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Thanu 12h
I painted his nails hot pink,
called it a joke,
but we both held on
too long.

He hummed my favorite song,
two notes behind,
like catching up
was close enough.

He carried me upstairs once —
said I was light.
I believed him.

The polish chipped.
We didn’t.

Now,
he’s a voice
I scroll past,

and somewhere,
a pair of chipped pink nails
he never scrubbed off
it was OPI polish, long lasting, but somehow didnt last enough.
You crafted a shrine for me,

adorned me with wings,

elevated and sacred, untouched by your secrets.

Your last chance at redemption,

a sanctuary where you hid from yourself.

Your perfect lie—

an illusion of salvation.

Once shattered, your adoration

twisted into disdain.

The hand that shaped my wings,

became the force that broke them.

And now, you watch me fall

from the heights you once placed me upon.


Yet I release you, I forgive you,

Love, a quiet thread that ties us still,

A spark woven into the fabric of time,

Never truly gone, but transformed,

gently fading

into the glow of what we were.

I return sometimes to those moments,

not with longing, but with reverence—

like that stolen kiss—

unexpected, breathless,

the words "I love you" spilling from me,

uncontainable, truthful,

your arms, holding me,

an electric hum between us.



This is how I'll hold us—

in the warmth of what we were,

not in the sorrow that followed.

When you remember me,

let it be the quiet depth of my love that remains,

the warmth of my hand resting softly on your

cheek,

the steady, unwavering gaze that held you,

unchanged by time.

Let that be what stays with you—

not the deafening silence that followed,

not the weight of what we lost,

but the light that we held, even just for a moment,

so close to perfect but fragile.

Not perfect enough.
Oh how we love the ones who can teach us both heaven and hell…
it’s your birthday.
once, I swore I’d never forget —
yet, it just appeared on my feed,
when it used to linger
quietly in my head.

you have a family, children, a wife.
time ran off, and left no trace —
am I allowed to wonder at your life?

those strolls under the moonlight,
the midnight dates –
it’s now her looking at the sky
as the stars cascade.

your memory rests where it used to burn —
quiet, soft, asking no return.
June 23, 2024. 'születésnapodra' translation
For David.
First love,

These words, unspoken and raw,

years pass, yet your shadow lingers,

etched into the sound of a worn vinyl record.

There is a place in our minds,

Where it plays in your living room,

Endlessly, since the night we fell.

I recall the verse of the song you played,

a fragile confession of why you are broken,

while you kept parts of yourself hidden,

guarding a truth that’s too painful to own.

That sacred moment,

a scar that whispers secrets,

too brittle to survive.



Now I wander through hallways of our past,

your green eyes,

piercing the hollow spaces of memory,

haunting me with the weight of what was lost.

The bitter burn of whiskey,

the residue of regret,

these remain,

reminders of the words you never spoke,

the ones I needed to heal.
My longest poem broken down scene by scene. Sketches for my sweetheart the drunk.
gn Jun 19
We shattered.

Not with screams
just silence.
Not by luck
just choice.

One that was everything,
But my own

Pieces everywhere,
Sharp edges I didn’t know how to hold.

I reach for something whole,
But all that’s left is fracture

Not even anger
just empty

Longing for what was

A space where we used to be.

That’s the hardest part,
Knowing it’s over.

But not feeling
as though it’s

done
This is the first time after 4 months I’ve been able to express how I feel and it’s really drawn me into poetry.
It still hurts.
Your memory’s radioactive.
It’s no use thinking about
how much I lost
as the script of my life kept rolling.

You caught me as I fell,
I was searching for a way out,
and found you instead.
But reaching for you
only pulled me deeper down.

Looking back is hard.
Toxic dust I breathed in,
a chemical romance
that burned through my lungs,
your atmosphere seeping into everything.

Maybe fate turned kinder
the moment I left.
what I might have become
is folded quiet, neatly kept.

But it still stings.
Not the loss—the time I can’t reclaim.
You weren’t a lesson.
You were a delay.

So take the version of me
you once believed.
I won’t ask fate for mercy,
nor beg time to rewind.
I’m done with your ghosts
that never tried.
June 17, 2025 – 'Még mindig bánt' translation
For Nono.
The last Poet Jun 16
I chose to be my first love
My last love
My everlasting love

I chose to love me first
Before you do too
Chose self love and love will always find you
The neem tree leaned,
its shadow folding over my sandals.
I waited by the roadside,
a bag of sweets
growing warm in my hand.

The call to prayer
had ended.
A boy passed, dragging a kite string.

She came.
Dust on her dupatta.
No earrings.
Eyes like the river after rain.

I didn’t speak at first.
A goat kicked at a plastic bucket.
A car horn blinked through the silence.

Then,
three words —
small as mustard seeds
spilled into the wind.

She nodded.
A bird shifted in the eaves.
Nothing else moved.

That evening,
even my shadow
walked beside me
without sound.

- THE END -

© 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh.
All rights reserved.
A poem about stillness, unsaid love, and how even silence can nod back.
Gabbro May 12
Love and passion are often confused–
I began with something real.
Love and passion don’t walk side by side, love
tears down walls with a hurricane of butterfly wings

and passion walks easily through the rubble.
I don’t believe in the thrill of the chase, the
opposites attract, or the love that's formed
between two people lost together at sea. Fake.

I’ve experienced 100 exciting-stressful things
but I’ve only experienced 1 you. And they have not
felt the same. The night we met in front of canes
I had lied to my father, and my mother, to see you.

I hated the thrill of the lie, driving with you high,
off devices I couldn't name, I hated that.
But we kept going and chatting, I ignored a stop sign
Sure that I would get pulled over, knuckles red-white,

But you spoke sweetly, said it was ok, I think we knew
that I was colorblind to red when it came to you, and you
smiled when I called with my friends, and you looked so pretty
in the streetlights, and we talked like it was easy. I loved that.

One fish asks another, How’s the water today? The second replies,
What is love? It’s okay if it doesn’t make sense to you—
it makes sense to me, like the way I needed you
before I even knew your name. and honestly

It feels like I met you twice, on the luckiest day of the year, and
the luckiest day of my life, and again in a Kalhert parking lot.
Disappointedly sober, so we crawled into each other unprotected,
And shared songs like pieces of ourselves.  I met you there.

To have learned love from you, I am eternally grateful
that I will never have to feel love turn to hate, or feel
the sting of betrayal, because we weren’t perfect together
but you were perfect with me, and you handled my heart gently

I Think how wonderful it is that I have loved you, because you have
given me love in the buildings and in the trees, and countless things
that bring me back to the thought of you, and I will love to take my walks
and hear your smile, in the way the wind blows through the reeds, of our preservation
Lynn May 11
I love you too the moon and back
Which is every pump of my heart
Every pulse on my neck
All the blood in my body
Every single individual red blood cell
He said

I love you
You and only you
The beats of my heart are yours
Every pulse of my wrist
Every millisecond
Every Nanobeat of my life is yours
Yours and only yours
I said
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