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She blooms where grief forgets to sleep,
beneath the sallow hush of twilight trees—
a flare of red in softened ash,
the last confession of the breeze.

Petals curled like whispered sins,
each one a blade of memory—
a wound too pretty to regret,
too sacred to let bleed freely.

She doesn’t seek the sun like roses do.
No, she is the flame of parting steps—
ephemeral,
like the breath between
goodbye
    and
      gone.

Born of myth and muddy water,
they say she grows where spirits roam—
a guardian of thresholds,
the keeper of the in-between,
wearing sorrow like a crown
no one dares remove.

And still,
   she rises.
Not for life,
but to remind the world:
some things only bloom
      in farewell.

“What is not to be had in haste, may yet echo on the grieving wind.”
— Su ****

The pallor of the desolate plain —
a wound torn by void.
Those great swathes of barren earth,
laid bare —
are my chest,
yellowed and cracked with thirst.

She holds her head high,
nonchalant —
dragging behind her a hem
as lucid and dark as eyes
that have seen through dreams.

The snowy lace, pure as accumulated frost,
stirs up dust —
like the tender light at the horizon’s edge,
trembling into dawn.

I thought it was the sweet, silken whisper
of a love just waking,
mist-drenched and dizzying…
I wandered deep into it,
entranced,
never to return.

Her steps —
mysterious as the sea’s dense murmurs
when dusk is full.

Each footfall
layered with gentle unrest,
floated
toward the dimples of innocent laughter,
ever deeper,
until freedom itself
seemed just a breath away…

And my fevered imagination
scrambled and stumbled blindly,
thrashing with futile longing.

But oh — the great ironclad of love!
Launching its voyage!
And with cannons that shattered the sky
proclaimed:

Heaven, red with blood, is boiling!
Let the burning Utopia blaze in delight!

But her steps —
her steps are also
so firm,
so forward…
As if from the unreachable gleam ahead
some force of fate
pulls her onward,
irresistible,
unmatched.

And I —
I am helpless.

Forward…
A paltry mayfly,
daring to stop
the eternal rise of the sun
with one trembling day of life.

My proud, resounding cries
were silenced,
crushed into a choking hush,
into shattered bone…

She paid them no mind.

With unbearable grace
she brushed aside the clamor —
brushed away the storms —
and moved forward.

Her heels,
cold as the blade of an axe,
hacked into my flesh.

And the rustling of her skirt
drifted farther, farther still —
until only the groans
of withered grass remained.

The moon, pale and ravenous,
devoured every ember of warmth,
and night,
black and intimate,
caressed my spine like death’s quiet hand…

I was calm —
calmer than I have ever been,
like the pulse
of the already-dead.

In vain I turned again and again
to lick the bitterness
from every grain of this earth —
each one once soaked
in the sweet sweat of youth.

And her scent, receding,
took with it
my last ray
of sunlight.
Inspired by Su ****’s line: “What is not to be had in haste, may yet echo on the grieving wind.”This is the final music of a love that could never be held — a cry scattered in the dust, a heartbeat fading into the barren wind.To the one who walked on, and the silence she left behind
I get us each one more scoop of ice cream.
You’re full but try to eat it anyway.

It’s things like this I’ll miss,
you shoveling in food simply because
it’s the last thing we’ll eat together.

As I’m shutting the car door,
my mind screams for me to stop.

I scoop out the thought and leave it on the pavement—
along with my fears that you won’t come back.

All I can do now is trust that God will protect you,
as my heart is scooped, clean out of my chest.
Another poem about my best friend, 2 years will fly by... right?
Zywa Jul 9
We tore our misunderstanding
in two abrasive stories

...... flakes of sour air

kept our own half
just like Saint Martin
but the other way around

...... between us: the shredder

we just took our right with us
it was so much work to do it away

...... up to three pieces at a time

rather we armed ourselves
under the skin, the gloss
shone through it

...... do not touch me
Collection "Moons"
Soul Jun 26
"Farewell, my friend,"
said I, for my notions,
were as bold as they
kept grooving in
the deep mist.

"Farewell, my friend,"
said I, for I thought
your intentions were
leading into
the deep trench.

"Farewell, my friend,"
said I, for my confusion
of your devastating words
drove me through
the deep chasm.

"Farewell, my friend,"
said I, for we shall
meet again in time,
but for now, trust me—
until then,

"Farewell, my friend!"
Sometimes, we all do fall into wrong paths when our hearts and minds get tangled up. But it's  neither wrong or right, it's just that, nothing abnormal. But, the decision we take, with a kind thought in patience, is what that matter the most...
Cadmus Jun 5
🚪

Tell those latecomers,
they are too late.

No longer welcome.

The longing that once burned for them,
now sleeps in ashes they cannot revive.

Even beauty,
once able to undo me,
now passes by,
unseen,
untouched.

For what fails to arrive when it’s needed,
doesn’t arrive at all.

Excessive waiting takes its toll,
and the loss is permanent.

⌛️
Some doors don’t slam… they simply stop opening.
Beneath the metro’s twilight hum,
I stood where all the strangers come.
My voice was low, my fingers tight
Around a phone that lit the night.

She spoke — the girl I’d never met,
Whose voice had warmed each day we’d yet
To bridge the miles from screen to skin,
A year apart, but close within.

A village boy from Bengal's rain,
I came by train, through fear and strain.
She hailed from cities far and wide,
A nurse, on duty, time denied.

But just today, for half an hour,
She’d slip from work’s unyielding tower,
And meet me by this concrete gate,
Where pulse and platform danced with fate.

“Gate Four,” I said. “I’m here. Waiting.”
She whispered back, “I see you. Wait.”
My eyes spun fast through faces blurred,
My chest beat loud with love unheard.

Then there she stood — not far, but near,
In steps that wiped away the year.
I thought, “She’s tall.” My throat went dry.
But closer now — we matched in eye.

She didn’t speak — just took my hand,
And led me through this foreign land.
Across the road, beneath the sky,
Our silence hummed a soft reply.

She bought me food — a chicken thigh.
(Though she eats none. I wondered why.)
We sat, she watched, I tried to speak —
But time was short and words were weak.

“I have to go,” she said at last.
And just like that, the moment passed.
No kiss, no vow, no sweeping song —
Just fingers held a moment long.

She turned and walked back to the light,
A nurse again in white and night.
And I — I rode the metro home,
Still feeling less alone, alone.

That evening, after duties done,
We typed the things we’d left unsung.
And somewhere in that crowded thread,
She softly said, “You held my hand.”

The clock moved on. The dreams, they stayed.
A new day dawned, but I replayed
That half an hour — a fleeting grace
When time stood still, and I saw her face.

- THE END -

© 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh.
All rights reserved.
This poem is about me meeting my lover after a year of our online romance - just half an hour, one held hand, and no words wasted.
ash May 13
dearly beloved,
we are gathered here today
to celebrate the memorial
of those who we were
at one point in time,
those we became
as the world continued to chime,
and those we shall be
when the clocks stop ticking—
like the tune of that one track
in your head
that just doesn't seem to stop hitting.

we are settled here today
to welcome the peace we've desired,
the love we've forgotten,
and the happy akin to the sunshine
on flowers surrounding our graves.

we will succumb to the fire and air
as we're provided with,
based on our actions and tribulations,
we're pardoned with.

tangle of bones in the dust,
holding engravings
of those who marked each other—
the soulmates and the friends alike.
none can ever witness it,
but in the pale moonlight.

"and i shall stay with you,
holding hands, keeping close,
when the angels in front of us
sing a rhyme
that presents before us
the days we barely awaited
all this time.

since we met,
knowing we were to separate,
i shall hold you every time,
in each moment,
even if it is to berate.

no matter if it's the end—
if that's what it means
to live by, 'till death do us part'.
i shall do it again and again,
this destiny or the afterlife,
reckoning in all its might,
will do it again,
with all my heart,
even if you were to leave me & depart."
That day…
when time paused mid-breath,
nd fate unscrolled its ancient scroll
you walked past me like a verse I was yet to read,
unknowingly planting roots in soil I’d long left barren.

That day…
our eyes crossed paths like rivers recognizing each other
from lifetimes ago…. no lightning, no thunder,
just a silence that echoed louder than any hello.

That day…
you spoke… not much, but enough to stir
a forgotten song inside me.
Your voice was not new; it was remembered.
Like da temple bell’s chime at dawn,
it felt like home I never knew I missed.

That day…
we laughed, hesitantly, like rain meeting parched land.
nd I, a skeptic of this syllabus called destiny,
surrendered to a chapter I didn’t plan to write.

That day…
you called me for da first time,
and I pretended it was casual !!!
but my heartbeat betrayed da script...
It raced like Krishna's chariot on Kurukshetra’s edge,
knowing a war of emotions had already begun!!!

That day…
your texts felt like mantras… small, sacred,
capable of silencing storms.
Who knew pixels on a screen
could feel warmer than touch?

That day…
we became friends - no,
we remembered that we were friends,
from some forgotten yuga
when Draupadi wept nd Krishna bled,
nd promises were not spoken
but soul-carved.

That day…
we fought. Words became arrows.
Eyes turned away,
nd my world… dimmed.
But like da Ganga always finds her way,
so did we - back to each other.
Bcz what’s meant,
was never meant to break.

That day…
we realized this bond isn’t made of time.
It is carved in cosmic dust,
where gods whisper tales of pairs like us
not just friends in common language,
but saanjhe rooh ke safar-saathi.

That day…
you held space for me.
Without touching, you touched.
Without asking, you knew.
Without promises, you stayed.

And today…
as college gates threaten closure,
nd corridors echo with last bell rings,
I do not mourn da ending
for how can one grieve a story
that never needed a beginning?

We….
are not a just campus tale.
We are da hidden verse
between Krishna’s flute nd Draupadi’s silence.
We are not goodbye.
We are always.

So, let da walls fade,
let da uniforms fold,
let routines dissolve
but us,
don’t you dare call this an ending.

Bcz no matter da cities,
no matter da silence,
some friendships are written
in Vedic ink nd starlight,
meant to outlive calendars
and remain…
Eternal,
Unclicked,
But never unloved.
                                        By: - Kanishk
Death, death, Oh! Old Death
Old death makes everybody dry and sad
Death even makes kings who are grumpy and mad
Absolutely powerless, helpless and useless
Death makes us mute, motionless, lifeless and deaf
In the darkest, hottest part of the crater
And deep within the brightest cell or cache of the chamber
Where too much light
Blinds the retinas and this is never right
Death makes everybody lifeless, powerless and useless
Death, death! Nobody can get used to you
Death, death! You are a fool too
For stealing life which is vitally precious
Death, death! You are backward and too ambitious
Nobody can get used to your ways
Because you make us part ways
Old death! You never show compassion and pity
You are wicked, greedy, sick and crazy
Old death, will you leave us alone?
Please use a different style and tone
Death, death, Oh! Old Death
Old death, you make everybody weak and mad
Old death, you make us worthless, lifeless and sad
Death, death, old death, please go away
Go, go away, please go, go find your way.

Copyright © April 25, 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
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