Don’t text me when you’re drunk
Don’t even say my name when you’re high
Don’t think about me when you’re with her
Don’t reduce my worth to that

I haven't heard from you in a while
I haven't pulled out your picture and looked at it in ages
I haven't written poetry about you in a long time
I haven't been missing you

You used to be more interested in books than Ecstasy
You used to swear for no reason less
You used to be kinder
You used to be what you aren't anymore

I secretly hope you've looked at my picture once or twice
I secretly hope you'll text me again one day
I secretly hope you miss me just a little bit
I secretly hope that if you ever decide to "miss me" again I have the strength and courage to say "That's nice."

not "I miss you too"

You think that she is fragile
                                                  Innocent
Becau­se you can see her every
                                                    Action
­You see through her every
                                                       Lie
Into what you think is the
                                                    True
girl.
So you
                                                   Shield
her from lies and horror,
Because she is too
                                                Breakable
Becaus­e she is too thin
Because she is            
            Glass

But you have no idea how she started out.
She has
                                                  Battled
more than you
And tasted her share of
                                                        Fire
She­ burned and got
                                                   Burned
In a blazing fire of lies
She turned from soft sand
Into hardened
            Glass

You think that she is breakable
And
                                                          Clear
to you
Because you can see through her
But if you don't know
The pain and price it
                                                      Cost
To become what she is
Then it doesn't matter
That you can see through
Since you can't see in.

You may think you are
                                                Invincible
But that girl is
                       Glass

/
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

Tell me something about you
Something nobody else knows
Show some truths
Reveal to me your soul
Don't make it too obvious
Hide your secrets within ink
Not too long and not too short
But make me think
Make me guess
Help me to understand
Write out your dark confessions
And I'll be your biggest fan

You hate my poems
You say they take me from you
that they're pointless
a waste of time
maybe you're right.
You read them,
just the words as they fall,
and say you get nothing
just syllables.
I have lost count
of the sighs and eyerolls,
the you have no talents,
they sit in a memory box
along with the times you've asked me to stop.
Stop.
Just like that.
Stop pouring myself onto paper,
Stop looking for beauty in darkness,
Stop healing.
You prefer me broken, fragile, dependant,
the girl you took from nowhere to god knows where
a once pretty, broken thing
to hang silently from your arm
while you talk proudly of the soul that you saved.
You fear that my writing will end us.
I fear that my stopping will end me.

The marchers make their way today
through town to Cardiff Bay
with whistles, shouts and banners up
for sweet old Mary Jane
they're marching for her freedom
all ages, colours, creeds
have come in joyful spirits
to help us free the **** 

The rich, the poor, the movers and shakers
the blowback kings and part-time partakers
the rollers, the tokers, the bongers and such
the teenage goth stoners who've had way too much
skin up as they march while making their point
and meet up with new friends while sharing a joint.

Then down at the bay side
when the bands start to play
they'll **** in the sunshine
till the end of the day.