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Your words left stretch marks on me,
Not the ugly ones but the one's you get when you shed all your pretentious skin.
I look beautiful and pure now wearing them on me like battle scars,
I bathe in the sunlight as I touch each mark and remember how it felt like.
Your words left stretch marks on me,
Not the ugly ones but the one you get when your body finally finds peace in who you're.
 Mar 2015 Sheldon Dsouza
Makiya
dressed in shadowed blues,
ashed hues


you sigh --little whisper of wind from your
caves and you think it is
the deepest your chest
will ever sink

don't know how you sit,     curved in
with that            !sky overhead
wish you would look up.
 Mar 2015 Sheldon Dsouza
amrutha
The piano sings into the night
    like a nightingale upon a lonely branch.
Underneath, the lake glistens.
Every streak of soft blue, sailing gently
   to touch the moon on the satin water.
Stillness silences.
Stillness, and a bird's cry, the rest of the night.

The bird has died but the feathers wander on.
 Mar 2015 Sheldon Dsouza
Denisse
I love words until I became one
I am made up of incomplete phrases
Not everyone knows who I am
And at some points, no one wants to understand

My mind is a dictionary of joy, pain, love, happiness and sadness
My heart is a pile of poetry
I can be the prettiest written song
Or the most beautiful sonnet that chills thy bone

My words can be a perfect haiku
I can turn every single thoughts in my mind to be a perfect sentence that complete the story
I can be the longest-endless novel
Or I can be the most  special prose that you'll never get bored of reading..
We write to express ourselves and at the same time to know who we are. I love my life, i love to blend it in the most beautiful metaphors. My thoughts are composed of poetic voices and to minimize the casualty, I know I have to inked them.
 Mar 2015 Sheldon Dsouza
Clare
Thinking is an
overused
abused
undermined
misunderstood
under-understood
gene­ralised
washed-out
Concept.

Language has killed it,
or rather people have.
The world now goes -
"Thinking is such a waste of time"

I am now thinking
how they got there
Without wasting their time.

What a waste of time!
I'm sick of hanging
sweaters on clothes lines
where the sleeves,
stained blood red,
are visible to the rest of the world.
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