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I like to run, write, learn, game, make friends, my job, to breathe, I like-
There's so many things I like, there is no end
"The world's my oyster" a blue friend once said

Then why don't I?
Why am I blank at the screen?
Why escape this world?
If everything's green?

It is way too warm, the air conditioner broke down
I am just tired, I didn't sleep too much now
I can't focus in red, couldn't sleep that much
Must be depressed, I don't ever sleep so much

My eyes are a pit, what's left to fill?
Wake to the light.
aviisevil Sep 13
13/9/22


black the soil
black the stone
black the grass

black the fruit
black the sepal
black the seed

black the thorn
black the petal
black the leaf

black the eye
black the breath

black the dye
black the flesh

there's a dead rose that
grows in my garden




@writeweird
Sasha Milivoyev
BLACK STONE

Mecca, Saudi Arabia

Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska


By the Black Stone
Sinful, on my knees,
with tears in my eyes,
I'm pleading,
begging for forgiveness,
when blood-red turned the skies,
the stone grew darker,
blacker than night,
and it used to be white,
as luminous as the daylight,
when from the Garden above,
it fell many a warm Mays ago,
when it fell from Jannah,
far, far down below,
it was whiter than milk
and whiter than snow,
blackened from within,
from human malice and sin.

Never let it slip away,
the dushman came from far away,
tried bringing Kaaba to its knees,
killing Muslims,
the desert still bleeds,
covered in corpses,
devoured by rodents and beasts.

The Judgement Days are dawning soon.

The Sun will stop,
merge with the Moon,
Into the particles
the hills will be shattered,
spill like the honey that is melted,
Allah will be a righteous judge to everyone,
To the fires of hell, the monsters will succumb,
The stone will shine
with whiteness of dazzling purity,
The stone will be singing eternally,
The songs of joy, love and harmony.


Saša Milivojev

Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska

www.sasamilivojev.com
Copyright © by Sasha Milivoyev, 2022
Shofi Ahmed Aug 23
Keeping a bit private
after the night
the sun goes all out.
Over the painted rose
and through the shady clouds.

East west north and south
at the end of the day always returns
the twilight could never forget  
a lurking little mole
the sun's missing beauty spot!

The ambling twilight goes deep
it isn't all black
a full moon shines on her brow
neither the night is pitch dark
down the mountains of floating stars.

Tomorrow again yet in the broad daylight
the sun will tuck into a throw of twilight
something is still private a black mole in the light.
Shofi Ahmed Aug 17
A paintbrush on fire
it isn't yet done.

Paints in broad daylights
in cool cloudy darks
often relaxes down the line
when the rain pours down
and the flute is on play
it isn't yet done.

The sea at the clement eve
strives to splash over
this rainbow-kissed brush
the moon will thaw the billow
with moonlight
before the waking
sleeping beauty's eyes
and the night will pour over it,
it's full bowl eternally pitch black
only to see lighting up
zillions of stars
on the paintbrush
it isn't yet done!

Apparently that looks only kohl
the night eyes in within a colour
eternally weighed down
out of sight mass hues
looking to visualise a scoop
paints yet one more first light.
Full of colours the paintbrush
it isn’t yet done!
Shofi Ahmed Aug 11
A drop of beauty spot
a black mole
or a cool shady sketch
on the golden brow
of a sunny day.
The evening is always
welcome at the end.

The night from off site
pops on her way
however pitch dark
weaving even more black
across that kohl-pollen
embroidery
a sky full of stars
will keep an open eye!
Àŧùl Jul 23
Looming here since forever,
Death now seems much closer.
Guzzling oil hovering over,
End has struck the hour.

In the cockpit, the air is stinking,
Reminder of an unwashed mind.
Trick or treat with enemy calling,
Killing their unsuspecting selves.
Oh Satan!

Wretched enemies of humanity,
They unleashed the zombie army.
Why don't they go out to fight?
Left that role to the zombies, yeah.

Father Time will settle scores,
For this Father is a log keeper.
Exploiting civilians for gains they do,
Taking them just as junk in the room.
Wait till they all revolt, yeah!

When in darkness, put on the lights,
Shadow play from childhood calling.
Dropping explosive ****, these birds,
Hand of Doom has struck the hour.

Night of Finale, Satan waiting,
Hide deeper, the nukes come calling.
Burning homes, factories & inns,
Satan shying, wraps His wings
Oh Satan!
Even Satan is scared of the human violence.

My HP Poem #1955
©Atul Kaushal
Aaron Combs Jul 5
Golden skies and grass greens,
ribbons and threads and legacies,
heavens and harlots, power and age.
It's all flames in the end, isn't it?
All words, all swords, fall so, perfectly.

And like a cancer, you can eat the cigarettes' so sweetly,
all the champagne flowing so freely,
And when we wait for our Paris.

Life makes you intoa a creatures below, surprisingly like mosquito in summer
eating in the garden of fire, to live happily.

It's all smokes and shadows tomorrow,
and it falls like a cold shaped drink, like a dollar
swinging, settling, hoping to be taller, but falling
in our hangover and faded like-memories
in the black morning, of anxiety and sorrow.

Just eating in the garden of fire,
dragons, vampires, pirates and scabies.
All from a broken shaped bottle with ***** like choices,
liars of empires, sweats of angels and children,
it all flames in the end, in the garden of fire, isn't it?

But when the wind turns north,
will you turn and know, when the rich
and the wicked find no more?

If we slowly find the money isn't the answer to all things,
and the battles, bills, and blessings don't become our idols
maybe eternity, will overflow, we can lie down in grass so green,
and like mountains, like kings, we will find happiness so free.

Surely in meadows and forests, witches and wickedness,
anger and bitterness, will be song so forgotten once we are so free.

We will eat the richest cheese, running into homes of orphans,
we can cause them to be such kings, alive and well and so happy.

Before the end truly comes, in time and reason, a new healing,
king and throne, with eyes so weary, knees and backs so heavy,
we will remember, like a song so catchy, a life set free.
Colorful, it was!
Soon all the colors mixed up,
And turned into black..!
That's how the life goes, right na?? 🙃🙃

Anyway, I'm back again... 🙂🙂
ryn Jun 21
It’s the silence
that commands the dialogue,
the lull that weighs
bitter and heavy
upon the tongue…
And the darkness,
that hoards every cadence,
reason and rhyme.

Within its robe of

                                    black.
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