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Jason Drury Oct 2018
Bird on the wire,
your soul connected.
Your flock is close,
but far enough.
The distance you keep,
protects from societal envy.
You sit on the wire,
the highest one.
You sit tall,
far from judgement,
far from the road, the path
all others take.
Bird on the wire,
you see what's coming.
Not the future, no,
but patterns of intellect,
like a jigsaw of events.
Bird on the wire,
you're alone.
An outcast beyond,
the flock.
Adrian Sep 2018
He realizes the blackened lines with current sublimity
Enlightened in the chirping of minds.
The natural trembling feathery height of the summit.
In its shadow, she cries ever so shimmering sapphires.
The indifferent maniac presence of the flock.
Its silk ostentation binds their presence.
The softly padded cages of the birdcage minds.
Harnessed in the mystifying chamber of the skull.
The indifferent sorrow.
What I been working on with the idea of the pressure of society on women, as women are imagined as birds.
Elkhan Asgarov Aug 2018
Little shepherd, little shepherd,
Where's  your flock, where's  your herd?
Have you lost them in the fog?
Where's, shepherd, your watchful dog?
- Up there far, faaar away,
On that lane where horses neigh.
Keep on walking a little more,
Take no notice of a bear's roar.
Do not rush now, take it slow,
Before you reach the meadow.
You will see a stocky dog,
That guards my grazing flock.
To a little shepherd boy from Oghuz region of Azerbaijan
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2018
I
Didn't I walk past ‘cause the
crowds were mushrooming
around the Hajre Aswad.*
As like the rose, it comes
with thorns on the stem.
The most significant stone sits
pulling the biggest crowds.
It makes sense, it rhymes.

A twilight isn't a harsh cut
at the end of a summer day
when it paves the way
for the waxing moon.
No cut is a cut on the way
to the desired noon!

I too thought while the flock
before me was bumping on
the way to the desired one
Let's not me be a disturbing one.
So for then did I walk past
the Hajre Aswad!

II
Are you, are you 360-degrees
on the way to the beloved?
Maybe it’s not you who sway
losing the most at first in this way!

Should you then change your mind
and really do a u-turn
even jump in the water.
Already a lost one you are.
Too little a size you are:
for Jonah's whale just a bite!

Punters swept the way ahead
I too didn’t do a U-turn.
Squeezed, I get caught in the crowd.
In the flow rolling fast and by chance
I kissed the Hajre Aswad.



II
Didn't I reach out to the sky
We know there is no colour
The rainbow is far from the touch.
I just chanced to click a link
that lets you keep on browsing.

There was no colour,
just black: the Hajre Aswad.

Is the black only black though?
Pierce through the black,
the moon gardens
amid the starry honeycombs.
The whole world has seen
blooms only on the
nocturnal black screen!

But did you see at this end
what a sheer beauty prevails
off this black veil?
Hajre Aswad, o my God!
Could it sample? Is there a rose?

IV
Should I ask the rose
that shines the colour of the day?
I can feel it whispers:
Tap into my fragrance
if you can, one might dip in
but I am yet to touch a skin!

The rose whispers:
Below or above, in or out
into a space sooty indeed.
Maths or programming
call it whatever you think.
A colossal solar disk
doesn’t swallow it.

No altitude or latitude here.
You won't see a line
let alone an intersection
on the heart of the matters
the fresco Hajre Aswad!

V
Where do I begin?
How do I give a demo of this, o my God!
How it didn’t need a eye to see.

I didn’t pop into a rosy garden.
It was night and dark indeed.
This a colourless magic
pierces through my lips.
And tints in the heart
what a firework!

Now be it a most spectacular duo
the rose and lapis-lazuli-blue nymph
under the same cloud.
Frankly, it doesn’t matter.
To me now, no colour is a colour!
Since it snuck the light
This on cloud nine
Hajre Aswad the black stone thriller!

VI
I am unable to draw down
is a dwarf under the moon.
Since kind you looked
behind and with your toe
no star saw it, it was worn
like the starless night's swarthy sock.
You opened the door a little
upon the earth at it’s core!

Allah willing, one fine moment,
this eclipse will conk out.
There will be no dark mole
at the night’s core anymore.
The moon and the sun be one persona
basking into your bursting chroma!

The sun will go off the screen
That day it won’t have a rule.
It will be cool swimming in your pool!
Then the voice mine, can’t be swallowed
by the Jonah’s whale no more, no more!
Hajre Aswad: The Black stone in Makkah.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
Eyeing on the night - its out.
Mirroring the colour of the Moon
every star flocks in the sky!

Just spare an eye - maybe the
missing sun keeping an eye out!
For it only fancies the billowy
sea in the black night.
Wyatt May 2018
Ripping the sense from my self
while sipping our poisoned supply.
A pretend utopia which borders hell,
we've damaged our comprehension.
Waking up to another tabloid,
your kings I cannot come to avoid.
Pushed in my face, eating out agendas.
Heartless charisma surround us all.

Laughter at the viral,
controlled by the dial tone.
Dreams we have to be the same,
but our intricacies state otherwise.
Molding the minds of a generation,
vassals who serve you well
for however long you have left
on this long-forsaken planet.
The wrinkles on your bodies
signify centuries of wealth
taking advantage of weakness
before it all starts to melt.
It happens easier now
for our voices flock to the net,
planning the next way we can
**** this world's livelihoods dry.

Cold, dead, empty.
I see it in your eyes.
There is no way out of
this finite simulation.
I can taste sinister intentions.
K Balachandran Feb 2018
a fast moving cloud,
soon becomes a flock of birds;
migrants in frenzy!
Äŧül Jul 2017
The Thames river froze that year,
Ênglish sheep husbandry I tell ya,
The Thirty Years' War continued,
Epic losses to sheep & men alike.

À cataclysmic year for many.

Testing year for **** sapiens,
Ênchanted were the scavengers,
True bounty for dogs & vultures,
Europe almost killed its cultures.
A tête à tête with history.

But human beings are hardy organisms.
They have always recovered from worse.
Most English sheep succumbed to winter that year.

Out of a flock of 20,000 sheep only 35 were left in England that year.

The 30 Years' War (1618 to 1648) that had killed 8 million people overall, had killed many people due to their injuries and the merciless cold.

A retrospective poem reminding the ability of humanity to preserve all life.

The English people had regained much of their sheep flock soon in the 5 years that followed.

My HP Poem #1620
©Atul Kaushal
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