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 Mar 2018 hani aqil
Simoné
It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived
 Mar 2018 hani aqil
Duzy
Noose
 Mar 2018 hani aqil
Duzy
No one can know your pain
Not nearly as well as yourself
But the rope won't take it away
It just gives it to someone else
 Mar 2018 hani aqil
Aaron Bee
I like when things
Are in action when I have done
Nothing.
Working, loving, breaking,
Falling
Without a touch from me
You work, you love, you fail
You live .
Me laying still staring at nothing.
Crash of cars, storms gather, an alcoholics
Head splatters.
Next day the same. dust picks up,
Tumble weeds travel. Love grows
where seeds of hope are planted.
Sprouts of joy rise, blossoming smiles bright, care is honed .
Drugs are sold, people are stolen,
Brothers and sisters are killed.
All that I've heard is a good prayer helps.
But does prayer stop a trigger ,
Does prayer stop kidnappings,
Does prayer stop peoples desire
 Mar 2018 hani aqil
Ciel Noir
Atom
 Mar 2018 hani aqil
Ciel Noir
What other kind              of creature could divide        
        Each different thing             into its different sides                
  With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides
 Mar 2018 hani aqil
Nat Lipstadt
For Helen
who wrote it first,
who wrote it better,
and in doing so,
makes me see more clearly
the why
~~~~~~~~~

no poem should ever be untitled-
every face needs a name-
every poem needs just
one read for completion

but more than that, it is
a orphan still,
deserving of the due,
the entitlement to be titled,
a parenting of sorts

what was the thought that born it-
what was the emotion that conceived it-
what was the sight that demanded sharing?

this is the age of summary and synthesis,
140 and not one more,
so give direction, enable me to make
snap judgements, with so much on my plate,
we must predigest your concepts,
my multi-tasking slowed to levels unacceptable,
so I can adjudge you,
you worker poet,
before or never reading
after all,
why read anything untitled?

more than this however,

for the few who chew
each morseled vowel,
ken each constant consonant,
celebrate stanzas that halt the breathing
and then,
god bless the whole child,
flaws and all,
they more than anyone deserve
your consideration in return

for the title is the essence spark
of you-
and all the more so,
of what you have chosen to share,
  your essentials honored
 Mar 2018 hani aqil
mary
skin.
 Mar 2018 hani aqil
mary
you spilled your secrets onto my skin
writing pretty words along my collarbone
sealing them away with kisses
like promises
my body quivered in response
our interlocked hands much like our bond
how could i ever let go
i whispered stories into your messy brown hair
somehow they found their way to your mouth
smiling into my lips
unspoken understanding
the sun begins to rise
turning a page
we fall asleep amongst ink stains
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