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A flavor of red wine
makes me alluring
I'm high from your whiff
your gaze turns me frail

  A touch of night fire
brings in me  blazing
I'm high from your whiff
your gaze turns me frail

  A smell of your *******
draws me nearer and closer
I'm high from your whiff
your gaze turns me frail

I took you  in  my shapes
It all t turns us around
I'm high from your whiff
your gaze turns me frail

Let  me drink  off your kisses;
Let me  burn  in your touches.
*
By
Williamsji Maveli

email
williamsji@yahoo.com

Your yawning navy eyes burst
Looking for a shared trust
Your moisten lips thirst
Eager for an inner quest
And again we both arrest
to have a silent lust
As passion stirs and smell
In tenderness, minds swell
Enchanting sighs of divine love
across the body, fingers move..

*
By
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
Email:
williamsji@yahoo.com
www.williamsgeorge.com

Poetry dates all the way back to the beginnings of Humanity. People have always been questioning nature, and the day-to-day existence of themselves and other humans love, death, survival, war, injustice, and the universe are all examples of things that have been questioned by men and woman since the roots of human existence. Whether in nursery rhyme, ballad, jingle, rhyme, anthem, or music,people have found poetry to be an outlet for expressing these questions, sensations, and experiences
People often associate it with strict rhyming patterns, complicated vocabulary, hidden iconic meanings, and difficult rhythmical conventions. Poetry is even taught in school to be an intricate, complicated, inexplicable puzzle. True, poetry is difficult. Sure, it can be harder to understand
than prose. However, that is only because sometimes it is involved with your inescapable complexities and uncertainties of your existence.

For more details about the author,
Log on
www.williamsji.com
www.williamgeorge.com
www.microthemes.com

I have planted
the seeds  of worship
in your fertile land
Ploughed through;
Mutually watered
With my snuffle;
it has matured
and overspread
in my own dwelling.
You offered me a cup of deadly
drink with delight.
You have absorbed in my
Reflection of divines
and you became
my Goddess at last
and I am always
Dormant both  in your
mind and  body
*
By
Williamsji Maveli

Email:williamsji@yahoo.com
Poetry dates all the way back to the beginnings of Humanity. People have always been questioning nature, and the day-to-day existence of themselves and other humans love, death, survival, war, injustice, and the universe are all examples of things that have been questioned by men and woman since the roots of human existence. Whether in nursery rhyme, ballad, jingle, rhyme, anthem, or music,people have found poetry to be an outlet for expressing these questions, sensations, and experiences
People often associate it with strict rhyming patterns, complicated vocabulary, hidden iconic meanings, and difficult rhythmical conventions. Poetry is even taught in school to be an intricate, complicated, inexplicable puzzle. True, poetry is difficult. Sure, it can be harder to understand
than prose. However, that is only because sometimes it is involved with your inescapable complexities and uncertainties of your existence.

For more details about the author,
Log on
www.williamsji.com
www.williamgeorge.com
www.microthemes.com
Is that an exclamation mark !
or an explanation mark !
when Life,  is in a comma,
and all alphabets seems to have  
broken their legs,
The word is  the only
hope of life;
also one word answers ;
like
Life, love, lust, birth, death;
No grammatical errors;
Still the sentence is wrong;
hope is  in  comma,
Love is in a   semi column;
Struggling for life.
pages have been removed;
Cancer cells are dotted lines….
ending with an
explanation mark!
exclamation mark !!

*
By
Williamsji Maveli

Email
williamsji@yahoo.com

The things that shock me are the things that look like one thing,
And I'm firmly convinced they are that one thing,
And then, in the last sentence, I discover with 100% certainty
That they are something completely different.

You shocked me. And I loved it
By The Madman http://leb.net/gibran/works/madman/madman.html
In the silent hour of the night, as I lay half asleep, my seven selves sat together and thus conversed in whispers:

First Self: Here, in this madman, I have dwelt all these years, with naught to do but renew his pain by day and recreate his sorrow by night. I can bear my fate no longer, and now I must rebel.

Second Self: Yours is a better lot than mine, brother, for it is given me to be this madman's joyous self. I laugh his laughter and sing his happy hours, and with thrice winged feet I dance his brighter thoughts. It is I that would rebel against my weary existence.

Third Self: And what of me, the love-ridden self, the flaming brand of wild passion and fantastic desires? It is I the love-sick self who would rebel against this madman.

Fourth Self: I, amongst you all, am the most miserable, for naught was given me but the odious hatred and destructive loathing. It is I, the tempest-like self, the one born in the black caves of Hell, who would protest against serving this madman.

Fifth Self: Nay, it is I, the thinking self, the fanciful self, the self of hunger and thirst, the one doomed to wander without rest in search of unknown things and things not yet created; it is I, not you, who would rebel.

Sixth Self: And I, the working self, the pitiful labourer, who, with patient hands, and longing eyes, fashion the days into images and give the formless elements new and eternal forms--it is I, the solitary one, who would rebel against this restless madman.

Seventh Self: How strange that you all would rebel against this man, because each and every one of you has a preordained fate to fulfil. Ah! could I but be like one of you, a self with a determined lot! But I have none, I am the do-nothing self, the one who sits in the dumb, empty nowhere and nowhen, when you are busy re-creating life. Is it you or I, neighbours, who should rebel?

When the seventh self thus spake the other six selves looked with pity upon him but said nothing more; and as the night grew deeper one after the other went to sleep enfolded with a new and happy submission.

But the seventh self remained watching and gazing at nothingness, which is behind all things.
This was written by someone called "The Madman." http://leb.net/gibran/works/madman/madman.html
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