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Adi N 6h
Autumn is in full swing
and the streets are lined with carpets.

Carpets in yellow, red, and brown
made of fallen leaves and twigs.

Walk on them, cherish them
before they dissolve into the earth.

One day, you will also dissolve,
so live consciously while you have time.
the violence brewing inside me boils and catalyzes the birth of malice,
from my womb of darkness;
i can not feel the pain anymore.
rather,
i do not care about the pain anymore.
my heart in chaos.
my consciousness slipping away from me.
i pray to be born again:
no longer human,
no longer who i am.
Mose Oct 6
I am starting to see the cracks in I.
The voice that I could not differentiate from.
The part of me I mistakenly identified as I.
Whispers its grievances like ghost rolling upon 3am.
As if my mind is its corridor to haunt.
Oh, no longer I, the one that associates itself with me.
The ego is the one who pronounces I.
Hangs off your existence like Corporate America preys on the poor.
The part of you and I that questions am.
The one voice that separates us.
Same as the fake border that pronounces mine, yours, and theirs.
Ownership that never fails to remind you.
It’s the voice that degrades you.
Same as the men who teach boys that boundaries only exist for state lines.
It’s the part of I, that am bears in the burdening of pretending…
Pretending that the notion that you must be this or you must be that.
The promises we keep to I instead of am.
These are the same silent alliances our egos share.
Parts of us that accepts submissively.
That trades profit for war.
That values trees as paper.
That mistakes water as a product not a right.
That part of I that tells you that the land belongs to I…
But you see, you are not I, you are not the ego.
The part of am reminds you that reminds that you –
That you belong to the land, but the land does not belong to you…

I AM
Maria Mitea Oct 4
Came gently sneezing at my turned-up nose
when hiding under the soft wool blanket.

Winter mornings came with promising poetry,
heartening the warm bed and inviting me,
Poetry that smelled like burned wood,
infused with the smell of grey blackish ashes,

Keeping the dress sleeves rolled up,
and the hair with very much care combed
back in a solid hair bun, like a trusty guardian,

My mother,
started every winter morning,
bended on her knees,
like in a pray
in front of winter stove,
like in a pray,
cleaning the stove,

She kept silence while cleaned the ashes,      
Ashes, that warmed the house and cooked the food,
Ashes made the hot tea soothe,
Ashes made the popcorn dance and jump,
fly on the floor, and fly on the table  
‘till we started popcorn fight,
popcorn flew in many mouths,
popcorn flew everywhere in the warm house.

Ashes of burned wood,
I could not understand,
its fire and heat took care of our roots,
penetrating our hearts like gold dust.

My mother’s silence every day cleaned
the winter stove from burned wood
with devotion and zest,
Getting it ready for a new day fire,
Getting it ready to cook borscht.
Adi N Oct 2
She sat on the park bench
basking in the afternoon sun,
when a brown ripe oaknut landed on her lap.

She gazed at it without distraction,
Its colour, shape, symmetry-filled her with immense satisfaction.
The English Oak tree had crafted it with perfection.

Clearly, it was there with a message-

You will take a lifetime,
to truly know my nature.
How could you ever get bored,
when there is creator’s magic everywhere.
Ema Sep 30
One leg up
hand resting
I'm scribbling ideas
to help me fall asleep.
I like tall buildings
and lots of concrete

One leg up
while walking in the city
still
faces in weird spaces
move
my gait, not that pretty
look!
four pugs on a chain
city cerberus
concrete keeper
perpetual eater
grim reaper
shh

One leg up
on a concrete world
that idea spilled
like a cup
coffee
on the floor
my mind
sleep
Zoe Rain Sep 24
There is a serpent in the sky between the clouds, he distorts and morphs into the whirlpools of my mind.
He slithers in negative space and hisses at cloud shapes, he disappears into thunder and his tongue licks lightning strikes.
There is a serpent in the sky and his beady eyes are black holes, the scales on his body are lights in my galaxy and I trace constellations with his scars.
We dance together to a distant melody and he twirls me around the moons scattered on the dance floor. He wraps me up and hugs me tight until I can’t breathe anymore.
Z Sep 22
40
i pull away
i don't know what to say,
it's too familiar
my apprehension
at simple questions,
at gentle whispers

we'd spend our evenings
chasing feelings
we'd try to capture
hypnotized
by those lattice lies
we manufactured

but i can't talk
i missed so many calls
and i can't think
i just can't get involved

i'm on a break, i just can't take this,
i'm suspending consciousness
my reality
has lost all consonance

but, oh,
there's nothing much i miss
and, oh,
i just wanna stay like this
Scarlett Sep 20
I saw a predator in the bathroom mirror
or perhaps it was just confident prey
YY Sep 18
I look at myself in the mirror,
A young artist, so lost - couldn’t see clearer.
Where to go and where to drip the paint?
I might as well lose consciousness and faint.

Confused, confined, cannot define the meaning of my life.
I don’t belong to any tribe,
Combining stories of my past,
I am so lost, alas.

The right, the wrong, its all collapsed,
The life will always just elapse.
Complex and very simple at the same time,
Oh look, another rhyme.
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