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Zywa May 25
The fish requests for

asylum, with a suitcase –


I open my mouth.
“Vallen is als vliegen” (“Falling is like flying”, 2019, Manon Uphoff)

Collection "Shelter"
Zywa May 2
Back 'home' after years.

What will I come across there?


Can it still exist?
“Die Heimkehr” (“Homecoming: a novel”, 2006, Bernhard Schlink)

Collection "Em Brace"
Times when the heart doesn’t feel its own beat
Lost, maybe some part of it forever displaced
Work makes sure, time is passed
Together, still doesn’t help
Stuck in some redundancy
Maybe, they work well, separately
Time and work
Maybe it’s for words to see
rgz May 2019
My emotions rule my mind
my brain lives between my legs
Blind devotion is my sight
if you'll stay with me in bed

My arms are winter's embrace
I always have them wrapped
The chills keep you in grace
while my fingers keep you rapt

My mouth, a serpent den
sparking silver charm galore
My tongue twists round itself
tied in efforts to adore

My worship signals ships of war
through seas of violent storms
A fairweather fleet, full and by
with you as the port of call

A simple harmonic motion
with the force to drown an ocean

One simple price to pay
to be the captain for a day
or is that disgrace?
Eslam Dabank Jun 2018
Leila,
sometimes I wonder if people's hearts,
are as dark as your hair.
Sometimes I wonder if their hate,
is deeper than your beauty,
and that smile you share.
Sometimes I wonder if their greed,
is as enormous as the void I find in your eyes,
which nothing but finding hope,
of care.
Leila, forgive them.

Leila,
is that song you look for,
when fires smolder you're entity's emotions.
is that song you look for,
when you should of yourself be caution.
is the song you look for,
when you want to cleanse your soul,
cleanse it of people's defiled ambition.
Leila, forgive them.

Leila,
with your earned sorrow you passed an ocean,
and carried a dead father's watch,
a watch to remind a paralyzed mother,
of for whom she once ran for, with devotion.
She once prayed for time to pass,
To see her love,
And now, time turned into a compulsion,
That stops her from living,
And tuned into a con,
Instead of a meditation.
Leila, forgive them.

Leila,
Drunken sun -
Aches from loneliness
In the space where noone it,she shares
Drunken sun -
The vacancy of company it faces
Keeps rotating there,In endless mazes
Drunken sun -
It shows its pain, it spreads blazes
That's the only difference between you,
And the drunken sun
you keep to yourself all the pain
In all cases,
Drunken sun,
Is trapped there,in the spaces
just like you, in the past's vases.
Harry Roberts Nov 2017
If I had pennies
For when Rage was
Misplaced

I'd have pounds,
But they'd burn to
At my fireplace.

When was there fair space
Just to despair
Grace.

I'll fall slowly and mould
Along the way,
I'm so cold I couldn't be
Strong anyway.

I lost pride
I'm dust in the
Place I used to reside.

These are the words
To empty air
I confide.
Sharon Talbot Sep 2017
Vast the landscape I watch that rolls out, ragged,
Before my eyes, hurt words describing, haggard.
Moby soothes me but a little as I watch still fractured sights
Of what was and is in Chernobyl.
Marshlands filled with death and mutation,
Homely houses putrid with abandonment and radiation.

Broken tokens of people’s former lives and loves –
Where are they now?
Their hairless dolls, sitting in the middle of rooms,
Bathtubs, broken and oblique, empty.
Soap washes memory and nothing else away.
The sky has spoken; it is broken.

Push the poison out to sea. To see
They hadn’t time to leave a memory,
But ran, already dead while living,
Not allowed to gather souvenirs.
There’s nothing left for them here.
But did they die?
Nobody told us where they went,
Or why
This happened.

They are gone now, dispersed in Eurasia I suppose,
Like ash in the wind, like their future or past ghosts.
They haunt the places, the buildings and the waters,
Engulfing fish, and drying fungus on the northern trees,
Watching wolves still move through winter freeze,
Still beautiful in the taiga sun.
Tainted yet rife with energy not destroyed,
Trying to paint its passion on the sides of walls,
To venerate the people here and their lives,
Their animals, their clothing only frozen.
This poem was inspired by a young woman, Elena Filatova whose Internet name was KidOfSpeed. She lived (lives?) in Russia and rode her motorbike into the forbidden zone around Chernobyl, taking videos of the various scenes:

houses, roads, forests, cities (Pripyat), all abandoned and overgrown. She has since posted more videos, though they are less "shattering"; she uses drones and was exposed by someone as just another tourist who happened to bring a motorbike and helmet on a tour. Not sure if it's true, but to me, anyone who goes into that area is brave!

http://www.angelfire.com/extreme4/kiddofspeed/
Kriti Mishra Jun 2017
As thunder put paid to my tranquility,
I ventured out of my darkened room,
Into my fecund garden,
Amidst blooms I'd lovingly brought forth,
Unblemished, unexceptional.
Fraught with anxiety,
I searched,
For peace, joy, equanimity.
And then the Gale brought me,
A shock of pink.
A battered displaced bloom,
Torn from home by violent gusts of wind,
Left to the mercies of strangers,
Disparate, unconnected,
Yet vivid, ablaze.
Ephemeral perhaps,
But substantial.
Flo Jun 2016
Running away
An eternal struggle
Fighting against suppressed feelings
Feeling displaced
Located in a world of my own
A world so strange...
I don't belong here...

I'm just a misfit
Branded by society
Trapped by my own peculiarity
Free to imagination...
Pauline Morris Feb 2016
He sat all alone at home
There was no where to roam
Even on this holiday
All his family had passed away
His ex-wife and kids where in a different state
There was nothing for him to celebrate
Life had left him with an empty plate
He was trying hard to stay away from deaths gate

He sat there trying to watch on tv some shows
Only commercials of happy families, that's just the way it goes
He set's there reliving happier memories
Then looked around at his empty house of misery

A call from his kids
Sent him into a skid
Made him relive their younger years
He was so glad they couldn't see his tears
He did have a small smile as they talked
But like anything the call to soon came to an end, it stopped

The heart piercing whimper that acrossed his lips seep
Would of made the coldest hearted person weep
He just sat there with eyes red with the pain
Knowing all he had lost, not seeing anything left to gain

The agony of his memories played in his mind
Desperately wishing he could go back in time
So he could fix it all, make it all rhyme
For this mountain of lonely misery, he just couldn't climb

As others enjoy their families, with good food and cheer
You will find him setting there with his cans of beer
Trying to drown his sorrow, amplified by this holiday of thanks giving
Wishing that instead of dying inside, he was living
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