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Robert L Sep 2020
Inspection leads some men
to brief resurrection,
But that course can also
lead to a defection.

There’s often some needing,
for a frenzy of feeding,
When we seek to feast,
on an ego that’s bleeding.

Is it real or some mirage,
lost in forest or garage?
So many casualties of truth,
how can we triage?

And this is that place
too well we all know,
that if you disagree
well that’s just your ego.

And right or wrong
you must submit,
Or be tossed from the circle
a dishonorable ****.

How is it we can be so blind,
to not see we are of a kind.
Who run about with desperate shouts,
without a mindful mind.

In the dark I see a wraith
Perhaps a remnant of our faith,
Ephemeral and tinged with rust
Forgotten father of our trust.

I’m not speaking here to thee,
what’s this paradox I see
But you said that, no I did not,
Oh, what a travesty!

Walk a mile in my shoes,
see for yourself what you may lose,
Perhaps you’ll find the fit so right
that it awakes you in the night.

And there you’ll lie and toss and turn,
amidst the loss amidst the burn
Oh, sad child who would not learn
Please say a prayer for me.
Ayodeji Oje Aug 2020
While breathers of all shades savour your ray
You bear the pain as if in labour

As you bleed like a wild dam
We are as birds cruising in the sky

In your swift dripping departure
Lies the glowing of man's abode.
This is the agony of a candle.
Ingram Aug 2020
Uncensored thoughts
Bleed from my pen
as your name marks the paper
yet again.
Luna Maria Aug 2020
slowly the words
stopped forming
under my bleeding hands
concerned
Kashish Lahrani Aug 2020
Bleeding in pain from the inside
Scintillating in bliss from the outside
What weird way of living this is?
When will I come out of this abyss?
 
Come out and stare back into it
By being authentic and not a hypocrite.
When will I step out of delusions of deity?
Love thyself, and not abide by crippling anxiety.
m Jul 2020
and my fingers bled the moment you left--
I sliced them on a broken mirror
when throwing out the trash;
the cuts were
deep, the blood flowed heavy;
my first instinct was to **** the
wound and it helped briefly,
for a moment,
before the sting of glass surged
it's always been my idiosyncrasy to find metaphors in pain
Alicia Prax Jun 2020
A symphony for Baghdad:
Words in crimson
On flimsy placards
Held high with anger
Frustration writ
On their ragged features.
The law is hard but it is the law
Says the hypocritical politician
Who bends them all
“Enough is enough”, the people said
Teargas and bullets will not make us sway
Release your bombs and fire your bullets,
Let our blood water this holy ground
Our motherland
But we will not let you stay.
Centuries have passed
Since Sheherezade told her tale
Years have passed since Aladdin’s magic lamp
First touched the minds of the young ones.
Is it a surprise that the young are dead?
Baghdad has fallen
Prey to the hands of those
Who support murdering their brethren and children.
The sun rose and set
The numbers went from thirty to three hundred
And no one cared.
Winners in Baghdad these days are those
Who returns home from the protests
Wearing a necklace of half a metal heart for a pendant
Knowing the other half was lost to the bullets.
They share stories of passion and fury
To hide the void within
Their hope, their faith, lost.
Their sacrifices in vain.
The protests grow old
With news, numbers and names of the players
Of this sick, faux patriotic game.

Lebanon:
The Chaos has affected them far too long
They now out there looking for peace and hope to now spread out more
Havoc almost birthed, they circle and stop the creation
Letting the higher-ups know
Who brings the forth the negatives and hurt
Food and shelter provided
Streets cleaned and maintained for use by all
Wish the world could learn how to function together like this
Imagine a world where
Little children are smiling, greeting other children from different countries and cultures
Living and playing together without a worry in the world
Men and women living in harmony and happiness
Peace an actuality in the world
But that’s only in your head
In reality
Little children are bombed and interrupted by death
Men rather **** the women and **** or shoot down the men that don’t agree with or are against them
Peace is being held on a leash by Chaos
That’s happening in front of your eyes
And right now, you’re probably just gonna read it, like it and move on, but nope.
I see people sharing
More is needed to be done
As I said, I and my friends are bringing the tools
All you have to do is use them properly
If you really want to see peace, you’ll know what to do
I know what I’m doing
Perspective I gained
And now I’m making sure it happens.
Shibu Varkey Jun 2020
stood before my misty
bedroom window pane
I saw hazy scenes of future
and my gray reflected face

blotches, smudges, patches
feelings, emotions, thoughts
on that bedewed window
of a million human hearts

my bare palm feels the glass
cold indelible marks.
forms a million faces
in that frosty glass

Gazing deeply at me
from beyond the glass
the hungry and the bleeding
from a thousand miles.

My heart begins to wonder
what scenes are yet to come
beyond that misty window
as the days come and go by

Will warm rays of sunshine
ensure the mist goes dry,
or raindrops bathe the pane
and wash away it stain.

but those searching gazes,
of a million stained faces,
of bleeding feet and wishes
forever is etched in that pane
this poem is based on my thoughts on the migrant labourers walking hundreds of miles to reach their homes after the sudden lockdown in India
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