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I am no longer running away
from what I said.
They know and I know
I am smart,
so never again will I lie saying,
"I don't know."
But God give me the strength to say,
"Yes.
No.
Out of respect for my privacy,
I do not wish for you to know."
-shevaun stonem
drop a like to claim your privacy too!
Glory is the shine of a dying star
Hope for the men going to war
Where the casualties are on the rise
Blood runs and honour dies

Death awaits the soldiers arrival
Honour is the cost of survival
Dead men tell no tale
Of the horrors that will hail
I confessed that I cried
while reading bright dead things,
and my mother smiled
because I'm the delicate kind,
and said that I loved poetry the way my grandfather did.

Shuttered eyes, slipping into the realisation
that it's funny how spirit skips a generation,
and all at once I'm bleeding blue,
recalling the pictures of you,
coated in tears that wet my lashes
like grass in morning dew.

I dress myself in pearls,
from what I've heard,
they were his favourite,
and walk to the Siren's sea,
in honour of a memory
that's not taken from me.

Because I still see him in my cousin's face and every gentle soul I meet.
I greet him with our mirrored mannerisms and the phrases I repeat.

I treat him with every plateful of pomegranates and sugarcanes.
I feel him every time this desert rains.

I hear him in his many namesakes,
hear his absence ringing in my mother's heartaches.

I'm near him when I pass his Phoenix palm in our garden,
towering tall, touching his ghost in the seventh heaven.

And when it's my time to drop the curtain,
and my poem fades into the mist,
I'll step into the afterlight,
and tell him all about it.


Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
To my grandfather, I wish I had known you for more than five years. I hope you're at peace.
I love you,
For thy love stands firm
Upon the summit of grace
Unbent to fickle nature, burning
In vain to defile that which makes
Thee,
Altogether ideal I Instinctively,
Fall short to mirror.

While I was drowning in
Mine sins you stretched
Out thy right hand unto me,
Unbinding her age-old grip
Over me, for good.
Thank you.

Her scent is forgotten,
Mine flesh made clean,
How warming to
Know,
He deems me family.
While walking
In husle and bustle
Of a busy market
Do cast your glance  
left and right on the ground
Selling goods
Below your status
They aren't beggars
But people who want
To live with dignity and honour
Buy something from them
If you can afford
To loosen your pocket
Gift to someone that something matters
For human honour and dignity
Not to be tattered
Lead K Feb 4
When guilt burst forth, at Menden's door
We could not speak, we did not know
The toll the rage of men might seek
Through witless priests and burning snow

That Sword was forged in Elwen's fyre
With magic signs embossed in vain
The power of steam in crooked lines
To cleave the brows in villainous twain

Thus Emnoch came to shield the world
A hero's hero of countless girth
The ***** of shame that numbered zero
A blade arrived to state his worth

This dismal feast of brutal love
Will never sate a horse's tune
Senescence and honor entwined in fate
He ever swells that liquid boon

Asunder sliced was Denzhen Yeep
Just as Vile Ben wast slain
The Witches Five broke on the Pile
A magic Pentagon of pain

But do not braise the glance of morn'
We cannot love what has not hair
Embrace the stench of Emnoch's glove
His tale is there for you to share
Tale as old as Thyme
She didn't always receive what she deserved.
But she understood that not everyone was the same.
She kept her distance a lot of the time, always watchful but not always careful.


Protect yourself and your dignity at all times.
But she was the kind, to not always listen to advice in time.


She gave out honour to just everyone around her, she encountered.
But she was careless when it came to herself.


She was the type to take it all in...
Absorbed the wrong energy from the ones that surrounded her.


She read them like a book, she said to herself.
But the words they recited to her, didn't always mean the same things that she comprehended.


She kept building walls up, to defend her fragility.
But allowed the wrong ones to tear them down brick by brick.


But she still refused to avoid her beliefs, she still gave out honour even if it was the last thing she did.
Poetic T Dec 2020
Never forget the root that fed you,

for no matter the height you attain

remember the earth beneath your feet..

No matter your height,

                       you forget what
    you grew from...


you'll easily fall and no one will hear it.
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