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 Sep 2020 Påłpëbŕå
Blake
My heart is healed, but my mind is shouting for help.
I look at everything like it’s a war, and the price is my life.
Wanting to be an adult but scared like a little kid.
Maybe it will get better, but what if perhaps it isn’t good enough.
I wish I was stronger.
Strong enough to live by my self, not needing help to survive.
No, I'm not ok.
It's amazing what a
smile can hide.

Monsters aren't under
your bed - they're in your head
And hard to ignore.

No one really knows
you until you show them your
internal, dark side.
sometimes the worlds dark side overwhelms
He
Broke my wings
So I couldn’t

Fly

So I stole his soul
So he couldn’t

Die
 Sep 2020 Påłpëbŕå
bugsy
Our love was like a thunderstorm
Overwhelming and intense
It flooded and consumed me
Until nothing else made sense

You were lightning and I was thunder
Never meant to be
But whenever I was with you
You were all that I could see

I felt a love I’d never felt before
A love that was so profound
The rivers began to flood
All my desolation drowned

While the rain drops pattered down
Suddenly lightning struck
Chaotic, restless wicked
You said I was nothing but a ****

Just like that it was over
Brief like a tropical storm
Nothing but a memory
A love I can only mourn

I screamed I miss you I miss you I love you
While I watched your tail lights disappear
My little heart still broken
And the sky begins to clear
/gt
There exists a special type of insanity,
Only known to poets
And those who adore poetry.
It is something that cannot be explained
Or described, only experienced.

And those who experience it
Are never the same. They know
The burning need to write and read
And the comfort of finding yourself
In someone else's words.

This madness holds a hidden truth:
No one chooses this insanity.
Instead, it reaches out to those
Broken, disillusioned, embittered
And held captive, by life itself.

I do not ask you to pity the poets,
Or those captivated by poetry,
But the next time you see one
Ask them: Why do you love poetry?
And watch as their eyes light up.
The other day, I started talking about poetry and my friends couldn't understand why I loved it so much. That conversation led to this poem
Love is peace
That burns with desire,
The passion can char your soul.
Love is free
And the payment required,
To give and to embrace a soul

Love is blind
It sees into your heart
At the kindness, the beauty within.
Love is hope
That despairs when we part
And yearns for your arms to return

Love is calm
It torments the head
It breaks and it shatters your pride
Love is hard
As it softens instead
The wasteful tears you’ve cried

Love is fire
That quenches your trust
And consumes your body, your mind
Love is wild
As it tames your lust
And fills your heart every time

Love is you
You are all I that I need
Your star shines bright through the day
Love is me
My soul,
it is freed
With your passion burning my way

Love is us
You were worth the wait
With your fingers entwined in mine
Love is us
Our lives steeped in fate
Eternity together,
forever combined
 Sep 2020 Påłpëbŕå
Prevost
There were round windows
On the doors of the funeral home
And the one in the back
That always swung shut
That’s where they kept
My little sister

Her casket was dull grey
With a complicated mechanism beneath
To wheel her about
Through the door with the round window
Where they kept
My little sister

I did not know
Why we didn’t just bring her home
It seemed so simple
Once she was home
The tears would stop falling
For my little sister
When I was five years old my little sister died of brain cancer. These four poems, “Curls” “My Little Sister “ “Hail Mary” and “Altars” revisit that time through an adult’s words. Thanks for reading....
तानाशाह हो, शहंशाह हो,
अंग्रेज़ी हुकूमरान हो,
सरकार-ए-हिन्द हो,
सब को एक दिन सुपुर्द-ए-खाक़ होना है।

हर शक्स अपने चरम पे
मग़रूर था,
आख़िर समय में कफ़न में लिपटा
किसी के कंधों पर मजबूर बना था।

मेरे मुल्क ने ज्यादतियां देखी,
मग़रूर की मस्तियां देखी,
इतिहास गवाह है,
इन सब के बाद भी हिंदुस्तान ने
फिर से एक सुनहरी किरण देखी।

हुकूमते आयीं और चलीं गई,
मेरे मुल्क ने किसी को प्यासा नहीं भेजा,
जागीर लुटा के आने वालों को जागीरदार बनाया,
भिकारी को भी यहां तख्त से नवाज़ा।

आज का दौर भी गुजर जाएगा,
इतिहास बदला जाएगा,
बेजुबानों को सुनने वाला,
कोई ना कोई जल्द ही आएगा।

Sparkle In Wisdom
20/9/20.

🙏🙏
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