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uv May 2018
Once upon a time,
There was the sound of a cry,
The Cry that made them smile with tears in their eye.

Once upon a time,
There was a movement like a smile,
The smile which bought their world twirling in a while.

Once upon a time,
There were long nights as days,
The days which were turned into their nights in ways.

And the story went on
Their adventure of life was born
Born around this joy that they lovingly adorn

Years went on and they kept on,
selfless, wise and never torn,
Their breath was each for to teach courage,
that would need to move on.

Then came a time , the sand glass turned,
the cry was heard again,
Again with those tears came that smile,
And Realisation struck as plain.
For all parents!..
Jenna May 2018
I have always been the clay
Always.
When my parents moved me from my Italian home
To Hamilton, Canada

I was the clay
I learned English
Decorated a new bedroom
Made new friends
Dressed like I was born here
I became Canadian
Without a complaint

I was the clay
When my Canadian boyfriend
Fed me Canadian food
I ate it
When he wanted me to go to the bar
With him and his friends
I went
When he wanted to watch football
Which isn’t actually football
I watched too
When he started listening to country music
I learnt all the lyrics

I was the clay
When my parents had a baby
I changed diapers
Played ball with her in the yard
Was a good babysitter
Went to the playground
Played peek-a-boo
Read children books to her in English

I was the clay
When my boyfriend wanted to take a break
I said okay
When he wanted to get back together
A month later
I said okay
When he said we should move to Edmonton
I said okay
When he asked me to make Canadian food for him
I learnt for him
When he blamed me for everything
I nodded and said sorry
When I found him in bed with another girl

I became a bird
I was not the clay
I grew feathers
Colourful and long
Then I flew
And I don’t ever plan on landing
Kivanc May 2018
Actually all words is a little same,
And a little different.
It branch out like a tree,
And from its branch a new tree born,
And from new branch another tree...
That tree is our base,
It's words real meaning.
And we, humanity!
Changing their pure meaning.
Mark Wanless May 2018
Just Now

the crazy ends
   i'm going home
there's never been
   a place i've born
  
there is no past
   no future ken
just now
   forever been
traces of being Apr 2018
Float seeds in the wind strewn about haphazardly;
indifferent winds ask not direction to course

Change asks not permission to become ―
like a blind-folded pilot looking for a place to land

At least dandelion wishes shoulder the weight of hope
and it makes no difference to the wind whose dream
it holds or seed it bears to  randomly cast away

The color of a mustard seed of faith
that moves mountains remains unknown ―
Freedom is as weightless as a hole in empty pocket
with nothing left to lose

Who decides who's a **** and what's a flower;
such definitive power beholds responsibility—
the most visible kind of strength,
that, used to oppress others,
is itself born of weakness.

On this island earth, in an ocean of emptiness,
a grain of sand and seaweed are washed ashore,
alone together, by the strength of a tuning tide

Float seeds in the wind strewn about haphazardly;
spindrift flying on the wing of tide-change
as indifferent gales ask not direction to scatter

Terrestrial seeds lay unheeded hole up in impalpable silence,
embryos of yesterday dwelling in infrequent sighs
that enter lightly those unreckoned songs
the breathings of the heart fail to sing


              words in the wind
Notes: ****;  plant considered undesirable, unattractive, or troublesome, especially one that grows where it is not wanted and often grows or spreads fast or takes the place of desired plants.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
The silence wrapping our words
was not born out of a deed or two.
Or out of lack of love.
We didn’t wake up one day
and began feeling alone.
The day we held hands,
we felt the alienation
that only love can bring.
No great love can
change what we were.
Where the plains of our own
lives and its insecurities met
there we see a crack,
to remind us everyday
that we never fit with each other.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
There are sorrows too shallow to be indulged in,
too gray to strike anyone’s eye.
There are sorrows that are only mine,
That hum in my ears
as I struggle to sleep.
These are the sorrows that define our life.
and destroy our peace.
Sorrow born out of dreams that
never became reality.
Sorrow that we cling to
to remember we can dream.
Lexi Mar 2018
Not everyone is meant to
                  live,
But not everyone is meant to
                             die.
Thinking..
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