1d r
Vicki
thunder
 1d r
Vicki

i am not a flower in the rain,
mustering delicate
folds away in nature's
swizzle drizzle

i am of
the rain itself
my pen a nozzle
for words that come
i have to swallow,
sputter, gushing
not negotiable
rather,

i'm the thunder
popping in and out
of clouds
to scatter them
from windy
gabby gathering
of hyped up black
thickening stew brew
of sky puke
because when
they do, the rain
breaks through, pure

the ebb and flow
of where i go
grows.

 2d r
ThePoet

I'm scared of the tears

that I don't cry

The days like this

that I don't die

I'm scared of the pain

that slips my mind

It comes back harder

than what I left behind

© Sarah Ahmed (ThePoet)

Feels good to write again.

Thank you everyone for your support. (:

The parched earth echoed the wails for the dead
as flames devoured the crowd of corpses
mouth agape with unquenched thirst.

The sky had mercilessly looked away
having spit fire on them down below
sparing not one waterhole on its way
and the mother if only she could
use her tears for the baby to drink
but her eyes had turned dry as the earth.

Yet dark as the depth of love
the King's pond mirrored the princess' face
and would still beam the moon in her eyes
strangely hiding from the wrath of the drought.

One night sleeping on her ivory bed
her silken skin cooled with rosewater
the princess heard a voice:

When the fury of God
blinds him to the pains of men
an angel rises to break his heart
stakes her life to rend heaven apart
so his tears on earth fall as rain.


The windless night was deadly quiet
watched by moon in awe wide eyed
the trees sparkled in firefly's light
when the princess stood by the pond's side.

For awhile her eyes roamed around
resting on the marble's gleam
the sleeping grass her sweet playground
a home smelling all earthly dream.

She felt like swimming through the air
love glowing warm in her peaceful eyes
till she reached the end of stairs
that bore her frame with deep sighs.

The heaven broke down with thunderous rain
the seeds sprouted filled field with green
upon that land wasn't a drought again
never before had such harvest been seen.

In the depth of night if you hear a cry
from the clouds pearly by dawn's embrace
know God's tears will fall from the sky
as dewdrops mourning the rain princess.

Sixteen's glow
now the river's flow
I love to swim

tepid and soft
she holds me aloft
I float on moonbeam.

Love to hold close
snuggle my nose
between her breasts

they aren't as high
but I mustn't lie
found no better rests.

No way I would hide
if not by my side
life feels a dull stuff

the unwritten rule
is she makes me full
so I'm never half.

By a simple glance
in a million one chance
we happened to meet

love I wouldn't call
not to make small
this undying habit.

 2d r
chimaera
Inner
 2d r
chimaera

Flawless,
seamless,
the uselessness.

Boomeranging.
Rummaging
the fossilisation.

Static.

Willingness?

21.07.2017
10 w

Julys have come and gone
in the hills of Shillong
and from the browned ORWO
the skinny boy with an oversized cap
smiles as if there's no tomorrow
but this moment
wrapped in fog and drizzle
holds everything within
the now filling life to the brim
making growth a needless shape
absurdly redundant
and never more real
than the eyes
peering from that shot of time
ecstatic in happiness
rejecting a future
too intangible
to be valuable.

Shillong is a hill station in the state of Meghalaya (abode of the clouds) in India.
This work is inspired from a photo of mine taken there in July, 1978, I chanced upon from an old album. I feel I've moved too far from that boy to bear his identity any more.
 3d r
phil roberts

Keep the innocents in the village
Don't let the children play outside
The homeless and the nameless
Must stay huddled together
Finding shelter where they can

Because there are killers high above
Dropping bombs of hatred and rhetoric
Killing and maiming indiscriminately
And the killers are from so many places
Leaders from all over the world
Whose only morality is ambition
And their only emotion is paranoia

And those who dare to disagree
Are shut up or closed down
Never to be heard from again
And those who care to notice
Are watching open-mouthed
The bloodied stump of history
Right before their eyes

                                   By Phil Roberts

 3d r
Vicki

into the humid
wild iteration
of summer, these
hours
summon humans'
special
power to remain
clothed,
pores covered
and it goes
against
our grain
not to get naked
in the rain
or not to cuddle
the whole family
in one cave
in one room.
it's too humid
for the latter,
ancient

into the wild
humidity,
the hours
are scattering
now,
the fleeting
mood of sweat
and harvest
closing in,
skinny dipping
in blue waters,
sleeping
on the banks under
the stars with
lovers
is soon
to move

to another realm,
the fall of autumn
and the furs
we'll wear, not
ashamed
to be covered
and spooning
bedding partners
is welcome.

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