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Kriti Mishra Jun 2017
Sweet nectar trickles down my chin,
The knife slips in sticky hands,
A nibble here, a lick there,
Sparks memory,
Of golden deliciousness of summers past,
scoldings from Mum for unrepentant gluttony,
Tangy sour smells of unripe fruit,
Swings swaying under the Mango tree
And a childhood happy as can be
~ Kriti Mishra
CA Guilfoyle May 2017
From mud walled homes
these remnants come, artifacts of shell and bone
leather shoes and deerskin coats
woolen blankets and woven rugs,
baskets for storing grain and corn.

Grinding stones and sun bleached bones
antiquities and memories found in fields of sand,
necklace beads of finest hammered silver
now forgotten and lost, and too the river's water.

Came a sorrowful war with bullet guns
that pierced the heart of every man
no match for shooting arrows.
Wordsinalign Apr 2017
She lies to the world that the five percent is all there is to sea,
but she wanted him to feel the depths deeper than there was to see.
She needed him to anchor and not let her slip like the sand through finger,
She needed a love that left an everlasting effect linger.

He stepped on the same grounds,
Looking for a love that saved him from his drown.
On the outside he was tough as steel,
Deep inside he could no longer feel.
He hummed songs from the spirited waves,
Drove deep into them to rescue her from coral caves.

He was the Persian Gulf and she was an Indian Ocean,
Yet they breathe salty summer air and gaze at the same clouds in motion.
She flew the skies, wondering if she lost him behind a floating cloud,
And went into places, she knew she wouldn’t be allowed.
Meeting him would be a miracle she thought,
Her chances were drying out faster than water during a drought.

There she stood at the Arabian Gulf in the warm sea breeze,
There was something about her that put his heart at ease.
Breathing the raw summer air,
Locked in his view paralysed by the depths she saw in his stare.

He lifted an empty shell and poured the ocean in,
His charms travel pore to pore and loving him felt like a sin.
Her eyes had storms that were painted in grey and silver,
Knowing she felt the dagger, his love would **** her.
Nupur Dua Feb 2017
It was dark inside me, it was darker inside of him.
We were like two black holes, lingering in this universe of love.
And I guess you know what happens when two black holes collide;
They become one.
No explosions, no radiations, no words said, no screams, nothing.
We just became one.
-Nupur Dua
Solaces Feb 2017
There is a early spring flower blooming in the late winter sun..
I think they call them indian paint brushes..
Its firey red pedals shined brighter than the late winter sun..
It was the only color we saw in the new green grasses..
Green grasses brought by a thunderstorm from a week ago..
There is a small hint of spring perfume in the late winter air..
We feel her pass through us every now and again..
We continue forward on our walk to no where..
We'll go as far as we want to..
We cross a bridge with a small stream running under it..
Although full of trash it still holds a majestic beauty under this now one star evening sky..
The stream is strong creating musical water notes and songs..
A cardinal bird follows alongside us from tree to tree..
His red feathers are the only thing that has surpassed the beauty of the lone beautiful indian paint brush we came across earlier..
The night is now kissing the day away..
Time to walk back..
We will let you know what we see..
Under one star..
Àŧùl Jan 2017
Daughters in India are the most unlucky,
As August may their birth be always,
Unlucky their existence in vivo,
Graceful be their existence,
How sweet the angels,
Testify the Gods,
Equally well,
Replied.

But in India they often **** them in vivo.
My HP Poem #1401
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Jan 2017
I am not fond of any luxury car,
So they gave me a Company car,
A 16-wheeled armoured car!

'Tis indeed a very rough ride,
High above the ground is its ride,
Enemies are so afraid of my ride!
My HP Poem #1362
©Atul Kaushal
Wow!
and I only need one thing

Excuse me, where are the cameras?

Aisle fourteen?

Okay...

Lost,
in forest of clothes
Lost,
in parallels of furniture
Lost,
in children's dreams

This place is so foreign.

Lost in this store.
Signs, language, so difficult
everyone stares
Why do they stare?
I dress appropriately?

Levi
Nike
North Face
Hanes
I'm dressed appropriately...

Where are the clerks!
Why does no one help you in America?
And this sign, it makes no sense?
Points...*
pointing to what?

This place is so foreign.

Ah, here is a lady,

Get your hands off me Arab!

Arab?
I'm not Arab
This place is so foreign.
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