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I've built these walls
Its vibrant rusty red hue was now faint
Abused with graffitied names I've been called
Gaping cracks and poison ivy cradle its stance

I've built these walls
Its purpose is to protect me from harm
But you are the strongest of storms
And you've come my way ready to break them down

I've built these walls
They are tired of existing like myself
They crumble into pieces, my aura is exposed
I look into your starless eyes, knowing it's dangerous to be this close

I've built these walls
They've been gone for some time
You broke through them then disappeared into the sky
Only to return with the most alluring sunshine
I've been waiting to feel for most of my life

-k.v
there are different types of crying
each of us has at least one or two
and from my point of view
the most used is the one without tears,
when the soul cries loud and everything in the body hurts.
and there is another one that goes hand in hand with rain
you're between droplets, crying and nobody can see the tears.
 Jul 2014 Naomi Zabasajja
Md HUDA
I was crowded by the beggars

One of them said," Lovers are the melancholic beggars".
A hot summer day, lush green grass turning into hay.
A sickly child of nine, in a park carpeted with pine.
A little after six, the other kids gone to eat meals their mother's fixed.

He had no worries though, his mother was always home late,
She was probably at a bar or on a date.
A slight breeze blew with warmth that soothed his skin.
While his mother remained half drunk on tonic and gin.

Realization struck, playing alone felt juvenile.
He started towards home, a perpetual mile.

As he treads down the curb, his wariness escalates unperturbed.  
For at home, what he is made to witness, gets him feeling constricted.
He feels bound by a chain.

Formidable lovers or accountable customers.
It made no difference,  for after they were laid, they treated his mother like a maid.
Which to him was the epitome of lame.

As he was walking down the street, he heard the soft thud of feet.
Curious, he turns around.
As he was gawking, he saw an old man walking.
Towards him, the man was bound.

Without a trace of infidelity or a hint at destructivity, the old approached the child.
In light of the age on his face, the old man's perspicacity seemed mild.

A long coat on his back and a cap of grey hair on his head, this is what the old man said.
" My dear son, lets have fun, lets go to my house and play.
It'll be really merry, we'll drink some hot sherry and I'll give you enough candy to last more than a day"

The boy measured this pretension, reasoned with apprehension the thoughts of his mother at bay.

He reasoned she won't care, or if she did she won't dare for her lovers don't give her much say.

So he followed the old man, content to have a friend to play with.
Honestly though, it was the candy that his motives stayed with.

They walked along till they were deep in an unfamiliar part of town.
They come upon a dingy little house, which he could have sworn was raided by a hound.

"Please leave your shoes out the door,
Or else you might soil the floor"
Said the old man without a hint of zeal.
The boy pulled of his shoes,
Then the socks came loose.
The candy holding its enchanting appeal.

As the boy walked in straight,
He saw the old man slide the lock into place and smile.
The boy shuddered, his feet cold on the linoleum tile.
The old man sighed, "Common my son, lets have some fun, I'm your neighbourhood friendly *******. "
She was passive and quiet
She liked to be alone
She observed people through her dark eyes
Admiring lovers admire each other
She dreamt of flying through the clouds escaping reality
She dreamt of creating art to express what she couldn't put into words
She felt small but had vast mind
She was distant and shy
She stayed away in her room
Daydreaming of what could be
If she were to break out of her cocoon

-k.v
I felt droplets of anxiety trickle down my forehead
My mind was malfunctioning at the thought of you
Being next to me for the first time
I bit down on my lower lip, focusing on inhales and exhales
A knot in my throat forbid me to say what I've been dying to say
With my heart in my mouth but my lips sealed

He took my hand

My hand folded so perfectly into yours
Electricity traveled through my veins, my heart quickened its rhythm
You smiled
I was powering up at lightening speed yet shutting down simultaneously
You rubbed your thumb on the edge of my spongy palm
A kiss softer than feathers you daringly brushed upon my cheek
Your touch was idyllic
I felt my pupils dilate in the utter darkness
One last exhale escaped from my motionless lips

I disintegrated.

-k.v
 Jul 2014 Naomi Zabasajja
dev
love is hard
you put your everything into someone and hope they don't throw it back in your face
you make memories that are nearly impossible to forget and hope they don't give you a reason to want to forget them
you give them your heart and hope they don't rip it apart
you fall and hope they catch you before you hit the ground
but love is *worth it
It starts with an idea, thus it is conceived
It grows over time, forming line after line
It consists of nouns, verbs, adjectives
It sometimes takes minutes or hours, or days ,or years
to fully form, It can be laborious starting with a rough draft
at times several papers pile up in the trash
It can consist of similes and metaphors, or take a short story form
It grows more until it is complete, thus the poem is born, after it arrives like a proud parent you look at the poem and declare it is good and ready to share

The poem can be personified, it can touch human emotion it can invoke sadness  and or happiness or at times touch our funny bone or remind us of a past romance, or the good old days

In the end the effort can be worthwhile especially if it can produce a smile
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