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...
..
Much before the door closed
Can be seen regularly when walking on the road
Though dark, see the mass of trash
But did not hear any noise ever

On the side of the sky touch wall
My constant movement
Though shadow yet trademark cynicism
I can go away even closed eyes

Closed eyes within the dark
Yet unbelievable, but brings a dream
A dream within the dark,
See a diamond crystal
Where only light and light dispersion
From each dimension

Suddenly, in dream
I am in front of the closed door,
See a footprint,
Known voice with tune,
Can hear the illusive song

Now neither there exists any tall wall
Nor any closed door in the mind
...
..
.
...
.......
Then I never saw you
even didn't hear that song again
how everything got lost in uncertain
begins the rules of funeral  

Those morning dews,
how beautiful  the silver shines!
surely lost after a few hours
ah! the dreams grew and lost in daylight  

Moonlight falls on this large meadow
Certainly clears my distinct shadow
what a brightness in the face of horizon
get lost after the clouds covered

Hope grows love
where river moves towards the upstream
when loses
the time, untimely  

Love is a foolish pride
Find after lost,
as the day within the days,
daily

Lonely time as the pain of the poetry
In words, paper of poetry submerged
Find thy, say into the darkness
what a restless mind, drunk!
...
..
.
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Beat the rhythm
empty hand,
Iron cast chains
rattles command.

Ol' Boss Hogg,
baton raised
Self righteous fool
has need of praise.

In order that
he gain acclaim,
thinks with hate,
acts with shame.

Human beings,
commodity,
ships hold stacked
with those once free.

Bodies piled
upon high
you will not see
the strong ones die.

Scars embedded
on their backs
chained and shackled
to the racks.

We deal in branded
breathing stock,
Unload black vassal
from our docks.

Beat the rhythm
empty hands.
Iron cast chains
in far off lands.

We keep our skivvy,
wired hair blacks.
We work them hard,
we score their backs.

They do for us,
they work the field.
Grow the cotton,
pick the yield.

Keep the body,
take the mind.
Labour whatever's
left behind.

And if demeanour
does ever flinch.
We'll introduce you
Willie Lynch.

Beat the rhythm.
Empty hands
Iron cast chains.
Unfair demands.

Beat the rhythm,
shackled feet.
We take their worst
but can't be beat.
Anybody know who Willie Lynch was? Anybody? Raise your hand. No one? He was a vicious slave owner in the West Indies. The slave-masters in the colony of Virginia were having trouble controlling their slaves, so they sent for Mr. Lynch to teach them his methods. The word "lynching" came from his last name. His methods were very simple, but they were diabolical. Keep the slave physically strong but psychologically weak and dependent on the slave master. Keep the body, take the mind.  (Melvin B Tolson)

19th  July 2015
© Copyright Christopher K Bayliss 2014
Stuffed animal
Daybreaks next to wild roses
Teddy bear bleeding
 Jul 2015 Marium Iqbal
unwritten
she said,
"don't grow up,"
and i replied,
"my darling,
it's a bit too late for that.
the fun and games
have ended.
the curtains
are closing.
the adrenaline
is fading.
the smiles
are dying.
the hearts
are breaking.
and i feel
i have lived
a thousand lifetimes,
each one lacking
a childhood."

(a.m.)
welcome to reality. enjoy your stay.
I was forced to grow up
At such a young age
Falling victim to my fathers rage
Held captive in my own home
The one place where you're supposed to feel safe

So they shipped me away
I was confused and afraid
I grew up afraid
Not of the dark
Or the monsters under my bed
But the monsters inside my head

They sound a lot like you
Telling me how worthless
How stupid
How useless I am
Unwanted and unloved
This is how I grew up

Maybe this is the reason I have this hole
Where my heart should be
Maybe this is the reason I feel so empty

Maybe this is the reason I search for love
In a place where love does not exist
Because any kind of love is better than this

This pain  emanates from these open wounds
Which seem to never heal
I dont know what I am supposed to feel

These scars on my heart match the scars on my arms
A somber sign that I am still alive
The blood flows the same way as the tears that I've cried

I never once bit the hand that fed me
in return it was the one
that hit me
A callous kind of charity

I may be big now
But those days I still feel so
Small
I tell my self
I am strong
And I have come a long way
This path may not be smooth
But I choose to make it through
No matter what they say I cannot do


I am worthy of love
Work in progress
All the things I've managed it do in my life

I've felt guilty for at least half

Maybe it's true that I'm going to hell
Maybe it's true

People sometimes ask:
"If you could have one thing back from your childhood, what would it be?"

A favorite Barbie doll

A play pickup truck

A missing parent

A dead relative

Me?

*I want my innocence back
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