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The side the flipside
and the bridge.
The day the night
and the bond
the humbly wane
half-moon!
.
Beams of light are entering shyly
into the darkness through
dungeon bars
Carried from the bridge are resounding
Screams and chains and wailing cries
Confined prisoners the defiant
The suffering paying their price

The walls are echoing
With whispers of the final prayer
Falling down the tears of blood
Frightened by the ferrous tide
And the Infinity’s deadly voicelessness

Perished the wholesome
the innocent the hungry
Against the injustice to rebel
To their children bid farewell
For the freedom of their children
when they drew
that final breath

Drawing close the final moments, my life
May you never forget
That moment of horrid death
The innocent could not object

The prison drowned
in tempestuous sea
Immersed the dungeons
in sharp water entirely
To pieces scattered victims hearts
Bodies and souls torn apart
With a screaming cry
Heavens let out a painful sigh


Saša Milivojev in Venice
9.11.2012.

Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska

www.sasamilivojev.com
To fly above the white clouds,
Walk on the moon.
Dance with the stars,
Step out of your comfort zone.

To astonish the world with your creativity,
Fulfil your dreams with great accomplishments,
Stay productive, stand out among the crowds,
Break through the chains of your comfort zone.

Your pains, sorrows, and wounds my friend are
Your bridge to a breathtaking life, 
Full of hope, adventures, and excitement,
With a new dawn, and a new day!

Hussein Dekmak
Robert Ronnow Oct 2021
From marble and granite to steel and glass,
we were discussing Rhina Espaillat’s On the Avenue in class,
was it 1950s or 1980s NYC and were the fifties
the city’s halcyon days or is it now, the 2020s,
the boroughs teeming with immigrants
from the round earth’s imagined corners,
Hasidim and Muslim, Haitian and Russian, as we
Italians and Irish in an earlier era were. Everything will
be ok or not, the recombinations which make
prediction and intuition fortunately hopeless
and each individual an experiment gone well or wrong.
On the avenue God speaks by spewing
toy and clothing stores, breakdancers and ice skaters,
the Brooklyn Navy Yard seen from the Brooklyn Bridge,
the skyline admired when my car broke down on the Triborough Bridge.
The numbers of us overwhelm, there exist powers
overwhelming for the human body and mind.
I don’t mind but I can’t make sense of it.
Gandhi said What you do may not seem important
but it is very important that you do it. By that what is meant?
Linda said Why does God always have to be a man?
I said He could be a She but she’s probably really
a Tyrannosaurus rex. I like to be in America!
—Espaillat, Rhina, “On the Avenue”, Playing at Stillness, Truman State University Press, 2005.
—Donne, John, “At the round earth’s imagined corners”.
Zywa Sep 2019
Bridges are no riches
anymore, they don't offer space
but rush

over my head, they separate
people and confine them
to an island without energy

a void that exhausts me
and that I cannot fill
with the contacts I make

over all the bridges
with which I make shift
for lack of time

to go out the door
and explore my island
a while without agenda

having casual conversations
and meet neighbours
who I can touch
Collection “Different times”
King tree of life hello
I'm full of dew
dripping willow me for you
Two virtual
emperors, like you
write deep sensual ink.
Striking similarities to yours;
one is owned by his wife
I ignite a phantom fate spark.
Another is one way street.
Yes I am born a self existing
yellow star, a curse a blessing.
Portal to heaven by birth chart.
But you were bridge, something
in the way you brew my wine.
Fiery red gold key my six-nine.
Then silence, gap, abyss.
Into your own ginny you are!
No longer into mine!
Your ginny of
yesterday.
~~~~~~~~~~
Me and Mrs Andrews-k
https://youtu.be/HV4Jd3muGs8
Wilkes Arnold Aug 2021
Every metaphor is a bridge
Connecting what's real to what's true
And only in crossing does one see
Both sides dyed the same hue
Metaphors are like similes only I don't like them as much.
Lucas K Aug 2021
Away, far away, and further still.
Beyond rumble and tremble and thrill,
where spies out of shadows hold no sway,
there lies a chamber of stone, with no bars, nor locks or divides.
Every evening,
my weary eyes rest upon the memory of time and its ever shifting, ever stalwart tides.
That is where my heart abides.

My heart resides just below the rusty rail.
Over a watchful window, a silky veil of green sunlight falls like a curtain of fleeting dreams and a blooming hazel tree beneath the frail mist conceals a passageway to emerald fields.
Each morning,
I am drawn nearer and nearer to you, for that is how my mind endures.
That is why my heart never yields.
Sn8 Aug 2021
I'm by the window on the 5th floor
the view can only be described
as average
the clouds were in my head before
now they glide above the
hard stone bridge
observed from the window floor
alongside a placebo pill
and a bevarage.
Waiting for you
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