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Magician came to town
With a black gown
White hat
Magic wand
In his hand
A split second
Revolution of hand
With magic wand
He created illusions
All appeared
To be real
Onlookers threw
Notes and coins
On the ground
He was quick
To gather those
In his white hat
A split second
Revolution of hand
With magic wand
Notes and coins
A pair of pigeons
They flew into the sky
Split second
Revolution of hand
With magic wand
Pigeon pair
Came down
Sat on hat's crown
On his crown
There was clap clap
In his magic
Everyone entrapped
He went
Around the circle
With crown
Of the hat down
Money flowed
Into the cup
Of the crown
Hat upside down
Magician did magic
With magic wand
Creating illusions
With his trickery
It all appeared real
As real as
External world
But all onlookers
Couldn't see trickery
The trickery
Remained mystery
The magician
With a black gown
White hat
Boarded train
To next town
evelina Jul 1
I know more than you think I do
actually, I know everything

i see your insecurities and your nervousness while no one else does
you can't talk about those enemies
because all we're going to hear again
is denial denial denial

other opinions make you sick
and you can't keep up with the society,
in a big crowd of personalities
you can't admit that your identity vanishes
when you have to express yourself
do you know why?
because you've never given yourself some time

at the end i'll give you the illusion I know nothing
and you'll give me the illusion of knowing who you are
we're nothing more than illusions
do you know who you are?
Zywa May 5
Mama blows bubbles,

the child catches one, and looks –

in an empty hand.
Collection "I am"
Diljeev Apr 15
Gentle waves of the beach
caressing the shore,
the sun sinking into the core,
a known figure from my life's lore,
stood afore,
in this orange light
this divine body,
god's very own pottery
appears in sight.
Into each other's eyes we sunk,
like our feet in the sand's chunks
like a dip in the ocean in front of us.
Zywa Apr 12
A living statue

does not seem to have muscles –

for a sudden sneeze.
Collection "From Sacred Scriptures"
The pink strands in her black hair turned into dark violet
and her leather suite changed into a shirt of white linen..

the last chapter had begun
The veil between the world became translucent
being lifted far to early:
Beyond the veil - the long cold road to eternerty
                      that nobody wants to walk
  Right into the void
                        where nothing can remain                    
      no white light at the end of the tunnel....
      no welcome from anybody....

Just a fading whisper about her.... into dark violet - leather to linen...

                Echoing - dying  -
                                                         ­       Infinite Void

                              as if she had never existed

                                            nothing but
                                         DARK OBLIVION
a bit darker poem this time
*this does not apply for animals - animals go to the rainbow bridge !*
M Solav Mar 28
La sensation s'apparente à une simple présence
Incongrue et abstraite, tant sa distance
De ces souvenirs qui exigent le poids des vivants
Comme promesse qu'ensemble nous traverserons le temps

Et tend à cette conviction presque vide de sens
Que les acteurs éternels de la tendre enfance
Puissent ainsi, pas à pas, suivre nos traces dans l'ombre
Pour que ce peuple d'éther ne s'ajourne que dans la tombe

Et que tombe cette folle histoire insensée, peu à peu
Que le temps calcinera de son souffle de feu
Ranimant en nous la flamme de ces instants heureux
Pour que reste derrière nous ces souvenirs harmonieux

Et mieux vaut de son gré engendrer la cadence
Que de subir dans la l'angoisse les désirs de délivrance
Délaissant patiemment toute envie de se réjouir
Pour que s'endorme dans la cendre ces trop lourds souvenirs

Et quand viendra finalement la sensation de dissonance,
Que la lourdeur de l'homme aspirant la transcendance
S'exténue et s'allège dans l'accord des déceptions
Pour qu'enfin vive souverain ce pays d'illusions.

Et que sombre dérisoirement chaque pensée, peu à peu,
Que le temps effacera d'un seul geste d'adieux
Renvoyant au néant l'âme de ces habitants célestes
Pour que ne gise sur la toile qu'une confuse fresque.
Écrit en février 2012.

— Droits d'auteur © M. Solav —
Cette oeuvre ne peut être utilisée ni en partie ni dans son intégrité sans l'accord préalable de l'auteur. Veuillez s'il vous plaît contacter pour toute requête d'usage. Merci beaucoup.
M Solav Mar 28
All of those past events
The mountain climb, and the descent
They're scrolling past to lay my

And once I'd gone to the other side
Despite all that I had left behind
They've started hunting for my

And they're gone,
Yes they're gone,
While I'm torn
In the maze of my

And they're gone,
Yes they're gone,
While I'm tearing
The fabric of my
Written on July 22, 2020.
Roxana Feb 16
What is water, but a constant fluctuating body of emotions. What is fire, but a loud roar spreading faster than anything known. What is earth, but the very grounding stability needed to live appropriately. What is air, but the very oxygen we need to survive. What are we, but souls on a physical journey, trying to discern what we can and can’t do or say, not realizing the self-imposing rules and habits that ultimately destroy us before the epiphany of life reveals itself, broadcasting the way we have chosen to live. Right or wrong, black or white, this or that... are simply illusions. Do not despair - illusions are made to be shattered.
On stage; my conviction creates the illusion of charisma!
Off stage; I'm like a fish out of water waiting to be baked or sautéed!
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