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Abi Winder Aug 31
anger has always been a strand in my DNA.
i inherited this from my father.

it lives buried deep in my chest.
i feel it slightly when i breathe.

a constant throb,
a pit, inside my lungs.

i feel this rage so deeply,
i am used to its presence.

i do not know what it would be like to live without it.
to breathe without it.
Arturo Aug 30
I broke.

I once wanted one.
A dad.
A true father.
To his heart,
to his wife,
and his family.
What I got was another.

Swallowed by suffering,
his silence
suffocating a dream.
His?
Mine?

Lost and adrift
and slowly
buried
by his past.

Now father.
Dad.
I alone have to stand.
For my youth
long since passed.
Stand for my kids, my wife,
and yearning
for the heart, the Soul
of my Self.

For the boy who’s walked alone,
who still lives with me.
So that the pain can rise,
Can breach the surface
and let loose
the storm
for a sweet burial song.
  
All this
so he can once again
Remember
what love is.
Fiona Aug 18
today marks
day 903

903 days
since you’ve left.

the first day I met you
I was tiny, barely a
fragment in this universe.
You held me
and shouted,
“She has my eyes!”

days collected together
just like a dusty library.
the memories we had together
are now ink, written and
unwritten.

how can I fit
8,035 days of admiring
your soul
learning your ways
into 78,083 pages?

yet I hope
that I got it right.
the way your heart
adored the small creatures
that purred
and deferred
your pain.

the way you
radiated joy
every time
you heard thunder
echo in the distance,
lightning splitting the sky.

the way you
carried the 10 of Wands
for days upon years
and released
finally…
this lifetime.

here I hope
that one day,
all of our days
will be held
in the hands of those
that were made
from the same
stars as us.
Grief is eternal. But so is love.
Abi Winder Aug 16
i'll never escape it.

the redness of his blood
the eyes that stare back at me in the mirror.

i still bleed the same as him,
still write with his pen,
i am still his daughter,

despite trying so hard not to be.
Hannah Aug 15
Ode to The Source of my Life

A hundred thousand
Words of nothing

But light

Lingering, drifting
Across ocean fields
From you to me
Me to you

And space

In which I can never be lost
As my ears
Learn to hear
And my eyes learn to see
What my body feels
While my heart keeps the rhythm
In silence

Listening

So I might become
A summer day 
Long and full of fragrance
Of gardenia
And the flight of dandelion seeds
Blown from my head 
With the wonder of a child

This poem
A prayer
Lives here
Forever for you
My dear daddy
Rest in peace
father's day
Zywa Aug 15
Father still conjures

up gilded vistas for me --


with his old letter.
Autobiographical account "De harde kern" - 2 ("The *******" - 2, 1993, Frida Vogels), letter from 1938 (Laren)

Collection "Trench Walking"
Àŧùl Aug 14
How long will you stay uninterested?
In this relationship like me, even you have invested.

My idea of intimacy is based on my lifelong emptiness.
Have you too felt the pangs of loneliness?

How long have I been lonely in this world?
Well, essentially since my lonely & difficult childhood.

And now you might ask me another counter question.
If I had my parents along, why this notion?

Now, tell me, is having parents sufficient?
Surely, we need siblings, friends, and a joint family.

Grandparents help you endure the pangs of loneliness.
Dear, have you ever been directionless?

I grew up without their guidance,
All I had were my busy parents.

How can you judge me based on your experiences?
Come to my world, but take your time to assess.

You say that you chose me as you hope maturity,
But now you know that I'm impulsive like you.

I rhyme a lot,
I whine a little.

I write a lot,
I speak a little.

Allegorical reiteration of my story,
It keeps happening, I keep repeating.

Either you like me,
Or maybe my life.

Or maybe you don't,
Either way you're mine.

Time will bring us close,
Like you say, like you say.

Time will teach you how to love,
Like I express myself, so will you.

Yes, so will you,
Dead sure, so will you.

No, you won't be scared,
For my soul is more scarred.

Than my imperfect body,
My mind is more beautiful.

From my jobs,
I earn money and reputation.

I audit the Railways,
Working for the Government.

Comptroller & Auditor General of India,
My employer.

Indian Railways, the North Eastern Railway HQ,
My paymaster.

While we audit their expenditures,
They even make our paychecks.

I invest in the money market,
And even in the Providence.

But I have reached where nobody speculated,
No, not even I could speculate this.

While I knew that I must succeed,
Even my mother was unsure.

Nobody else knew this for sure,
Well, nobody, nobody except for my father.

Whilst I prepared for the exam,
My mother provided food so nutritious.

Only my father had faith in my potential,
He laughed away all the speculations.

They suggested weird, insulting alternatives,
Sadists the people are oftentimes.

I thank my parents for bringing me here,
And it was my father who gave me the power.

He remained calm throughout,
And his oceanic calm is contagious.

My mother did convey the speculations,
But my father invested his hopes.

Although there is no need to reiterate,
Hope is the most powerful of all the words.

I'm on a train right now,
You might meet me soon.
My HP Poem #1975
©Atul Kaushal
Ryan R Latini Aug 11
I feared the wind and I feared him. He bought me a kite. Now, I love them both.
Zywa Aug 10
Yet this anecdote

about father says little --


about who he is.
"Diary 1958-1959" (2006, Frida Vogels), Oktober 11th, 1959 in Amsterdam

Collection "Trench Walking"
Ylzm Aug 8
When you know it's not you
Then you’ve known another

But is it friend or foe
For you or against you

Your saviour or jailer
Your master or helper

It may oppose but it's not enemy
It rather flatters for pride leads to fall

Perhaps it's neither for you nor your foes
But for itself as it befits its own

If asked it will say it is what it is
And what another may say I don't know
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