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Eera Apr 3
Sitting outside in my grandpa’s veranda,
he passed away before I could appreciate his presence;
he wished for me to come see his art;
his garden, a green maze of trees and bushes,
from marigolds and periwinkle to mango trees and whatnot.

As I lay here on the mat,
close to my grandpa, I might gladly add;
seeing the ants crawl up on the periwinkle blooms
and wild butterflies dancing overhead;
with a bulbul on a mango tree branch
and crows chattering near food dumps;
with a sweet scent of marigold in the air
and crickets chirping in the background;
with a mongoose running on the broad fence
and a squirrel eating rice that my grandma kept;
with the sun rays hitting my face through the trees
and a couple of flies hovering beside my novel;
with a moment of pure serenity,
that brings a peaceful calm to this tranquil space;
my heart feels full and my soul at ease.

As a gentle breeze whispers by,
my hair seems to be afloat.
As the fresh air clears my mind,
I feel alive like never before.
As I hear children playing nearby,
memories of my childhood days come alive;
one of the best moments of my life;
in this veranda forever entwined.
As I feel a soft breath of crispness on my face,
I reminisce about the times I had lived with him;
the village isn't as bad as it seemed.

This is the land where my ancestors lived;
and where I feel his presence still,
he must be smiling sitting on the chair beside me;
finally, content that I appreciate his accomplishment.
my grandpa put all his effort in his last days to rebuild the veranda
Benzene Mar 26
The forest stood silent and still,
A melancholic hush over the hill,
The trees that once whispered to the breeze,
Now stood with a sense of unease.

The rivers that flowed once with glee,
Now ran dry and lost their spree,
The birds that once sang so sweet,
Now vanished from their retreat.

The flowers that bloomed with such grace,
Now withered and faded in their place,
The grass that once swayed with delight,
Now wilted, with no hope in sight.

The earth that once teemed with life,
Now barren, with nothing but strife,
The sky that once shone with stars,
Now dull and gray, without any bars.

The world that once pulsed with love,
Now drowned in tears and woes above,
Nature, once a bountiful gift,
Now a symbol of pain, a heartbroken rift.
Mother nature is dying
Rococo Aug 2022
Tegucigalpa, orquídea marchita,
de suelos polutos por plata y sangre,
cosecha de sueños malogrados y maltrechos,
irrigados por los cauces desbordantes de ríos negros.

Tegucigalpa, ciudad de esquinas opuestas
y avenidas perforadas por el tiempo.
Urbe de aceras estrechas
y de violencia que deambula.

Tegucigalpa, narcisista sedentaria,
que cada día se enamora ante el espejo de su cielo,
que cada noche duerme en una cuna de cerros.

Tegucigalpa escandalosa y bulliciosa,
de estruendos que arrullan y susurros que matan.

Tegucigalpa, te veo y una tristeza me asalta,
entre tus calles coagula un caudal escarlata.

Tegucigalpa, te sueño y el corazón me resalta,
ante el recuerdo glorioso de tu pasado esmeralda.
Elymaïs Nov 2021
On the seventh day he rested, but
Before he did, he selected a little
Piece called "Benton", and there's
Where he put heaven.
Kellin May 2021
Thin skinned
Like I grew up in a childhood to recover from
Christ the savior
pinned against white walls
and if you're not careful they'll nail you up there too
Kellin May 2021
She told me
that the air tastes of
nostalgia and arsenic
Duckie Apr 2021
Putrid smells of dirtied innocence,
A veil of eager stupidity,
Misfortune converts to violence,
Roots caged by the ashes
Of what once was,
My hometown of resilience- staled,
Replaced with glory seekers
Spewing words void of value,
Pickets of dishonesty,
Weekends of gloom,
I feel foolish as I reside here,
Bleeding within the garden of thorns,
Punctured by the claw of the bird.
Svetoslav Apr 2021
Come to take you around in Montana, my friend!
From the waters of Ogosta dam
to the waves of the fountain
and the fabulous nights in Monteto.
Nowhere on earth or the Balkans you will find a city like that,
even at sea for it's the quietest and most pleasant city in Bulgaria.

A city with an ancient history,
dating back to before the coming of Christ,
telling of the intransigence of the people
and their hunger for knowledge.
A city with good people who deserve respect and esteem,
people who believe in a better future and
the progress of their young spirit.

They pass this faith and knowledge on to future generations
about the energy and loyalty to our city.
From the dazzling and beautiful Chiprovtsi carpets
to the countless and charming summers and winters.
A poem about my hometown of Montana.
Translated from Bulgarian
Mountain city lake
in the middle of two cosmos.
Trees and citylights are poems
that nature writes upon the sky.
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