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Indika Perera Jul 28
a beard hides the nakedness of the face
leaves cover the bareness of the branches
grass covers the planeness of the ground
but nothing covers the shame of your deeds
you came like a thief in the night
like a lion prowling for prey
evil and base were your intentions
sordid and heinous were your actions
with evil in your eyes and hatred in your heart
you lifted the dagger and brought it down hard
with one swift move, you killed the dream
you snuffed out the light and put it to sleep
When I witnessed a rare fragility of the rain unbecoming—pouring its madness, tears following the wind that brings me to a place where I knew I witnessed an unfortunate crime, an absence of an absolute evil—cruel crime I would not be able to forget; the great tragedy of what was once.

It was all I saw.
It was all I felt.
It was all I knew.

The comfort and the gruesome thought of being a witness to it all—to the chaos, the fraudulent rage of the supposed love I knew; until I became a victim of it.

…and the absence of my answered prayer turned to basking in idiotic romantic fantasies I had built. All that interested me was the world I created inside this big rotten head of mine.

What an unfortunate time to be a witness in an unfortunate crime called: the absence of love.

While odd things create reality, dreams do come true, a bittersweet goodbye turns to a sweet return. All I know is once in a while, there comes an absence. How do I return the sparks back?
for the love that disappeared quietly. in a rushed hush tone, familiar random day a few years back.

song: lover, you should’ve come over - jeff buckley
When a detective falls in love, he does not know who to bill for expenses--
everything is up in the air.

At a mixer for suspects, he invites me to dance via loudspeaker.
Radiant in my white dress, I resemble a snowy owl
even down to my carefully bandaged hand which he takes without hesitation.
I whisper in his ear:

I am Leon Czolgosz.
Your heart is the President of the United States of America.
We are dancing in Buffalo, city by the Niagara.
My detective, of course, falls hard.

The next time we meet, I wait for him in the bullpen at the police station.
They know him there.
They hire cellists.
He confesses his deepest fantasy to me:

I want to speak words of love to you
via telephone
with our hands naked and separated only by the safety glass.
I want the call recorded
and broadcast to wild lovers around the globe.

Shortly after, we are married. I wear my favorite bearskin robe.
My small black cubs frolic nearby,
climbing the pews and then tumbling gaily down again.
My detective is resplendent in his tuxedo.
The hired band plays Funiculi Funicula.
I snarl when my detective gets too close to the cubs, and this inflames him.

At last, we lie in bed together, like busy machines come to rest.
I am wearing nothing but the revolver-shaped earrings he has given me.
My detective wears a felt fedora
and a look of smug adoration like a daredevil over the falls in a barrel.
I am The Queen of the Mist,
suspected in various thieveries, check kiting, and jaywalking.

Our love is an aviary
where birds wheel above the thundering water like intelligent confetti.
Look in your mailbox, I tell my detective.
I have left you a valentine and an Easter egg.
He asks if, after all, I am his mystery client.
I enter a plea of innocent.
My love is happy now, laughing.
Yash Shukla Jul 11
काश उस दिन उसका भी कोई भाई होता,
आज वो सितारा हमारे बीच ज़िंदा होता।
काश कोई उसे जाकर बचा लेता,
कम से कम उसका तो ख़ून न बहता।

नरभक्षी भेड़ियों ने ली थी उसकी जान,
छोड़ा था उसे वहीं तड़पता, लहूलुहान।
चिल्लाती रही वो उसी जगह पर,
न जाने कितने ही जुल्म हुए थे उस पर।

नारी को निर्वस्त्र करने का परिणाम –
इस भूमि ने महाभारत देखा था।
धिक्कार है ऐसे समाज पर –
उसी भूमि ने आज यह अपराध देखा था।

जल रही हैं मोमबत्तियां शोक व्यक्त करने,
आंदोलन कर रहे हैं लोग और दे रहे हैं धरने।
क्या इस बार होगा उन दरिंदों पर कठिन शासन,
या फिर एक बार उभरेगा एक नया दुःशासन?
यह कविता १९ अगस्त २०२४ को लिखी गई है
Peter Balkus Mar 2024
It was yet another damning ritual
of waking up to another ******,
looking for the evidence and the witnesses,
It will take another twenty four hours, at least. - someone said.

And then it all started again:
interrogation of the local drunkards, prostitutes
and ****** addicts.
No one dared to probe and torture the good men of this town,
like if they couldn't have done it.

If there is way out of this mess, 
we need to punish the murderers.
But first we have to find them,

while someone is trying to hide them.
Typical.
When exposing a crime is treated as committing a crime you are being ruled by criminals.
Crimes Against Children
And Pregnant women.
Anmweyyy, anmweyyy
Everybody is destroying Haiti
Please stop, stop, quit. At last, give the country
A break, a rich season. There are too many bandits, vandals
Too many lootings, thefts, too many crises and scandals
On this impoverished and exploited island
Give Hayti a chance to live better. Give our land
A break with too much violence and injustice
Ayiti needs peace, love and real justice
Why all of you are hurting Haiti so bad?
This is sickening
Haytians, please stop being so sad and mad
Haiti needs everybody's love and compassion
This is damning
Please help Haiti in this time of destruction
Or leave Hayti alone, to breathe
Hate only knows how to burn, **** and destroy
The truck is about to kiss the rugged cliff
Stop the rancor, put out the fire and bring joy
Haitians, Haytians, wake-up to a new beginning and era
Get rid of the bad seeds and unite with the Diaspora
Unite to fight against corruption and waste of the aids
Be positive! Be ready to get rid of all sorts of plagues
Please stop the violence and use sheer common sense
Hayti needs a new and better season
Haitians, help our nation be an oasis, a starry beacon
Let's understand each other
Unite to be better! Unite to help each other and to dance
Let's love each other to be better
Unite in this time of crisis; and reject death and violence
Anmweyyy, anmweyyy.

Copyright © 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
neth jones May 28
this frozen shore     calls me tourist               
followed by money grubber and whoremonger
  then reckless looter and polluter
names me hazard   and spits on me
it squeaks and whines                                                    
pops bubblewrap   and grinds polystyrene
jarring and wincing my ears
nature has called me out                                                
it fires at me                                  
                      with a list of my species crimes
the pudding's in the proof
and i'm left simply unable to be a recluse
in the company of
                              this frozen winter shore
[original
this frozen shore calls me a ***** / names me and spits on me / nature calls me and fires at me / with the list of my species crimes / i'm left simply unable to enjoy  / this frozen winter shore
18/05/25]
This room is pitch black but I love the comfort it gives
This place is unoccupied but I can feel how it is crowded.
This anxious feeling, this strange voice inside me. I love it.
I didn't mean to be there; it was a lonely night. I can't find a route to escape.
Rain starts dripping, cold air starts blowing. The next moment, I'm on the floor, trying to breathe.
No voice escaped my mouth and I feel like my lungs are being torn apart. I'm trying to exert force but there is something on top of me, someone.
I am enjoying my stay in this chaotic place with his parts. Who left a bat in the shed?
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