Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Shofi Ahmed May 9
If only it were
like a strand of your hair,
like a glimpse of you
in your mirror!

Just like a one perfect sway
into the all-encompassing curve
of the ever-smooth, perfect circle
captures the ultimate decimal of pi!
Zywa May 1
Shall I still caress

him, stroking through his thin hair?

Will it make him bald?
Novel "Ik ben er niet" ("I'm not there", 2020, Lize Spit), page 366

Collection "Shelter"
Zywa Apr 18
The Spartan women,

sitting on the salty shore --

are combing their hair.
Novel "The time of the angels" (1966, Iris Murdoch), § 3

Collection "Unspoken"
Brandon Sep 2022
the thought of you whispers to me
in my lonesome moments
your stride glides swiftly to me
eyes of earthly-tinged emeralds
fire-soaked whiskers brush upon me
and the slightest rosy sweetness
leaves me yearning for you
Cabbage Sep 2022
I can feel it’s cold embrace.
The wind.
A brush, naturally moving back and forth
And me.
The canvas upon which the wind does its work.
short. sweet. to the point. unlike my life
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2022
If only it was
like a hair of you,
like a glimpse of you
in your mirror!
Like the all round one
perfect sway
nets the ultimate decimal of pi!
Mary-Joy May 2022
Dear baby,

I wondered if the strands of your hair would be black or brown,

How when your locks fell out they would be scattered upon the ground like confetti,

How I wish I knew,

If your hair would be curly or straight,

I wish I knew if it was soft, delicate and scented of you.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2022
A hiss of the moon tucking
into just a pair of lock
let alone in pavilion-tresses
on the back of one's eternal silence.
Giving autumn shadows
to seven skies' azure.
What now the stars are gone
followed in their countless galore!

Eyes of the buds ope
dreaming nightingale
hops up to the morning rose  
singing in what a balmy fold.
Steve Page Mar 2022
I realised with momentary surprise
  that my mirror was stuck back
  in 1985
back when I knew I knew how to smile
  and believed in my peculiar sense of style
back when my lower back was furthest from my thoughts
  and I thought my hair was the peak of good looks.

My now flipped face frowned at the trick of time
and at my lesser hair’s climb
bringing myself back to my present face
  and to continue with my routine head shave.
1985 seems a long time ago.
Next page