

to
love
live
and give
something
back
to
this
world
in which
we
live

how would
you
spend
your
allocation
of
precious
hours

take
your
time­

think
it
through

would
you be
spendthrift
miserly
or
provident

selfish
selfless

hope less
can do

devil may care
buyer beware

seize the day
rue the moment

sing and dance
weep and cry

accept the loss
bemoan the lost

savour the day
pack your house away

24 HOURS
even less
hours to live

be a blessing
and in turn be blessed
Right now, the world needs us to live extraordinary  lives
  be kind and generous of spirit
for the next 24 hrs
you will change some one's life
BLESS
~~
Sometimes Loudly
Sometimes Silently
Yellow leaves have fallen,
Becoming dry
Pale
Passing through as the grained Sound on the Street

Slowly dark flees across the evenings
What an Illusion!
What Shadows!
Has Shuffled
The Past
Present
Future

Your form that creates metaphors
And what a wonderful feel
Through out its gravity
Night dancing,
When aroma of Night-Queen
Moving in the air,
Plays with the moonlit
As if Reminds
The First love Poem

Has burned within the form
Standing to fascinate
Away, a dense bunch
Of vine Forest
Bored Air moving
Listening the murmur
Of dried leaves
In the passing wind of banner
As if Someone Calling with
My old name

Empty
Restless Heart
Today is the tune that somewhere else
Like a flow
Of a distant river melody,
Surging waves of the attack
In the Strange night of Spring

Continuous grey leaves falling
Falling on the Floor
Whispering the words on the street goes through
What an Illusion!
What Shadows!
~~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
whispering the words on the street goes through/
 Jan 2015 Lena Bitare
GvSparx
She is herself

She does not care
about the money in the banks
Screams,
gets what she demands

She does not fear
unknown men she sees
Smiles,
melts their broken pieces

Now, that’s called swag
Now just read the bold. Whoa! It still tells the story.

Clad in icy pink, the little cheerful angel smiled at me ever so innocently. She called her mom and said "mom, uncle is standing in front of lift. I felt more wonderful about being smiled at than weird about being called uncle.

Don't you aspire to be like her?
#truestory #greypaper
Many miles traversed
Between those thoughts
Each birthed during
Circumstances unique
To times which are bygone
Time has moved on
Yet, they still occupy a place
Deep within the mind
Without any inferences
They could have been different
As you toy with ideas
Trying to apply today’s solutions
To an era gone by
Each compartment
Demarcated with timelines
Minds traverses
A different trajectory
Time may have long forgotten
But the mind has its own reasons
To keep those thoughts preserved
Much weary we may be
Yet, sometimes
We cannot but refuse
To traverse between those thoughts
/
Many days
I do not read any newspaper
Even do not see television
At all
Many days have gone
After You
I do not read any poetry

How to feel that since this morning!
Repeatedly hear identifying tunes on the air

Your arrival in the sky,
The air reverberates
Looks like another day
In the Paradise,
In another song,
Which brings the soul
The Aroma

Everyone is coming out
From all sides
Young Old
Babies Boys
Women Men
Everyone
Everyone is clapping
Singing the song of the same tune
This song is not the song of Rain
Not even a lamentation

The Southern breeze whispering your words
Slowly Said,
The Little Tailor Bird
No, No,
Not such a summer afternoon
Not even a hurricane warning

Each of the human eye
Follow the Eastern Sky  
Tireless Eye
Watching the sun,
The Red Sun,
You went to bring dreams for us
From the Sun

Hundreds of thousands of people
In his next question
Hand with Flower
Shoulder to Shoulder
Today will be the day of strangers,
The poet will come
We are standing in the flowers
Fist full of dreams to take

Float in the sky with white clouds
My dreams are calling again
Today is not such an Autumn
But Still feel like an Autumn
Indeed,  
The poet will come,
A poem in the New

Where each word will be spoken dream
Love to be evacuated
Poems that will repay
The debt to my Ancestor
Take revenge on thee
For their injustice,
Torture
Poems that would bring the stars
For our next generation
A poem that would bring the red rose for my darling,
Would bring such a smile to my mother's face
As Moon that smile
And that is simply killed false dreams
Will we ever Released
Sing Freedom Songs

The Poet,
My beloved Poet
You will come,
Will surely come
And will recite your immortal poem
/

@ Musfiq us shaleheen
/
dear respectable fellow poet, poetess readers
if you like this poem please share your comments and repost the poem.
I will be grateful to you.....
/
 Jan 2015 Lena Bitare
The Noose
Some are born balanced
On a precipice and remain
Tethered for the rest of their days
Overlooking barely there
Mental images
Fragments of a lucid dream
Of a conjured up past life
Once etched on skin
But no longer there
They speak of
Violent reinvention
And escape
While the hollow speaks
And catapults into spaces
Better left unknown

Psyches wrapped in denial
Running the gamut of habitual sins
Perpetuating legacies of pain
With hands that carry
The burdens of forefathers
Tiptoeing
In the twilight of dreams
Willing for the heavens
To send a spring that blooms

Hearts whose pounding
Reverberates endlessly
inside of ears
Eyes that get darker as they close
Meet with ours
A look
A sigh
Ascertaining a mutual recognition
Of the familiar
Shadows that plague.
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