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lX0st  Jul 2014
Remember
lX0st Jul 2014
The feelings don't hurt much anymore
But the memories are shards of glass
Swirling in my head.
It's like,
I can't feel your touch
But I remember loving it
When you touched me.
And I can't hear your laugh
But I remember how my body
Liquified at the sound.
And I can't see your face
But I remember its beautiful shape
And how you'd smile at me
As I came into view.
I wish I could pretend
That your memory is you.
PALAK-MAHROOM May 2017
Mahrumiyan rahengi sada kuchh bat ke
chalte,
Mukrehuve kuchh faisle-o-jazbat ke
chalte,
Daur ko jana tha wah berukh nikal gaya,
Baqee rahengi us ki jhalak ehsasat ke
chalte,
Aawam ki bari hai ab ye mujhpe hansega,
Bakhshi huwi lamhon ke sauggat ke
chalte,
Nigahon men basa karta tha jo ummeedon
ka jahan,
Sare simat chuke hain ab nuzlat ke
chalte,
Sunna hai mujhe sirf ab sunna hai sabhon
ko,
Taaib hai apne bas men khahishat ke
chalte,
Laut jata *** fir se kabhi us ujre chaman
men,
Kawish bhari zindgi-o-tasarrufat ke
chalte,
Sharm-sar-sa jiwan jiye kab talak koi,
Par jina hi parta hai, hayat ke chalte,
Ab jauon kahan door is halat  se ai PALAK,
Uljha huwa sa rahta *** is halat ke
chalte.
✮✮✮✮✮
Urdu poem in Roman fonts
PALAK-MAHROOM
Do You Remember Me?

while the warmth of the sunlight's kiss
in the ascent of the blissful morning
approach the beauty of your crimson lips?

Do You Remember Me?

in the rise of the bright moon?
like your eyes when you look through mine
the pair I hope to see soon

Do You Remember Me?

when floods of rain starts to pour?
like my eyes that shed endlessly
with tears of pain I cannot endure

Do You Remember Me?

have you ever even thought of me?
or was I just another moment
to pass on by so carelessly?
Help me remember to forget
patty m May 2014
I remembered it well

the rich mix of smoke, perfume, and garlic

one could almost taste the absinthe in the air.

Toulouse-Lautrec, was deemed acceptable

as we embraced his artistic vision

singing our Chason Realiste songs;

we are the people, the poor gaudy freaks
traipsing about with drink in hand
sliding stockings down
from thighs, spreading
our provocative
dreams while delving headlong into
decadence and garish night life,
trying to escape banality .

Ah Henri, the prostitutes, and there
were many, Marie Charlet
your first. Even with your genetics
and anguished tirades burgeoning,
she loved you well.

Tremblement de terre, your creation

we too contrive when mocked

to become carefree and

obsessively delusional.


Thin brushstrokes
touched dispassionately
and yet there is sympathy suffused,
a continuum of unarticulated
and variegated respite;
the allure of mouth watering treats
and trollops that take the woe-begotten
to stellar heights.

While we the hangers-on
raise glasses in salute
tonguing the inner sanctum of the Moulin Rouge
our astute imaginings savored while
craving even more of those
***** nights with ******* and bodies
exposed, ******* whetted blown upon.

Then too, our burrowed deep sensations might grind
out torch songs, even as the flames leap higher
to singe us all, we laugh and cry.

Curled flame we toast the unexplainable
creating an **** of molten light,
bodiesof heat brighter than stars.  

Thus we become the false dawn,

stripping darkness from the midnight sky,

an explosion of all we are and have to give

in our life long pursuit of Celebration.
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