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Àŧùl Feb 2015
http://books.google.co.in/books?id=HJiSBAAAQBAJ
Release date: 14th February, 2015

Pre-order this fantastic saga of love, deceit, career, patriotism, class divide, and science.

Decorated with romantic, patriotic & social message-conveying poems, 7 Seconds is a great story revolving around the protagonist named 'Akshant' who is trying to search out his main motive in life in petty romantic escapades till a serious accident changes his world and he becomes serious towards his career. He works for the betterment of the entire globe by discovering a novel method of easily producing high-quality biodiesel. Towards the end, he is involved in a fight against the terrorists on a flight to Hamburg where he is going for participating in an international biotechnology conference.
Alternatively, buy it on Amazon's Kindle eStore: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00MYY0DMA
Lukas Dec 2014
feel

I’ve forgotten how to

        My nerves are on fire but I
        don’t understand what it means

Do something
Give me

        Give me *anything


I need a way out
I need to feel

Pixels are shouting at me and

        I think I’m going deaf
        please help

I know who did what and when

        I know you
        I know your ups and downs and dreams and fears

I am the ultimate ******

        And so are you

And I don’t know how to
I don’t know how to stop

        Make it stop
        Give me anything

Something real
Something physical

        Give me pain
        needles and knives and back-alley mistakes

Rough brickwork bruising a back

        Is it my back? I
        can’t tell anymore give me more

Cement scraping skin from fat from muscle from bone

        What does marrow taste like?
        Google it

Blood pouring from eyes but
we’ve seen worse in CoD

        Give me more

Rip the bones from the flesh through a hole in the skin
Taste the inside of a tongue

        Let’s practice Frenching

I can’t tell anymore is this pain or
is it pleasure is it hunger or satiation

        Spellcheck

Is this death or is it euphoria

        *Why should I care
Not so sure about the "graphic" and "violent" tags, but better safe than sorry, I guess.
The Good Pussy Nov 2014
.
                               T h e
                        F an t a s t i c
                       Rocking Horse
                      T h e  Catherine
                     W heel The Glo w
                      ing Triangle The
                      ******* The Nirv
                      ana  The Padlock
                      The SlideThe Ape
                      The Butterfly The
                      Ascent  to  Desire
                    ­  The Balancing Act
                      The Splitting Bam
                      boo The Curled A
                      n g e l The Bridge
                      The Clip The Clos
                      se-up The Double
                      Decker The Seduc
                      Tion The Crouchi
                      ng TigerThe Hero
                      The Dolphin Th e
    Frog The Glowing   Juniper  The  Plow
The Peg The Classic  The Kneel The Reclining Lotus The Lustful  L  eg The Eagle The Cros
  s The Rowing Boat    The Star *******
    The Super 8 The         Bandoleer   The
          M a g i c                        Mountain
.
Asa D Bruss Oct 2014
This isn't a poem
this is just to make you think it's a poem
really it's just a few splurs of verbiage
thrown onto a template
and then you probably wonder what kinda template I'm using
and then you probably google poetry templates
and then you might think to yourself
that's bullox
you can't make a template for poetry
and you'd be right
cuz I'm lying.
The search is over
I will burn all these dictionaries
From this universal library
Until it all turns into ashes
I will cast it into the ocean  
And wait till it all disappears
You, you define beauty
And love, better than all
Tawanda Mulalu Sep 2014
Google tells me it's an eight hour time difference.


Already absent,
my heart already fonder
for memories we hadn't been able to make yet.
Time is slow. You can sleep, then wake up.
Because of that: I haven't even bat an eyelid yet.

Unblinking in these unholy stretches
of distant poetry where I am God, I  
watch our oblivious universe. Make something of it.
Fashion us a happy ending, if you will.

But you're there, and
I'm here.
So...


                               ...would you mind

                               if we talked

                               about infinity...

                                                               ...tonight?


Google tells me it's an eight hour time difference,
so tonight is meaningless to you.
You see the sun, I see the stars.
But who can say
one of us is more blind than the other?

Who is to say what is wrong
and what is right,
when we live in a world
where I, Romeo
and you, Juliet
can commit suicide
when it's both day and night?

Such things are preposterous...
even more so than I pretending to be God
with my pen of hormones and heartbreak...
Who am I to think that I could  possibly... make something of it.
Or fashion us a happy ending, if you please.

I am mere, and powerless before the rotations of the Earth
just as I am powerless to my impulse
to click the refresh button
over any one of your profiles,
thinking it's somehow better to read 'About Me,'
then to ask about you.


Refresh.


Google tells me it's an eight hour time difference,
and neither Romeo or Juliet are dead.
Though they never lived as nothing more than characters;
we are people. You and I are not tragic concepts;
we are merely circumstance to
an arbitrary mixture of romance films, evolutionary biology-
all subject to the Earth's curvature, the Sun's shadows,
and the mocking Moon's stolen light. Simultaneous.

But because I am self-aware
I can be the **** of my own jokes
rather than the ****-end
of God's lonely, bored cigarette...

...It always has to end with
depressing existentialist philosophy,
doesn't it? More reflections or rejections
of purpose or meaning
of heaven and hope
or whatever will close the golden gates
of happiness to me. It just always
has to end that way, even though I'm not a French writer...

... I could still romance you with my words
and hold you as comfortably as I could my favourite book.
Not too tight. Not too loose. Lightly, effortlessly-
that's how it felt
to kiss you Goodbye
and all of that jazz.

And now after all that, the blues.


Refresh.
Canberra is the capital city of Australia. Gaborone is the capital of Botswana. One is here, one is there. It doesn't matter which is which.
Unsecured mind-set lashes its core, choosing to ally itself to that of no concern or thought. All sequence we shall herald as noble backlash. Blame shall rest with death of the innocent, for this is where excuse can be rectified Or rather that of fraudulent justification laid before another’s feet.

Insight to rise as we rise to insight, no notice shall be given and no action shall not be undertaken. Vandalisms recruitment takes it course. Internet conscription courses silently through hardy flex. Telecommunications providers enlisted to contrive location as we plan Google’s map attack.

The aim is that of procurement, not for freedom or righteousness, rather that of avarice and self contentment. We shall shop till we drop this eve and at much better than discounted prices. Personal retributions shall also conceal themselves beneath this direst of banner.

Filthy alignments will almost with abandonment unite in evil cohesion. Mass attack at fragmented locations will oppress any and all endeavours to quell this foulest of foul. He who hide his face away is free to loot another day, this seems the lyrical trend that thief and sinner does take this night .

Untold expectance by unlawful propagator is of a world that owes, favours him above others. He feels righteous that he should prevail in this life before his fellow man. It is of no concern to him that others may have more worthy an approach. It matters not what they may suffer.

If for no other reason to doubt he who professes to have nothing, to be cast out by the state and therefore be free to invoke retribution, why should he with nought, cast dereliction in his own manor? Why destroy what you have not got? Why condemn yourself to live in an unliveable state?

Such misdemeanour unto ones self is surely call for psychiatric assessment and asylums involvement? Here now stands a creature pursed to explicate erroneous act for appropriate content and expect audience to quell their disgust and rapturously give applause. I think not.

For not only did thievery portray itself on our streets this and other nights that followed, also violence, arson and ****** were carried along with it, like a leaf in the wind. Families lost what they had so long worked and strived to gain, watching helplessly as combustion condemned their habitat to broken ash.

****** drew its breath on more than a single occasion. Is this the result of political unrest, that is what they would want us to pronounce, to show reason that this is against the masses, such excuse may then be strewn as a just intention.

This is not the reality though in this case it is a the likely truth that rat endeavoured to crawl above ground and spread its pox amongst us, infecting devastation on good peoples lives as it did in centuries past.
17th  September 2011
anony Jun 2014
maybe we are meant to meet the wrong people;
maybe we weren’t mean to be.
maybe we’re just satellites;
maybe reality is just made up of me.
maybe i am the lucky one;
maybe my heart is just numb to you.
maybe we’re nothing and my love is hatred.
maybe you'll leave me alone.
to the previous.
Styles May 2014
An urge too strong to resist.
Once enticed.
Can't resist.
Go ahead and try to;
I insist.
End up.
Face up.
Go ogling; *****, so you can read **** **** like this.
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