Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
the average cost of a funeral is
$8,515

death is unaffordable for me

put me in  big oblong cardboard box

2 feet by 3 feet by 6 feet

packing list enclosed

fragile (not really)
      please handle with care

keep upright

       or

supine

send me to the
grande vide

postage due
 Sep 2019 ranveer joshua
Vish
Luna
 Sep 2019 ranveer joshua
Vish
You know my name but not my story

You see my face but not my soul

You feel my skin but not my scars

You hear my voice but not my pleas

You only want the untainted parts of me.

But my dear,
haven’t you heard ?

The moon only glows so bright because she lives in the dark
 Sep 2019 ranveer joshua
alex
french
 Sep 2019 ranveer joshua
alex
and when you said
laughter is like a foreign language
i imagined that i was
teaching you how to
speak it
jcl. you said you don’t laugh much just in general, but i sat with you for two and a half hours and that’s all we did. i’ve missed this. i’ve missed you.
 Sep 2019 ranveer joshua
Meera
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
To Paint a Water Lily

A green level of lily leaves
Roofs the pond's chamber and paves

The flies' furious arena: study
These, the two minds of this lady.

First observe the air's dragonfly
That eats meat, that bullets by

Or stands in space to take aim;
Others as dangerous comb the hum

Under the trees.  There are battle-shouts
And death-cries everywhere hereabouts

But inaudible, so the eyes praise
To see the colours of these flies

Rainbow their arcs, spark, or settle
Cooling like beads of molten metal

Through the spectrum.  Think what worse
is the pond-bed's matter of course;

Prehistoric bedragoned times
Crawl that darkness with Latin names,

Have evolved no improvements there,
Jaws for heads, the set stare,

Ignorant of age as of hour—
Now paint the long-necked lily-flower

Which, deep in both worlds, can be still
As a painting, trembling hardly at all

Though the dragonfly alight,
Whatever horror nudge her root.
Awe
A winters stare,
Beautifully resonates in the air,
A clear sky, a frozen pitch,
I wonder if the beauty,
will last more than a few minutes,


The snapping of a twig,
which was once part of the untouched view,
A graceful swan as muted as I am in awe,

Gliding by,


Looking over by the hill,
The mist breathing through the grass,
as I pause once more,
The grandest of oaks, silhouetted by the rising sun,
Grips me to the core,


Only in England…


Say no more.
Next page