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SYL Nov 14

Sa mga lirikong wala pang tono
Ay aking ipamamalas ang Iyong Kagandahan —
Kagandahang ni minsa’y hindi pa nasulyapan
Bagkus kusang hinahanap-hanap.

Ang matatamis **** Salita
Ang aking baon buhat agahan hanggang hapunan.
At mauhaw man ako o magutom sa daan
Ay alam kong Ikaw ang sagot
Sa bawat katanungan at kakulangan.

Ang pagdampi ng bawat lubid sa aking mga daliri
Ay katumbas ng paghehele Mo sa akin sa gabi —
Sa gabing palaging puno ng bituin ang kalangitan
Na pahiwatig ng maigting **** pag-ibig
At walang katapusang pag-iingat
Sa puso kong puno ng galos sa bawat araw.

Ang likidong sining sa aking mga mata’y
Palatandaan na ako’y isang mahinang nilalang
Na nagnanais ng Iyong pagkalinga’t pag-aaruga.

At ako’y uhaw pa rin sa katotohanan
Bagamat ilang beses ko nang nilisan
Ang mga baitang ng edukasyon
Na isang panimula lamang
Sa yugtong ito ng sarili kong kasaysayan.

Takpan ko man ang aking pandinig
Ay hindi ito balakid sa paghirang Mo sa aking ngalan
Na tila ba Iyong hayagang binabanderya
Na ang pagkatao ko’y may halaga
Bagamat ako’y may hindi sapat na pananampalataya.

At sa katunayan pa nga’y
Ikaw ang humihila sa akin pabalik
Sa mga lirikong akala ko noong una’y
Ako ang may akda
Ngunit maging ang hininga ng mga letra’y
Tanging Ngalan mo ang isinisigaw -
Syang salamin sa'king Tula.
Intrepid gadfly;
the voice of dissent.
Multiple times stricken,
multiple times resolved.
Though he bleeds,
still the pen that chides never bleeds,
nor is it obliterated.
For three decades and four,
death he evaded,
still, multiple times stricken,
evasive he remains.
A poem dedicated to the intrepid author, Salman Rushdie.
miki Jul 28
when i write
i always find myself wishing that i wrote like Lana del Rey,
making even the simple things seem extraordinarily grand, to be able to glamorize what is sometimes a painfully normal life
i want to touch someone's skin
and write about it in a way that makes someone feel as though they're touching velvet
i want the kiss we shared
to linger on someone's lips like the taste of their favorite chapstick
i want to write about love
so that in turn someone will lust for what i already have
i want to write about my years of pain and isolation in a way that makes someone want to rip their own heart out and offer it up to me on a platter made of shimmering, sterling silver
which, of course
i'd have to refuse
because what would a writer be if surrounded by love and admiration they knew was real, that they didn't doubt for even a second
although, the sensuality of the circumstance might be tempting
an artist without eternal, incessant suffering
is merely a wolf in sheep's clothing
or a fool who thinks he's a king
they simply aren't built to last

i want to write about my mid-night thoughts and for someone to think: Lana would be proud
Void Feb 4
If only they could see the dreams that I see
Maybe they'd support me
I'm writing a book
A concept from 2016
Its a beautiful story
Yet my family and friends are not there for me
Its disheartening to be so passionate about something and feel like it is all for not
That is the curse of a dreamer
That is the curse of a leader
As my dream begins to fade, I won't give in under the pressure this time
This book, I've invested too much time into
This book to me is perfect
I just have to help them see that it's worth it
Nitika Sharma Jan 20
Empty Heart still aches
Broken are we
Standing at the window of heart
You refused to leave
Addicted eyes wander to steal a glance
Distant are we
We bid goodbyes
Sacrificing the coast of communication
Snapshots still pooling up our eyes
Sacrificial Are we
We the truth
The stories breathing In dead
We love to be loved
Building a house of mud
Empty the empty heart
Yet it feels empty
Breathing are we
The poem is from my upcoming book
If one day
you find me
not only as a poem
that you really love
and you don't care
who the author is,
I'll be happy.

You are not only the reader
I've been searching for,
but also as an eternal lover
in every words
I will tell you more.
Indonesia, 3rd December 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
Mitch Prax Aug 2021
From heart to paper,
thoughts have a way of getting
lost in translation

12:49 AM
FC Azaele May 2021
I write.. so it seems
With messy sentences, run-ons and proses
All that my mind screams

But.. Funny enough —
the plots are starting to appear in my dreams

Perhaps I overthink it too much
But who knows?
It’s just fun to live through your story in your dreams
Sandy Mar 2021
Breaths taken
Midnight cold
Talking to myself

Countless outcries
Isolation and work
Later found me
Gazing dark nights
Dark nights
BrookandherBook Jan 2021
When people say "lost in a book"
few can know what it means
few are given the gift
to walk within the scenes.
To "get into a book" only takes a few pages
to step inside
and leave your body behind
and wish to never find your way back again.
To read is different to readers
those who have the gift
they do not remember concepts or words
they remember where they have been.
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