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Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/15/2018

Late moon
takes the baton
- offering to the twilight
a bow in sacrifice:
with glow greeting
star aesthetes
- an orchestra of crickets
- eternal poets,
so that songs of love
inspired by the muses
- they would loudly sing
in the thickets.

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/9/2001
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards.
Miss Daytona Sep 2019
Clear to me a certain hour of the day
For a few seconds, at best,

The truth:

I’ve been locking drawers and
Sweeping pages under the rugs

Severing ties with July’s warmth
Tying a string across these months

I’ve been coping by fading into myself,
Shedding my skin by burning it off.

I have the pain but it isn’t felt,
And I know it isn’t right, but is it enough?

I’m stuck beneath the surface,
Pounding at the ceiling of a frozen lake

It is August and I thaw,
But still I don’t cry, I just ache
Susana Sep 2019
Rainy night
in the middle of warm August
shall make me calmer
Rainy night
tossing and turning
trying to find my place in your welcoming arms
Rainy night
dreaming of milky skies
and never ending sunsets
sometimes it's nice to get soaked
Qweyku Aug 2019
An ancient river
an old London chapel
& our last summer rays
of such an august Sun
      
The promise of niceties...
laughter, drinks, ice cream
& perhaps a softly stolen kiss

Fill my hand with yours.

If you please;
a pleasant walk with you
up on Tower Hill

© Qwey.ku
Who knows?
Colm Aug 2019
Through the rivers and the rain
   My emotions seep

No matter how far I reach
   How quiet I be
      Or how fervently I wish
      For this condensated heart to dry

Beneath stars and moonlight vain
   I stay
      Locked in the garden of perpetual being
         Without your warmth of certain meaning

And when the new morning comes
   With the quiet thought
      I realize what I had always ought

That I cannot seem to make you mine
   Regardless of the place or time
https://youtu.be/HGekjZd5LPk
ren Aug 2019
I can’t come to your wedding. Because you will stand there looking so perfect⁠—I mean perfect. There will not be a single flaw on your face. You will stand in front of the aisle with such excitement and happiness you’re waiting for her to walk down the aisle. And you will marry someone who loves you. But if I went, I would sit there, loving you too.
3 weeks later, it still ached
A B Faniki Aug 2019
Friday the 1st of August,2019 started with a
Little drizzle of rain but by one o'clock pm
Of that day -huge sheet of rain was falling
On everything in my sight, this
Droplets as little as they are, began to increase
In number and in no time began to carry everything
Not tied to the ground those tied down, they destroy
And carry the pieces, I could have sworn I heard their voice
Until the lapping of water drowns the voices.
Giving orders to each other as they go on doing what they do best
Under the sky finding their way back home to the ocean,
Sea or river of their choice. This August visitors have
Taking many lives and things worth millions in less than 24 hours.
© A B Faniki 8/17/2019 acrostic poem form . This work is about flood in august the Acrostic reads FLOOD IN AUGUST front vertical..  All right reserved part of banal tell work I hope u enjoy it
Àŧùl Aug 2019
A swansong of the Indian Partition...
Kal humaare ghar ke diye bujhe rahenge,
Kal hum kuch rishton ke liye rote rahenge...

Tomorrow the lamps of our home will remain put out,
Tomorrow we shall keep crying for some relations...

Rishte un bantwaara hue kheton se,
Rishte un bhatakte hue jawaanon se...

Relations with those partitioned farmlands,
Relations with those misguided young men...

Rishte us chamakti Multani mitti se,
Rishte us damakti Pakhtunkhwi **** se...

Relations with the glistening soil of Multan,
Relations with the bright snow of Pakhtunkhwa...

Rishte Ganga ke us Bangali muhaane se,
Rishte Sindhu dariya aur samudr ke us mel se...

Relations with the Ganga's Bengali estuary,
Relations with the confluence of Indus and the Sea...

Rishte us Balouchi kapaas se,
Rishte udhde un kapdon se...

Relations with that Balouchi cotton,
Relations with those clothes torn away...

Rishte luti us izzat se,
Rishte mari us bahu se...

Relations with the disrobed honour,
Relations with the slain bride...

Rishte jo sajaaye the mandap mein,
Rishte jo likhaaye the jannat mein...

Relations decorated inside the temple,
Relations written in the paradise...


Tomorrow is the Independence Day of India.
An Independence attained at such high costs.
A nation divided by the illegal British occupiers on communal lines in a hotchpotch.

My HP Poem #1759
©Atul Kaushal
Marina Aug 2019
For every word I read
makes up this happier memory,
for every kiss I feel
makes up my long absence is love.
i never felt so alive
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