Let me return to past, let me recall tonight
With me cries, each corner and wall tonight

What let flowers to slit throat in my garden
Who has invoked the curse to fall tonight

My screams have awoken people from sleep
Separation to be mourned in rainfall tonight?

He might be Abbas-e-Ali collecting tears
Mourners have sighted him tall tonight

Mirza, your phone is ringing since evening
Who told you to deny her call tonight?
Poet can make you cry, while recalling his past. Hold on and wipe your tears, there is even more grief.
You are calling
and I just keep staring
my heart resonates
to the vibration of the ringing phone.

My eyes are hazzy
My mind is fuzzy
I don't know what to say
For I fear I will make a fool of myself
leaving to end the conversation
on an awkward note.

The call ends
I breathe
to calm my nervous nerves.

I call back
only to find myself stutteringg
and being overly conscience
with every word I say
dreading to have called
as the call ends.
This is a poem based on a true event of having anxiety when someone was calling.
The child paracosmist…
Nighttime is cordially received with pleasure...
My world of aliens, planes crashes, gold rushes, self-soothing lullaby’s,
Method of Loci,
My creative ship sails the sea,
For as long as I can remember I have felt an infinity towards words and blank pages.
I wrote a novella about Isabella when I was nine years old.
Isabella discovers a castle in ruins, the inhabitant some sort of Frankenstein Prometheus.
When I was ten I wrote a ghost story,
A lost traveler stumbles upon convenient accommodation in a dank devoid forest.
I wrote my way into college and wrote my way through college.
In my twenties I moved to England, a ubiquitous journey of self-discovery.
Journals, Ten hundred pages of laments and allegories.
They fell off the back of my boyfriend’s truck on the Freeway.
My ambitions became ubiquitous. For year’s I denied the call.
I named my daughter, Calliope, the muse of poems…
The seeds of my writing were still in the dirt.
I am in my thirties now and writing feels gravitational, inevitable, epiphany.
The child paracosmist, the story-teller,
Star BG Jan 31
A voice vaguely familiar
echoed on phone line.
The kind of line
filled with black birds
ready to take flight and paint skies
with their bodies black to hide sun.

The voice that trampled
on dreams long gone.
Stabbing knife in heart
where love once grew.
that floated away
when their voice
severed our relationship.

A voice now out of blue,
coming back to haunt.
Silence encourage him
to continue his sorry song.

And when he concluded,
I simply said "No."
And hung up the phone.
Got an annoying  telemarketing call but it sparked this.
C Cavierre Jan 25
It’s fall
And it’s raining
Outside and you haven’t
I’m faced with doubt—
Your image is fading
like the mist
on the glass stained
words I’ve traced:
“I want to say I will stay
I’ll wait”

Give me a reason not to go away.
ST Rossa Jan 21
They call me life,
because I can sprout anywhere,
They call me light,
they call me peace,
They call me art.

They call me time
because i can heal all wounds
They call me death,
because wherever you go I will surely follow you there.

They call me a symbol
they call me betrayal,
to those who see my image im their frustration they'll drown.

They call me...
yet they don't even pronounce my name,
They call me a demi-god
but they forget that I'm just a man.

They call me change,
a dictator.

they call me a visionary,
ahead of my time.

They call me water,
they call me wind,

They call me a storm
because with every breath, I release rains of despair.

They call me a statue,
because I enjoy being alone,

They call me sea,
because they know that they'll never know me completely.

They call me a tear, maybe because of the lessons I teach,

They call me a fugitive,
because I belong to nowwhere.

They call me a gentle caress
because of the way my words can run through your chest.

They call me a bird, because I know how to fly when I surrender to the pen.

They call me unfaithful,
they call me naive,
and teacher,

For my hugs they call me bear,
for my rage, tiger.

They call me street, not because of my dangers, but because of unpredictability.

They call me a magician,
and guide,

They call me lost innocence,
for my wisdom.

They call me smile for the sincerity,
they call me fierce and gentleman,
Because I let the phrases always speak first.

They call me puppet,
I suppose I am what they fear to be?

They call me genius
and devil,
they call me fury,

They call me an asylum because I keep inside what others repudiate.

They call me agitator,

Without money they call me depressingly insane,
with money im fun and eccentric.

They call me airtight,
they call me virus and germ,

They call me bullet, because they have never been able to stop me.

They call me but I don't ever call back,
They call me a rat
they call me sick,

They call me Manhattan because I never sleep.

They call me desert because I seem eternal...

They call me so many things both good and bad,
Beautiful or poisonous ways to make me immortal.
They love me or they hate me, they choose me or they reject me,
They call me, to give me their compliments, and their threats.
madison Jan 20
I look to my clock, it’s 2:30 in the morning
I’m reaching for my phone again
But the voice inside my head is screaming “don’t do it”

I start to dial that familiar number
Maybe you’ll answer, can’t help but wonder
“Leave your message at the tone” I knew it

I’m stuck listening to old voicemails from May
It’s the only way I can hear you say
“I love you”, even though I cry every time

Those three words sting me more than ever
When they used to make me feel so much better
Take me back to when you were mine.
Awake! arise! you've been sleeping too long
and following the ways of all the throng.
Look around and see what you need to do
and begin to accomplish something new.
You may even have to finish those things
entrusted with you and for all life brings.
Don't brood too much now or linger over
what could have been but instead recover.
Press forward with a good diligent heart
leave sorrows behind, take an active part
in those things presently before you cast
lest it be said you weren't up to the task.
Be ever steady with your heart's resolve
and in life do things that help to evolve.
Written late in 2017.
A bit of a motivational wake up call to myself and others inspired by the thought of the  New Year in the forefront of my mind.
ST Rossa Dec 2017
I'm waiting for your call knowing
that the probability of my phone ringing
is ridiculously insane
but even so i spend nights with the phone
stuck to my anxious body.

When I wake at dawn
and I still have nothing but a blank screen
I go back to my dreams hoping to never wake again but im glad i do since the probability of hearing from you after that would be less than scarce.

I send you messages that get no answer
and I dream that your obsessive pride
one day turns against you,
and at last you spend a few nights sailing
 into a sea of despair.

 You may spend hours talking to someone else
while I get excited when I see a missed call
wishing with all my strength for it to be yours
or how I would give away my freedom for a message where you recognize that you made a mistake.
I dont know and i probably wont be able to bear this uncertainty for much longer.

So please call soon
or my heart will cease to beat.
starchild Dec 2017
{you have 4 missed calls and 1 voicemail from unknown}
{press 1 to play}

hello, i'm sorry to bother you.
i know that you don't know me,
nor do i know you.
but this number belonged to
a friend of mine
that committed suicide
a year or two ago.
she was a really lovely person.
however, she was also
the type of person
that gets a new book
and reads the last page first.
who googles the ending
to the movie before starting it.
which is fine in most cases
because the person usually comes back.
but she stayed.
and i would usually call this number
and it would go to voicemail
and i could hear her voice again.
but this time i heard yours.
and now i don't know what to do.
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