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Äŧül Aug 1
A beautiful saga of love and longing,
Turns now towards its completion,
Ultimately turning into achievement,
Love gets stronger like black coffee.

A melodious voice says my name,
Not fearing the society or religion,
Demanding only love from me.

Jelling deliciously is this pudding,
Excellent is this sweet romance,
Neither shameful nor shameless,
Indians from two different religions,
Few attempt what we plan for us,
Alive for each other and our families.

Living for the good of all life on Earth,
I love her and she loves me back,
Veil of her face is an elegant blue,
Elegant are her eyes from the slit,
Deriving pleasure from my imagination.

How we must get together,
A married couple is by hard work,
People do get old and die together,
People otherwise die in loneliness,
I am so blessed in this togetherness,
Love me you do in an untouched way,
Yet I feel you by my side in my life.

Evening the odds through honesty,
Victory is definite for both of us,
Even for peace, it will be a union,
Reason will only be love, our love.

Actually, I think that we shall do it,
Fatwas will never work against us,
Threats will be there but relax,
Except the Maulvi, none will bother,
Rest of them, our love will smother.

Truthfulness in your kind young face,
Heavenly is the sight to behold,
Earnestly we must get married,
Irate letters we shall then face,
Rising higher in the heavenly eyes.

Marriage is not just a wonderful word,
Also it is a beautiful permanent bond,
Rings in our fingers will mean more,
Rings and a Mangalsootra as well,
In our dreamland, we are together,
Atypical life we shall celebrate,
Gleefully we shall see our babies,
Eternal gifts by this love story of ours.
A romantic acrostic.
Lived happily ever after their marriage.
My HP Poem #1756
©Atul Kaushal
Cox Jul 7
The honeybee lands onto the small flower,

A friendship blooming immediately.

The bee talks of pollen and how wonderful it is,

But the flower is silent.

The flower is afraid that it will be used time and time again,

Endlessly dying in a fantasy that we call love.
False Poets Feb 2015
the mathematical statement in fluid mechanics that, for a fluid passing through a tube in a steady flow, the mass flowing through any section of the tube in a unit of time is constant**

instantaneous our love defined,
a fluid mechanic in the realm of ethereal,
where unlimited immeasurable undefinable

mass time flow sweat pulse anger forgive caress kind

quantifiable terms of our equation unique
in this poem
no waxing poetic,
excellent pure licked lips
are quantums and quarks visualized
though invisible the flow constant per unit of time from
initial good morning kiss to intemperate
indulgent good night conclusions
submitted here for your
analytical digression importuned

the square root of the continuity equation's solution
is
.......
Abigail Rose Feb 7
It’s not a rule forever followed,
But as a rule,
I don’t write novels.
Tales told in fiction
Rely on reality for sustenance
and I don’t want to confuse you
with my world
that is always flipping,
whirling,
re-painting,
re-modeling,
and put simply,
always changing.
When life seems to lack continuity...
There is the beginning
Promising and reviving
And the end
Inevitable and certain
Bringing to nought
All efforts and struggles
Invariably
Restarts engineered
Dreams retraced
Hopes kept high
And efforts made
Again lead to nowhere
And the eternal wait
For this cycle to end
Continues
s Jun 2018
your hug is like
that blood pressure gauge
- that slowly inflates
to check all my vitals;
or a dash charging socket
for all my circuits & bones
- twenty minutes -
for the battery to be whole.

cupping my feet on cold days,
and breathing into my toes
because these socks  have too many holes.
And on any day, you swivel me up
when I run into you for a no reason hug.

starting to forget how it would feel
to not have access to these tiny luxuries.

-
Midnight Jul 2018
i don't know
where your body begins
or where mine ends
the passion, ecstatic
we're entangled
and it feels euphoric
lost in the moment
and i don't want it to end
when you grow up
in a world where old is not useless
but means connected
to other times that made yours possible

then the weathered beams
     of an old mountain farmer’s house
          lived in for generations
give you a feeling of security and continuity

the solid doors of venerable city buildings
     signal achievement, comfort, safety
     knowledge and culture
     brought to you across the centuries

the crumbling arches of old castles
      remind you of your country’s history
      some of it glorious  some not
      for better or worse

even your faded family photographs
      can make you wonder
      suggesting all the generations
      that passed so you can have
      that special feeling
A Simillacrum Apr 2018
Who is all alone?
Solipsism slept with me
Community then rose the sun
The thorned and black roses leapt
To attention when it struck their stems
The difference between self pity and sadness
The black and thorned roses leapt
To attention when it struck their stems
The milk of the mother of the world
Community then rose the sun
While solipsism slept in me
Who is all alone?


(The Suspicious Oracle groaned, the body and the mouth. They came to rest on the line between the poles. No grimace. No grin. No light deep, deep in the eyes. The Suspicious Oracle pushed an object across the table toward the audience. An old coffee tin turned black with paints and oils. Centered in bright yellow, the word TIPS. All around it, simple symbols were scratched out in metal. Fingers. Toes. Currency. A *****.)

Coin for a fortune?

(One of the drifters at The Suspicious Oracle's table gifted a coin to the tin. The Suspicious Oracle smiled, and shifted back into the shadows.)

Thank you.

(The Suspicious Oracle reached into their jacket and produced a card printed on one side with a pair of staring eyes. They slid it toward the drifter with the eyes turned up. The drifter flipped the card and read it to herself.)

'UNHAPPY IN LACK, UNHAPPY IN EXCESS'
MetaNote:

I'd like to thank my grandpa, Arnold Gene Evans, for teaching me lessons that no one else could. And if they could, they wouldn't bother. Here's to you, big guy. The memories of smiles, sun, and the cool breeze remind me every day that my gray is gold to some. And that's enough.

~ W.
joel jokonia Nov 2017
me and my sub-conscience fight over weird things
i wrote this poem with a vision of making this the longest poem if possible
i poem by poets around the world in one topic
any poet can add at least one phrase keeping the topic at hand, a twist could do to but keeping the head on

i would appreciate to write with you all
it would the greaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatest of all

i am going tag all words cause you never know what it will become.


you can start from
'me and my sub-conscience fight over weird things.....
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