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Äŧül Mar 7
True comfort lies in
Infancy or in
Mother's lap,
But
True peace lies
only in Death
And
I know that
Because
In death you
Are free from all
Pains and emotions,
Like I was in that
Comatose state
My HP Poem #1912
©Atul Kaushal
Laokos Feb 28
patterned love responses
spiraling outward from
the chest in search
of hearth and
hemlock to
soothe the brittle
bones of a
generation lost
to time.

I remember a feeling
once felt in
the spacious quality
of my life
in its infancy.

a 'coo' to my
mother--her face
beaming through
the unknown
harshness of life
yet to touch me.

father was out
working, adding
more and more
points of stress to
his life to provide
for the seeds
he sewed in the
soil of his youthful
ignorance.

adulthood snuck
up on me too and
now its too late to
go back.

these days
the only coup
that will save me
is the one
I perpetrate
against myself.
the one that
corrodes my beliefs
and illuminates
the extent of their
misconceptions about
the world and
what it means
to be me.

loyal are the lashes
that lick my flesh
serving the blood
that drips and
flows to the
soil of my own
wasted youth.

all I can do now
is look forward
to the unknown
that looms ahead;
terrifying and promising
failure and change
alike.

pray to your altars
and cry to the
invisible mute gods;

they will answer
in kind in the
laughter of children
playing upon
your spent life.

and so it goes--
life eats life
and mother's die
too.

use your voice
while you have
it--speak of clouds
and storms that
broke you, of winter
and the living
silence you've endured.

praise be to the
broken and the
weary of heart, for
in the breaking is
the great gift
of life

and what you
become after each
shattering is nothing
short of your
endless potential.
Man Jan 12
i was an insect
on a divine windshield
a speck of dust
on an otherwise stainless garb
when wiper blades swept me down
in my infancy
a young brood
i am guts
i am blood
i am gross things
OYBlackCat Jun 2020
The butterflies have transformed into birds that sing not only during the day but also when the darkness behind my eyelids are all I can see.

And that's how I know that I feel so much for you.

🦋🦋🦋
The infancy of love sometimes doesn't make any sense but it feels good. ☺️
Äŧül Jan 2020
You can touch your feet if you're an infant,
You may even put your feet into your mouth,
And you will still look so cute.

You try to repeat it after growing up,
Your relatives will take you to the psychiatrist,
And you won't like this ugly twist.

I was surely so cute in my infancy,
During my childhood, I was cute still,
Everyone loved me so much.

What about now?
Now I have grown up.
Senescence took a heavy toll.

I miss my infancy,
I miss my childhood,
I hope to father cuteness.
My HP Poem #1821
©Atul Kaushal
Äŧül Aug 2017
This baby is so full of life,
Playing the leisurely fife.

I am glad that now I have grown up,
Trust me when I say that of my existence there's no end.
My HP Poem #1655
©Atul Kaushal
Apoorva May 2017
I don't fear death
But I fear life
And the agony that follow
Like an amorphous shadow
There's no escape from this hell,my friend
Unheeded we all die alone
With a crooked smile on the lips
Beneath this summer moon
The soft gentle wind croon
Broken promises of see you soon
.
We fear and hate the happy ones
Bliss is a forgotten friend
And we lie and lie and lie
Till it resembles to the truth
Experience comes at a price
Which is so godmann high
We trade our innocence
And sell our souls to survive
Surrendering to the fears we thrive
And those fragile feelings we hive
.
And the children are insane
For they dance naked in the rain
Being blind to their personal gain
They don't feel fear nor the pain
And the children are insane
Josh Jul 2014
Life started; my ear to your heart.
I heard life growing, but you grew up too fast.
Knowing so many things--
You decorated your parents in the sweet laughter you brought
and still bring.

I feel connected to you through the rhythm of your heart.
You fought to start -- sought your own part in life,
though you couldn't do it unsupported.
Your requited love has grown, and plays on our souls in the happiness we've known.

You dance. You sing.
You've arrived. Alive and kicking.

My everything.  

My reward: little socks, conversations with playful teddy bears, square blocks, and good food eaten in highchairs. Knocks on the head each day.
Your love of monsters and animals, and the funny things you have said
and still say.

Kisses. Hugs. Pokes in the ribs. Tears and giggles.
The fear of closed doors, but a big fan of pigs!  

Little hands. Curly hair.
I think about you everywhere.

Your first walk. The shock of unknowing.
Our open arms and your gradual growth into them,
and growth into knowing.

Now, safe and warm, blankets and toys -- I watch you sleep flawlessly unspoiled.  

I watch and need this growing piece of me; my future seed. This all-seeing, bright eyed and innocent being -- I see so many parts of me in him.

Little socks -- and lots and lots of tickles and curly golden locks and you're the best thing I've ever seen.

It is you, dear boy, I understand.
I love to hold your little hands.
And make you laugh, and hear you talk;
That way you can't say ''box''.
But most of all I just love you.
You and your little socks.
Written for my 3 year old son.

— The End —