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Secret-Author Dec 2022
When you dress in black and cloak
your feelings with your tears,
Remember all that time you had,
the days, the weeks, the years.

Now is not the time to bring me
flowers in a bow,
That took so long amongst the weeds,
a journey bloom from sow.

When you sit up front and centre
and then go on to say your piece,
Do not think of all the times
you mentioned to me least.

Do not say I was a good, kind wife,
or a sweet and loving mum.
Think instead of the long list
of ways that I'll ruin our son.

Now is not the time to bring me
flowers in a bow.
Not now. Like this?
In front of everyone I know?

Instead just let me lie in peace
and slowly start to rot.
And just like now I can see out my days
as a girl that life forgot.
RedAgain Jun 2021
I am endless poetry that does not ever rhyme
Unwashed dishes concealed above as I ran out of time
Broken plastic flowerpots that house neglected plants
unpaid rent, unpaid loans, unpaid student grants

I am books I’ll one day sit and take the time to read
About caged birds escaped from homes who died once they were freed

I am fox bones weaved with gold thread, amethyst and feather
The rain and fog and cold and storm that dominates the weather

I am all the boxes that you’ll never have to open
It’s just as well because you’ll cut yourself on bottles broken

The white tipped waves bring treasures found washed up on jagged shorelines
I’m the sea glass tumbled, lost but glinting when the sun shines
Momento Mori Feb 2021
My life is this poem,
started.
My life is this poem,
unfinished
Lo Oct 2020
Her body
Is a desert
Bare and minimal
With Dry parts that build up
on the surface
and fly away in the wind

Her body
Is a forest
Lush and life giving
With parts that chirp and growl
All at the same time

People have
trekked the highest peaks
explored the darkest caves
picked the sweetest flowers
Taking with them
much more than she would initially care
Leaving behind
much more than was initially there

People have come
And gone

With vessels as small as row boats
Or as big as Noah’s ark
They navigate the floods
But trust me
there is nothing
holy about these ventures
No

they did not seek to
save two of every animal
They only sought to save themselves

Her body is a beach

Covered in shells
of Past lives
Past lies
Past blessings in disguise
These shells are beautiful

But Leave them
They’re too heavy to carry around

Maybe one day
someone else will take these shells
make them into concrete
And use them as foundation for the grandest, safest, most stable
Sandcastle around
And call it, Love

Because from a strong foundation
Love can only grow
No matter how many times
The wind changes its appearance
From fertile soil, love can bloom again

Her body
is a garden
But be careful
Nature has a way
of hiding poison
In beautiful things

Only to defend,
She is never malicious
It is survival of the smartest
Not the fittest
an autobiography of sorts
Hallucinate BoY Mar 2020
I wanted to remember the past,
I tried, tried a lot to know-
How was my thoughts
What was I loving
Where was I seeking
Who was my feeling

I wanted to get back the night
The night that has been disappearing before my sense
I tried, tried a lot to know-  
How was my abstract mind
What was I praying
Where was I travelling
Who was with I dreaming

I wanted to remember and I tried a lot but,
I was killed beyond retrieve
I was drilled by my heart  
I was erased by my memory,
To whom I was alive.
13 March 2020
Mystic Ink Plus Sep 2019
म सानो छदा

म सानो छदा
बिहानै उठथे
दुघ भात खान्थे
पर्खाल बहिरका बच्चाहरुले नुन रोटी खाएको दख्थे
यसो माथि हेर्थेे
आफु माथिको आकासको टुक्रा झरिहाले के गर्ने सोंच्थे
यसो पछाडी हेर्थे
भकारी भरी छ
पेट किन भरीदैन भन्ने लाग्थ्यो
अलि ठुलो भएपछि
पर्खाल बाहिर गए
गोडामा काडा बिज्यो
लडे, अनी उठे

अझै बढेपछि
त्यो भन्दा पर जादा
लडाउने मान्छेहरु भेटें
झुक्याउने मान्छेहरु भेटें
केही सन्त
धेरै अपराधिहरु  भेटें

गाडी चढेपछि अझै पर पुगें
मैदानहरु देखें
हिमाल, पहाडहरु देखें

हवाइजहाज चढेर झनै पर पुग्दा
अर्को संसार देखें
सबैलाइ उतार्न थाले
कवि बन्नै लागेको बेलामा म कवि हैन भन्दिए
मित्रहरुले माने
शत्रुले मान्दै मानेनन्
तिमी कविनै हो भने
मैले लेखेरै भन्नु पर्यो म कवि होइन

शत्रुले सोधे
त्यसो भए तिमी को हौ त?
मैले भने
म त कवि भन्दा ज्यादा फुल हो
फेरी ती मेरो पत्र,पत्र हेर्न थाले
सुध्न थाले
रुपको कुरा गरे
तिनले म नेरको पातलाई पनि सोधे
काडाको पनि रिस गरे
मलाइ भरोसा दिने हाँगाबिँगा पनि भाँचे
माटो समेत खोतलेर हेरे
तिनका हात हिलाम्मै भयो
रक्ताम्मै भयो
तिनले गड्यौलापनि देखे
किरा फटयागा्रलाइपनि सोधे
मित्रहरुले माने, म फुलै हो
शत्रुहरुले मान्दै मानेनन्
तिमी कविनै हो भने
मैले लेखेरै दिनु पर्यो म कवि होइन

शत्रुले फेरी सोधे तिमी को हौ त?
मैले भने, म पंक्षि हो
उनिहरुले गुलेली लिए
ढुङ्गाहरु हान्न थाले
पखेटाहरु काटिदिए
गुँड भत्काइदिए

फेरि सोधे तिमी को हौ त?
मैले भने तिमीहरुको मित्र
मित्रहरुले माने
शत्रुले मान्दै मानेनन्
तिनले भने तिमी हाम्रो शत्रु हो
तिमी कविनै हो
मैले लेखेरै दिनु पर्यो म कवि  होइन

त्यहाका बच्चाहरु अझैपनि
नुन रोटिनै खान्छन्
नाङ्गै धुलोमै खेल्छन्
अझै म पनि कवि बन्नै बाँकि छ
तर शत्रुहरु तिमी कविनै हो भन्छन्
तिनलाइ लेखेरै म भन्छु म कवि होइन

अहं होइन
शैली : अवलोकन
विषय :आत्मकथा
Author's Note:
When logic and reality interwine
Should one need to close the senses?
Or, let one freature the time in rhyme?
What should one do?
Pete King Dec 2018
I stopped striving for the perfect year,
Because my concept of "perfection" was flawed.
I was chasing a scenario in which,
I could go a full rotation of the sun
without anything going astray,
All my dreams being fulfilled.

This search for perfection,
Was like looking at a window,
And being annoyed because
All I could see was a sheet of glass.

But, I decided to alter my desires;
Try to live single year in hopes of good autobiography.

Meaning;
To say yes more often.
And say no when needed.
To relish in successes.
And learn from mistakes.
To love without exception.
And to be kind without expectation.
To revel in every single wonderful moment as they come,
And not letting their fleeting nature feed the bitter parts of me.

Don't chase the perfect year.
Chase an amazing story.
Leave readers captivated.
And your grandkids bored-to-death.
Mystic Ink Plus Aug 2018
Till that time

When
No space left inside the mind
They keep on collecting
What touches the life
Close enough

Till the threshold
When words can’t resist
And finds peace in Ink
And words start to embed
And the thoughts get its way
And the soul feels calm

When
Everything, Everybody
Nothing, Nobody
Sense like a word
Which gets pass through
The Ink

And once started

They find
A good reason
Not to stop
Or forget
How to stop.
Genre: Autobiography
Theme: May be so many somebody passes through this
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