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When I share two or three days of the week to compose poetry I find myself on the
exam session when severe merciless teachers ask us to write about “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard!”
Elegies mostly are unprepared and never find time to turn to the appropriate types!
They ask me on and on...and I ask them in the consulting area that how can we turn my blossomy song to elegies unwritten about the parish of those people, long time ago had been lost exactly on the exam time?
How could you expect me to turn my naïve feeling to one of the catastrophic ones?
>
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time is over
time is up
time is running
time flies
>
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>
Teachers shout, “ HURRY UP” when will they shut up?
  I usually haunt by the bundle of words and circled with tumults of ideas as shining and variable as stars that like the savage river rush out to make me drowned. Very rarely I could find a way to breathe out. Elegies swirling randomly again and again to pose the question about whom shall we very soon defined, Mum?  
>...O darlings...<
…motionless corpse, wandering ghost, dead people around,
>.. not stars..<
>...O… no..<  
Is there anybody nowadays to think about the “Country Churchyard” and elegies very appropriate to them at all, what a destiny! what a force! while a long time ago they were bestowed to the grand history of all mankind.
O…no…
Poor elegies remain unborn and sad in my thought…not forever…
they laugh…and laugh…I can hear them, time is over and I’m a failure.
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The blank sheet is going to be filled by songs wearing the long red robe of emotional loves or ****…they are tired of black mourning cloth of demise!
they laugh
and
laugh and
laugh
since
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I 'm a murderer…tapping with dirk ….or strangling with a heavy rope of my heart….bloodshed everywhere: drops from my fingers to the height.  shout, scream and cry, they were innocent,  don' t want to die.  I can hear them.
>
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They are killed not to stay further in a cemetery of churchyard but to be born with a new style, either failure or corrupt…
"Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" is a poem by Thomas Gray, completed in 1750 and first published in 1751
when I saw you for the first time you were a dove on the branches shuddering with the sudden breath of sprite as white as pure snowballs
and………………………………………………………………………I
................................­.................................................................­!
days after visiting you reminding me a nightingale on the same branches singing glamorously although  comprehensible on some occasions and not very tangible on other times: hovering you upon the sky, upon the roof  was enchanting somehow
and......................................................­........................................................I
.......­.................................................................­....................!
later on, a tornado encapsulated the flight of a swallow in habit of severe immigration from the land uneasy to far and far while seeing the branches empty and songs silent tortuous the sight
and.............................................................­.................................................I
..............­.................................................................­...............!
years past and considering those days make me to reproach myself  that how wrong I was. only a butterfly sat on our written scriptures for a while never promise to stay a bit longer. Born  by spring will be die in winter night,
and.............................................................­...............................................I
................­.................................................................­.............?
when the  rivers green early in the morning of obscure season fountain up to weave the clouds blue, and the roses rouge give the arrayed passengers solemn hello, mild adores from Narcissus and lilacs make wild grass rhythmically flew,
when sun spatter gold ness to heart of people coming through
and  humid on petals remnant from past night rain shrewd  
to  make the robust mountain shine under occasion to give the blinking eyes clue
I will let myself to think upon you.
considering our doings during years like ghost forlorn comes and go
while it is neither spring nor summer day that smooth breeze opening the door to bid the winter’s storm out…out…
memories long, long… breaks out by strong typhoon, so…
I would be persuaded to assess:  my hard-hearted angle, on some occasions, maybe it is possible to forgive you!
Ceyhun Mahi Jan 10
The reason why the luminous moon glows,
Is because of kisses who the sun blows.

An ecstatic joy is like a sweet breeze:
Suddenly it comes and suddenly goes.

When you have nothing to tell a stranger,
Mention stars; of their beauty each eye knows.

O ignorant one! You do much good deeds,
A cure on sad hearts your sweet smile bestows.

While the enemy shoots at his brothers,
Poor Mâhî seems to adore their arrows.
Ceyhun Mahi Nov 2018
I loved your cypress-eye from the old days,
And the glance who was shy from the old days.

Eyes of emerald were scratched by the world,
And I can't see its cry from the old days.

Your lips and voice remained the same delights,
Yet lack the smile and sigh from the old days.

The blush became white, the giggle a nod,
I don't get that reply from the old days.

The game of love has no rules anymore,
No coin, no card nor die from the old days.

Each thing from the past becomes desirous,
Both the truth and the lie from the old days.

Mâhî, lets get all our old friends back here,
Our own style lets apply from the old days.
Ammar Younas Nov 2018
Going to leave you behind now
I need to clear my mind now

Your hair, bangles or smile
Nothing will keep me bind now

Despair has advised me
not to love you blind now

Devils and angels, fire and ice
will never be combined now

After driving me crazy enough
You need to be fined now

It's more than skin and curves
Beauty should be defined now

I walked through this dark eclipse
My stars seems to be aligned now

Thoughts were scattered stardust
These poems have enshrined now
November 20
Ceyhun Mahi Nov 2018
Caress and then betray is not my way of love,
To let them wait and stay is not my way of love.

Although sometimes it's true, always seeing this bonding
As just a fleeting play is not my way of love.

Secrets of me and her stay a secret forever,
Putting that on display is not my way of love.

Lies and vile corruption accompanied by ****,
Leading her to that way is not my way of love.

My truth will stay I learned, even if she's beautiful,
With her to go astray is not my way of love.

I am no butterfly, although my life is one,
To love for just a day is not my way of love.

I have no love right now, only a broken heart,
But to wait and decay is not my way of love.
Ceyhun Mahi Nov 2018
No one has or will have a Light like his,
He, who was sent as a Mercy and bliss.

One man, yet much uncountable blessings,
Clueless how to repay for all of this.

I do envy those who have seen his face,
To times I have not seen I do reminisce.

We still have yet not seen his bright being.
Until that Day, it is the rose we miss.

Mâhî lacks rhymes to continue this praise,
That Day will show how luminous he is.
Ceyhun Mahi Oct 2018
I can't even find traces of your feet,
The dust has covered all places, every street.

All the bright tales who are concealed by veils,
Are filled with cries and smiles; bitter and sweet.

When the moonbeams are bestrewn at night,
Waves lying towards shores flit, float and fleet.

As long as the Cup of Youth is sipped from,
Smiles shine like the moon and stars who retreat.

Gain, gain and gain, but it still feels empty,
For some reason, the soul feels not complete.

That Gihon is dream-drunk and world-sober,
From sleep to awake like the Phoenix's heat.
''Stars who retreat'' is a reference to an ayah of the Qur'an: ''So I swear by the retreating stars -'' (81:15).
Karan Sharma Sep 2018
Cute as a button?
No, that's not right.

Sunshine smile?
Blah, too saccharine sweet, sticky and simple.

Doe-like eyes?
She's definitely not a deer,
She's a predator, not prey.

She's... how do I put it...

I could try and say she's:
Dark and Dangerous,
Sensual and Seductive,
Indulgent and Irreverant.

No matter what I say though one point stands:

She's no-one's, only for herself.
As the wind and rain, she's transient, slips through clutches and dances around cages.
She'll invite you to her world, her secret garden,
But you'll always be a guest, never ken.

I can't have her, no one can,
As fickle as luck,
As rare as gold.
**** her.
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