Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Modra Galica May 2
Some borders can not be moved with fingers. Some borders are moved by the will, wish, struggle, everyday struggle.
Drop by drop of blood, drop by drop of sweat, drop, tear, ocean.

I no longer want to try to move them. From now on I tear them down with my bare hands, fingers scratched to the bones, I bite and rip with my teeth until I'm left alone in the wasteland.
Borders do not exist. I dig out all feelings that were hidden, pushed aside, forgotten, shoved under the rug, tamed. I pull out anger, hatred and bitterness from the depths of my soul, I release them to roam free, I open Pandora's box and let them all out to create chaos, to destroy and to hate, to rage and ravage until all that's left is one big and empty nothing, until I, myself am left empty and clear, and free.
An empty paper sheet, something that has yet to start, something that's about to become, something that breaths and sings and screams and exists, something that still just threatens to conquer the world, confident, with a carefree, rebellious grin on the face.
Something wild and indocile, something that doesn't care, something that threatens to become in spite of everything, something that doesn't care about your opinion, because it does not exist for you, it does not exist to be liked by you, it does not exist to be appropriate, to fit in, to comply, to please you.
That something doesn't need you to exist.
It exists in spite of you, in spite of the world, just for itself.
Trains don't run
Planes don't fly
Cars & buses come to borders and reverse
I'm bumping into myself
trying to tell her
I miss her

Films are lame
Music's bland
art is feeble & inert
and none of the book on my shelf
can make me forget
that I miss her

City's bare
shops are closed
someone's getting reimbursed
I await the government's help
since I've declared
that I miss her

Flat is clean
dinner's cooked
and this hangover is a curse
Not that I've allowed myself
beyond all hope
to miss her
دema Apr 11
is such a foreign zone,

a land that I can't
spot on any map,

people tell me it has
no borders,

and i tell them,
please take me
to the mother
I had never known.
Farah Mar 25
If I could
I would jump off mountain heights
until my organs burst on impact,
I would enjoy the distracting fall
In anticipation of an exploding colorful dusty heart
If I could
I would let some people go, convince them I'm contagious and that I'm no good,
Some other people, I will walk out on, call them to meet,
but don't show
If I could
I would paint my face *****, erasing my features, resembling a liar or a beggar.
I would then walk about invisible. I would cry a lot, everywhere unbothered.
Next, I would walk between borders, crossing lines, entering and exiting territories.
I would do that for years,
If I could
and it would mend my heart
Bhill Dec 2019
Are there limits to what you dream
Has any time been exhausted in reference to boundaries
Dreams are only limited by the borders within
Within your dreams, fantasies, pursuits, goals, and life
Believe in ”No Boundaries”

Brian Hill - 2019 # 328
You can. Do it...
Aramitz J Durant Sep 2019
a world apart, i stood
where two universes had divided,
where a wall had fallen, crumbled
into dust and ashes of
the men who had attempted

to cross it;
with all their might and desperation
risked their lives so that
their children might one day
see freedom

with their wide wondering eyes
of naïveté and joy.
a world apart i stood,
desperately clinging to their stories:
their martyrdom;

the names i would never know;
the stories that would go
untold with nobody who knew
them, nobody to tell them

a world apart i stood
watching the snowfall in
berlin, dampening the streets
where the death strip once
tore life from the innocent

in the name of separation;
the falseness of east and
a world apart i stood,
glad that it was no more.
This was written shortly after my first trip to Berlin last year. The sacrifices people made in order to escape to the West was something that really touched me; the accidental martyrs the Wall made out of people who only ever wanted to be free. This poem is for Peter Fechter, who I hope is finally at peace and free, wherever he may be.
Michael H Aug 2019
Your blue blood veins,
red, white, blue stains,
mind closed just like your borders.

Despite the wars,
the foreign and poor,
are given their marching orders.

you just don't see,
is what makes the world so great.

'The futures white, see',
'In good old Blighty',
you bleat as you close the gates.
unnamed Aug 2019
you taught me
to find joy in simplicity
a knock on my door
inviting me to
write & wonder & waste time
a simple gesture
that showed how much you cared

you taught me
to laugh again
on the nights
we danced in the square
we played ball with strangers
swapped stories
music and memories
and liberty may have become a foreign sound to me
but you helped bring it back
those nights be like paradise

you taught me
to grow from concrete
although your brand of pain
is one i have never experienced
i wish i could have
wiped your tears
and sheltered you
from all the hands
who have ever tried to keep your garden from

(and still, here you are blooming
in spite of it all
reminding me that when my own roses wilt
with a little light and love
and time
they too will shine again)

you taught me
to speak of promised land
soil as soft as mama’s hands
hoping for a day when
the jasmine and sampaguita flowers
can bloom side by side
in the garden of our shared Maker
breathing new life
into a world
that will no longer keep falling apart

you taught me
to speak of promised land
soil as soft as mama’s hands
i used to think my words
were just a ripple in the waves of time
but you made me realize
that they could be used
to move mountains
speaking into existence
the world we’d want our children to see

you taught me
that distance is an arbitrary line
our lands are thousands of miles
away from each other
but there are some things about you
that are uniquely filipina

you taught me
about home

in your simplicity,
in your laughter,
in your resilience

and maybe that is why meeting you
felt like meeting a light
reminding me that although we are thousands of miles
from the lands we left
and some of us cannot go back
we can always find friends
who will be the lights
to guide us back home
in the places we call home
away from home
thank you for making me feel at home.
Francie Lynch Aug 2019
We can either cross or stay inside
Our self-imposed borders.
Next page