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Owl screaming in the night
Bears looking for a fight
At the end of the path
Near the lake, a cottage

There I will rest
Healing my feet
In the chimney
Fire burning bright

When morning comes
With no danger in sight
Then, I will carry on
Building my own freedom
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 50

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

Wisely allow my gentle soul to flow,
Like a flowy river in the lush forest,
Peacefully allow to flow until;
It fulfils his divine destiny!

It may flow gently through,
Several terrible curves or It may;
Subtly shift several desired directions.

Some day roughs, sometime smooth,
Peacefully allow him to flow until;
It fulfils his divine destiny!

Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem

Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
Thomas EG Feb 9
I'd always been a little bearcub
Feeling my paws crunch the twigs and mulsh of the forest floor
Seasons are changing, though
I'm finally standing up on my hind legs
Raising my hands high, speaking up for the first time
Hoping that maybe you can hear me now
Letting my growls grow, my echo, rumbling through the trees
Feeling the breeze in my hair
Knowing that I am home
~Finally started my medical transition and my voice is starting to drop~
Cody Cooke Feb 8
In the Kisatchie ocean of pine and oak that shimmers evergreen in the wind, there’s a tree that all the life knows. This tree is a sun in the forest, life in the branches veining up and out to the bright blue. Its throat pillars a canopy above that glistens with beads of sunlight, gold strings that drip down to the earth where pine needles and twigs and leaves and cones come to stitch a wild tapestry of green, teeming dirt, warm browns, colors that smell like soil and clean air. All breathing within and around this tree. Animals of every nation and shrub pass by it—skitter up and about it. Nothing claims it, and it claims nothing. It is as much as all is; a testament to the only Truth: the constant of growth and life. If it only had eyes, it would be witness to a story that never ends, a story of the truest symbols under Moon and Sun, of the turmoil between rainbow and storm, of the purest music that sings from apricot dawn to fire-golden dusk.
in medias res—Tiny things in neon yellow hats and vests arrive, riding larger, mechanical mud-yellow beasts. They stomp over the late summer tapestry on their way Forward, wherever that is? The yellow beasts’ black smoke billows up above the green, suffocating the throats of trees that lived like they held up the heavens. One by one the tiny things mark then behead and uproot and dismember and skin and haul the forest congregation as cargo into trucks, and the trucks plow down the young shrubs in their Way, whatever that is? One tree, however, is too stubborn for the tiny things’ grunts; despite the will of machines, it won’t be usurped and will not fall. So, it stays, and the concrete serpent that comes next just slithers around it. A smooth and efficient scar made from the same stuff as tombstones is carved in to Kisatchie, painted the color of tar with yellow and white lines going along it. The animals know to stay away from it, although sometimes a fawn or some squirrels who know no better will stumble up to it, instantly frightened away when a metal creature with glowing eyes from faraway comes roaring towards them. Sometimes one of those metal things will growl to a stop on soft black feet, and a tiny thing without a neon hat will step out of it and walk up behind the tree that wouldn’t fall and **** on it. Relieved, it scurries back into the thing it came out of and continues on its Way, wherever that is?
Esmé Jan 31
In my thoughts there is a forest so green,
It gives life to many little things. When
the sun rises within my own mind, we sit
and chatter with no end in sight. We talk about our dreams and what it means to be alive.
She spoke softly and said “with time, you too, will rise.” Gracefully my thoughts disappear, my eyes lift as I take in the air. I feel a kiss
of the morning light against my cheek.
I whisper to her, “it’s so nice to meet.” In
that moment I finally feel alive, here I stand. I, too, did rise.
rgz Jan 30
seemed like an easy road to go down
but the trees have all regrown now
it's getting narrow, growing dark
I need to stop but I can't slow down
there's nowhere left to turn round
and I can barely hear the sound
of my own voice
through all this noise
the walls are closing in
s u r r o u n d i n g
my blood is pounding
demons are hounding
stalking through the dark
i'm feeling around in
not the kind of place
you want to be found in
but it seemed like
such an easy road
I had to go down it
about like drugs
or like
or like
Sarah Jan 29
your trees grew through the depths of my soul.
your green leaves filled me with hope of new beginnings.
your bodies of water flowed through my veins.
your paths led me to new friends and long conversations.

your abundance is barren.
your trees look foreign and eerie.
your leaves are stripped of color.
your bodies of water are concealed by your icy mask.
your paths are winding with no direction.
ghosts with unfamiliar faces haunt me.
i hate change
M-E Jan 26
The wanderer's memoir 05: Reading The Madman

      You asked me on dreams:

      Wandering in the landscape of my sleep
Seeking for the meaning in oak trees
Leaves strummed a strangely soothing rustles
And twigs snapped at me, under my feet; My apologies
Too late. It fell in an irreversible, absolute silence.

      A pure, verboten green lands
Hovering in the everlasting stillness
A book in my hands, folding time in an oblivious state
Under the gentleness of a shadowing tree
Holding me under its arborescent wings
Nature sheltered me in it's nest as towhee's offsprings
And The rays-the fine golden strings-
Perched on my genuineness as a kiss on my maskless face

      I kneeled for the shining blanket in the obscure mattress
Before it went away with the grass
Flickering between autumns and springs.
Inspired by:

A beautiful scenery of pine trees forest that I replaced with oak trees.

Gibran Khalil Gibran - The Madman
Andrew Jan 20
Thorns in my eyes
I’m born among flies
In a shrouded surprise
Of a forest of lies
Where the trees block out the sun
Eternal night is lit by the gun
I have no time to be stunned
I must run

I tried to sunbathe
But gun spray
Led one way
To my brain
Becoming insane
In pain

I was indeed roused
From my treehouse
Once their breed browsed
My need for clouds
A lumberjack
Plunder attack
Sunder stacked
My world to black

I tried to go hiking
But met a Viking
Constantly striking
To his liking
I wear sleeves of leaves
And greaves of weeds
That don’t impede
What makes me bleed

I cannot track
All the attacks
And trajectory of flak
Hitting my back
So I hide in a hollow log
In a disgusting bog
From bloodlust dogs
Who are simple cogs

The cunning demons
Lurk in tree limbs
And breed sin
To feed in
Through the canopy
Of their insanity
I cannot see
Any humanity

The porous forest
Wild horses
Onto mild courses
For they can’t see the forest through the trees
And what they do see is from their knees
As they beg and plead
The gods of greed
Who have them treed

The evil tree branches
Summon an enchantress
Who can incant this
Closed fist
I use as a machete
To cut down the petty
Like they’re light confetti
For a fight I’m ready
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