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Take a soft tipped brush
Dip, and trace my nakedness;
Viscous dripping rainbow streams
Clothe me here within our dreams.
Swirl my curves
With satin pink,
Let your brush flutter and sink
lower, purples, red and blue,
I'm a canvas here for you.
Paint me scarlet, paint me gold,
Paint some words
italic, bold
Stop when you begin to weep
A masterpiece, for us to keep.
An old one of mine, a favourite.
 Nov 2014 Saksham Garg
Isha Kumar
I met her once
a little, blind girl
who had let me
inside her wonderful world.

Yes, she couldn't see,
the girl with eyes bright.
Yet, she loved her world
like she never lost her sight.

She heard the music
of the breeze that blew.
The love for her world,
it only grew.

She acquainted me with
that music she heard,
from the buzz of the bees
to the chirping of the birds.

Yes, she couldn't see
the wonders of life.
Yet, she smiled
without a sign of strife.

She had beautiful eyes
filled with wonder.
I stood speechless and thought
how could God make such a blunder?

She danced and sang
with a graceful twirl.
How she loved her life
the little, blind girl.

She smiled and laughed,
her face filled with joy.
With wonder in her eyes,
she was serene, yet coy.

She felt her world
beneath her tiny fingers
and on me left a mark
that would forever linger.

Yes, she couldn't see
the life that she felt.
Yet, she never showed
the sorrow that she dealt.

Her world was dark.
Yet,  she saw
the Earth's true form
pure and raw.

Yes, she let me in.
But I couldn't overstay.
So, I excused myself politely
and quietly walked away.

I had met her once
a little girl who couldn't see.
Yes, she was a child
but the happiest there could ever be
Probably one of my best works. I'm pretty proud of it. ^_^
 Nov 2014 Saksham Garg
Jaimi M
You wonder
why I wiggle
so much
why my legs
bounce,
and my hands
twitch.
Truth is,
my mind
can't slow down
It doesn't know
how to take a day off,
its far too good
at tormenting me
more and more
with each
passing second.

-JRM
 Oct 2014 Saksham Garg
Amy Lowell
You are beautiful and faded
Like an old opera tune
Played upon a harpsichord;
Or like the sun-flooded silks
Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.
In your eyes
Smoulder the fallen roses of out-lived minutes,
And the perfume of your soul
Is vague and suffusing,
With the pungence of sealed spice-jars.
Your half-tones delight me,
And I grow mad with gazing
At your blent colours.

My vigour is a new-minted penny,
Which I cast at your feet.
Gather it up from the dust,
That its sparkle may amuse you.
 Oct 2014 Saksham Garg
Lisa Zaran
Death is not the final word.
Without ears, my father still listens,
still shrugs his shoulders
whenever I ask a question he doesn't want to answer.

I stand at the closet door, my hand on the ****,
my hip leaning against the frame and ask him
what does he think about the war in Iraq
and how does he feel about his oldest daughter
getting married to a man she met on the Internet.

Without eyes, my father still looks around.
He sees what I am trying to do, sees that I
have grown less passive with his passing,
understands my need for answers only he can provide.

I imagine him drawing a breath, sensing
his lungs once again filling with air, his thoughts ballooning.
 Oct 2014 Saksham Garg
Mitch Prax
and now
because of you
i know i
have a heart

and now
because of you
i wish i
didn’t
You may not have been birthed in the soil,
and granted,
you will not blossom
when spring melts winters wake
but inside of you
grows a thousand gardens
full of exploding stars.
You are of the earth
and your ashes
have been constructed with stardust,
and set free with the wind.
So you may not have a pretty face,
and your body may hold stories
of too many moonless nights alone.
But if you reach inside,
you will find a forest
for a ribcage
and a restless ocean heart.
So don't ever let anyone tell you
you are nothing.
You are a galaxy
holding a million different planets,
and my dear,
that is not nothing.
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