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M Vogel Nov 4

I cannot betray
who it is that I am,
little beauty-
and so, in doing so
I will continue to hold on
to that which I know
truly gives me strength;

I cannot help but hope
that as I do, the rain
that waters my tree
and helps me to stand--
also waters
and brings nourishment to
the very roots

of the beautiful sapling that is you.

I do it for me, because I know
that is what I must do-  stand.
Know that you are deeply embedded
within my very growth rings, so
as I stand
and sing
of the very rain  that
provides the very thing we need,
I stand for you also:

and everyone else who is a struggling
sapling such as I once was.

      You are me
      and I am you.

   We both thrive on the same water.

Simran pawar Oct 23
Distance can never change the closeness of heart.
preston Sep 5

One fine, postdiluvian day,
God glanced down on Noah and crew,  midfloat..

((ding)) "NOAH.."

                          ­  "Hmm..? what is that?

((ding)) "NOAH.."

                            "Oh, ****.. its the boss.. everyone, ****** chill"

((ding)) "NOAH.."

                               "yes Lord..?"

Noah, now concerning being fruitful and.. uh..  whatever
you know-- lala,  and stuff.."


"Ya yourself, Noah.
Hast thou considered the howler monkey..?
That wild-assed little pair going at it up there in the crowsnest
are tantric AF."

                                 "Dude.. you should bless those cute, hairy
                                   little love-machines with the most *******-sounding
                                   lovehowl on the planet.."

****.. I wish I was the one who thought of that..  

The End.

(This postdiluvian-dialogue was what was on a cartoon-like tract that was rolled up and left tucked in the jamb of my front door by the most gorgeous little J.W. doorknocker I have ever seen..)
true story  (almost)

Mm.. to that cute little J-dub princess from long, long ago~
Baby baby baby
Take me in your arms and love me
cause you know what I am, anyway..

preston Sep 1

Fireball, littlesizzlestick
she-z-all blastin 'cross the realms

Una-a-go,  the pilot-co
and-a trachea-twerkin tourniqueen,   sittin'    
all proudly  at the helm

but grab her by the fuselage
or call her sumpthin'like
      lovecake schnookieookieebums,

and she'll beat the ever-lovin  dog-**** outta ya--
right there in front of God,    

                     and  ev'ryone

Ah, Love--

Raskolnikov felt sick, but he couldn't say why
when he saw his face reflected
in his victim's twinkling eye
Some things you'll do for money
and some you'll do for fun

but the things you do for love
are gonna to come back to you one by one.

Love is going to lead you by the hand
into a white and soundless place..
now we see things as in a mirror dimly;
then we shall see each other,  face to face

And way out in Seattle, young Kurt Cobain
snuck out to the greenhouse,
put a bullet in his brain
Snakes in the grass beneath our feet,
rain in the clouds above..

some moments last forever
but some flare out with  love,  love,  love

J Aug 25
These are the things I would be feeling if I
was like you

The warm touch of a friend
when it fills you
with love

and that love;
bubbling up to the surface,
flush against the inside of my skin
like it will burst soon

and I will flood you
because my body cannot contain this closeness

my heart is fit to burst
its empty insides
splattered across the walls

like a Polluck painting to our connection

if I felt it
if I knew that it was there

If I knew it like I knew
the scent of spices
like I know the cold embrace
of winter months, when they brush

against my illness and I know
that it can’t go on
because it hurts so much to love

it tears words from my gut that I would never
dare say
it brings promises I cannot keep;
if I could, I would weep

because it hurts so much to love

but I have to try
Jayanti Aug 13
There will come a morning one day
when life will never be the same

Time will stay stand still
and there is no one to blame

Lives are taken away,
but no one could help them stay

While some folks will have no penny,
some will die hungry

Healing hands will have long nights
and warriors on the frontline will save our lives

There will come a morning one day
when life will never be the same

Humans will long for the warmth of skin
And want to talk to strangers more than ever

Food will became a love language
And homemade will become the new gourmet

Sky will be dust free
And trees will dance in the clear breeze

Furry friends will be in our arms all the time
And wilderness will wander free

Home will became our whole world
And the whole world will come together online

There will come a morning one day
When the whole world will be distanced apart
But closeness will shine afar...
Nicole May 29
They call it 'lust'
I call it "intimacy"
preston May 4

From the sodden, trundled forest floor the trees reached higher than he ever imagined possible-- pine needles from the conif, blending in  perfectly with those, broadleaf.. a strange, almost absurd-feeling; symmetry- in a world, nothing more than cluttered and confused-- in the eyes of a small-one, now subject..

And now as a grown man, I return to the disenchanted forest.. in order to bring enchantment. At the edge of the rustic, one-room cabin, I pause.. choosing to peer in, rather than enter-- my world-hardened hands, now pressed against cracked window glass--
opaque, but still..

I can see..

Inside the small room is as if a cosmos to itself-- there is a large ring of dark water, surrounding what seems to me to be a small island,
yet still, I can feel her..  sense her glow..
And magnificent within her solitude and silence.. she is strong, and firm-- her war-torn heart, gathered and secure.. all boundaries, seemingly intact-- but there is a teeming.. a never-ending movement of some form of life- in what I had once thought a ring of dark water, but can now see as if some kind of a fear-hewn moat.. and the movement within, none other than that of those trying to reach her. She is the prize, pulled away from the threat of harm by her intricately created world.

And there is this black movement above her.. what is that?  Moving in rhythmic a flock of starling maybe..
The wings that give them flight, are bat-like and sharp.. and only varying sections at a time of the flock's movement alight on to her.. as other ones take flight and rejoin the ever-moving, ever-shifting flock's shape.. and as each changing of the guard takes place, the inhabitants of the moat change color-- the light, now reflecting through the small window and bringing a matching glow to my arm..
and though I remain unaffected by the color of light,
I see the whole nature of the moat, conform to each color's change..

And it is then that I realize that the birds are the pieces of her fragmented heart, and the changing colors, her perceived reality.. based on whatever portions of her heart are inside of her at any given time. The moat provides the distance, yet one without its inhabitants even knowing they are in it--
changing color in order to fit in to her ever-changing reality.

I will never enter into the moat..
and the color change is hers, not mine.
I am more distant to her now
than even those, of the moat..
and my refusal to change color
will always be a point of contention--
but for her, I am the only one who sees,
I am the only one who knows
about the island, the starlings.. the moat.

She loves me so much, she hates me.

My prayer for her is that one day,
that whole flock of starlings will alight on to her..
and never, ever leave.
Maybe on that day also, her moat filled with
Mona Lisas and Madhatters, will finally, dry up..
and that her color perception will become the colors
that truly are,
rather than those, of her ever-changing, shift..
a disenchanted forest-- enchanted, once again.

as she quietly whispers into my ear..

"Until you've seen this trash can dream come true
you stand at the edge while people run you through,
and I thank the lord, there's people out there like you"
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

The cohesiveness between us, you may remember, or perhaps not.
Our solemn oaths of faithfulness, you may remember, or perhaps forgot.
If something happened that was not to your liking,
the shrinking away that produces silence, you may remember, or perhaps not.
Listen, the sagas of so many years, the promises you made amid time's onslaught,
which you now fail to mention, you may remember, or perhaps not.
These new resentments, those old rehashed complaints,
these lighthearted and displeasing stories, you may remember, or perhaps forgot.
Some seasons ago we shared love and desire, we shared joy ...
That we once were dear friends, you may have, perhaps, forgot.
Now if we come together, by fate or by chance, to express old loyalties ...
Our every shared breath, all our sighs and regrets, you may remember, or perhaps not.

by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

You are so close to me
that no one else ever can be.

NOTE: There is a legend that the great Urdu poet Mirza Ghalib offered all his diwan (poetry collections) in exchange for this one sher (couplet) by Momin Khan Momin. Does the couplet mean "be as close" or "be, at all"? Does it mean "You are with me in a way that no one else can ever be?" Or does it mean that no one else can ever exist as truly as one's true love? Or does this sher contain an infinite number of elusive meanings, like love itself?

Being (II)
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

You alone are with me when I am alone.
You are beside me when I am beside myself.
You are as close to me as everyone else is afar.
You are so close to me that no one else ever can be.

Keywords/Tags: Translation, Urdu, Momin Khan Momin, love, close, closeness, unity, farness, afar, memory, remembrance, forgetfulness, remember, forget, forgot, time, silence, mrburdu
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