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Purple flower—
lonesome afterimage;
a fighter with a purple eye.
Black valley—
a sheath of dark attar
under the fullest moon. I find so beautiful
in it’s darkening as my spirit’s rind.
Extruded by a forceful wind call,—
hoping to run into that, solely being innocence.
But is it black; liken to a colour that seems so
unclean? Washing bare hands twice; but I can’t wash what I am.

A dark masterpiece,—pretty as many flowers I am,
I am this dark flower. I shine brightest in the dark.
Ivy Chakma Jun 20
I feel like a flower that blooms with every lover that looks into my eyes;

But then the fear the engulfs me is that I will die as the season ends.
Eloisa Jun 16
Like Japanese iris,
she shines with raindrops in the sun.
A blossoming grace in silence.
A new butterfly in flight.
I S A A C Jun 9
cocktail of pills
flutes of smoke
run away baby let's just go
on a journey, earning our stripes
on a journey, to be us in spite
of all of the backlash, never returning to the past
the fruitful future is sweeter than the blooming flowers
stay with me please, just an hour
serotonin pumping, my heart jumping
out of my chest, kiss you on your neck
run away baby
run away again
into the green, grounded like trees
our roots intertwine, your soul is divine
run away baby
run away with your every time
Shofi Ahmed Jun 6
True, the sugar tops
sweeten everyone's mouth.
Hold onto the salt though
let's not lose out.

Pinches of sea salt
    dancing smash hit
deep down the sea floor
   ace extracting ice cores,
boom, the clouds form high,
show the upside is sky!
    
Jubilant cumulus pop
only crystal clear vibes 
let the wind see through
that sings the rhymes.

Oops, it's not always a blue sky
wispy white clouds turn dark.
The storm soars the larks fly low
busy men down the trees
seek refugee for a mo.

Sticking my head under a roof
pondering me find a room.
Is this 'smash hit high sail
of the clouds rising from deep core,
all is gone in a blink of a storm'.

Not far in the sky
nor deep down the sea.
I see a raindrop on a shining
flower before me.
Something more to tell
very closely!
I was reading Seamus Heaney's The Death of a Naturalist poem lately. Few daws later I wrote this poem.
N Jun 9
My heart started shrieking when she said love could not save us. “How else can you explain this?” I protested as I pulled my bleeding heart out of my hollow chest. “This old thing swears to be yours, and yours only” I said with a lump in my throat. “Here is my heart, it is fragile. Break it anyway, if you must.” I cried.

The flowers she picked for me still haunt me. “How cruel of her. To **** a blooming flower for a lover she soon will ****, softly” I thought, but my dancing heart did not agree with me. “Yield” Pleaded my heart. “Yield! Surender yourself to her”. And so I did.
Mark Wanless May 18
tiger scent with
rustle of dry leaves
on the path   a flower
Do not
pity the
flower
that has
died, it
will bloom
once more,  
as an
ephemeral
moment
in life you
held dearly,
unaware of
how it
always
returned.
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