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Savio Fonseca Jan 13
Speak to Me, thru your Verses
and Tangle Me, with your Rhymes.
Dance your Steps, to My Whispers
and ****** Me, in your Mind.
Lock Me, with your Rhythm
and let your Spirits Glow.
Cradle Me with your Fantasies,
So My Passion begins to Flow.
Your Love, is so very Precious
and U have a Heart, that's Pure.
Your Love has all the ingredients,
It has the Power to Cure.
I S A A C Jun 2023
not as comforted by the absence of shore
as i was before, when i prayed for the shell to close
now i stare into the sun waiting for doors to show
i cradle all my blemishes, the flower, grip the thorns
rabbits are telling me its time to go yet my internality remains reposed
comforted by the thought of piercing arrows
comforted by the sweet monsters voice
haven’t felt in so long, a zoo animals futile joy
Brumous Oct 2021
the time that you told me to die
was painful that I didn't even try
slapping you

I don't know if you lied
but all I knew was it was possible
that you wished I did

I tried to make it up to you;
avoiding hurting you
with the fist,
and temper of mine

I just wished you noticed that I tried;

Yes, I've grown distant,
trying to find one's self;
I was occupied, sad, and alone.

Too busy to find friends,
that won't discard me when I needed someone

I guess that I pushed you away
so that you won't be like me.
An envious, gullible fool
as I did,
the more you become
a little more
like me.

We're the opposite of each other
but undeniably similar.
back and forth.
Chris Chaffin Jan 2021
A jade shoot
springs forth from
clumps of soil,
braves the morning chill,
waits for Mother to cover her
with a little yellow rain hat.

Cradled by the sun,
she leans forward in a regal bow.
I poke around the old wine barrel,
tickle her brothers and sisters.

Wake, little ones. It is time.
Paul Idiaghe Aug 2020
a cradle of completion;
my rubik's cube slowly becomes
faded of colors, frayed of stickers,
as a twisting time renders it
subtle and scrambled, but
unendingly unsolvable
—my meaning left
muddled on the palms of life

muddled on the palms of life
—my meaning left
unendingly unsolvable,
subtle and scrambled, but
as a twisting time renders it
faded of colors, frayed of stickers,
my rubik's cube slowly becomes
a cradle of completion;
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
I Cannot Remember My Mother
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I cannot remember my mother,
yet sometimes in the middle of my playing
a melody seemed to hover over my playthings:
some forgotten tune she loved to sing
while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother,
yet sometimes on an early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers fills my room
as the scent of the temple’s morning service
wafts over me like my mother’s perfume.

I cannot remember my mother,
yet sometimes still, from my bedroom window,
when I lift my eyes to the heavens’ vast blue canopy
and sense on my face her serene gaze,
I feel her grace has encompassed the sky.

Keywords/Tags: Tagore, translation, Hindi, mother, cannot, remember, cradle, temple, sky, gaze, face, play, playing, playthings, toys, melody, song, tune, lullaby, singing, rocking, autumn, flowers, fragrance, odor, perfume, incense, blue, heaven, heavens, mrburdu
S I N Dec 2019
Sometimes I think of not-so-distant future,
What it will be like, the thought of this I nurture,
And then contrive the cities in the sky
And people that can easily to fly
All by themselves, no plane nor highway-tube
Knotted in the involute death-loop;
No death, no afterlife, nothing at all
For science of that time them made a-whole;
The colonies on Mars and distant quadrants
At nearest stars united in a cadence
As if a thread connecting all the knots
The system of a stations on a spot
And to another jumping, to the next
The metal and the sterile floating nest;
For ‘tis well known what Earth is but a cradle
Humanity supposed to leave forever
Anastasia Jun 2019
in an old
old house
there are corpses in the cradles
and an old
delusional woman.
it's reeks of flesh
and baby powder
piled with blood-stained clothes
a "husband" lies
cold in bed
with parts
from "almost-perfect" men
the floor sags
and the stairs creek
the walls echo
with the cooing
of an old
Brandon Conway Jun 2019
outgrown the cradle
generation ships cruising
the stars are all ours
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