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mace May 11
"What beautiful flowers!"
Unaware of how much death & decay took place under the soil, right below.
Oblivious to the pain.

The speaker was a girl with long black hair, walking with another, a person with brown and golden hair, at the base of the hill with a weathered grave on top.

She smelled the fragrant jasmines & plucked off a handful to decorate her hair, now walking away down the hill.
Her companion lingers at the top, gazing at the gleaming white petals, contrasting with shiny ivory.

"Come down!" She calls. But the blonde has seen the engraved rock, secluded by growing vines. They decide to have a moment of silence.

The black haired girl looks back, then rolls her eyes before abandoning them.

The person left standing next reads the epitaph,
Their sunkissed, freckled face turning into gloom.

"Now that I've seen you, I won't let you be alone."

She gently kisses the keen flowers that are curious about her words.
Then turns to lay and nap in the grass and foliage for hours.
a poem inspired by a love poem my partner wrote for me :] written metaphorically about real people/ events
Ayesha May 2021
Wilted jasmines look like popcorns
… that wasn’t very poetic, right?
I was just watching the bushes sway outside my window.
There is no wind today
Just the hot air breathing
I have turned on the A.C. and the fan grumbles quietly

I feel as if my heart is in my stomach
**** it,
I really am forcing it out today..
I rested my palm on my stomach
As Faizan’s strange playlist chattered nonsense
Outside the blanket shroud I had built
Around myself
And I could feel the beat
The rhythm
Like a drum or a gong
I don’t know why it matters to me
Maybe because I feet as if nothing else does
Right now
I know that sounds exactly like something
A sentimental teenager would say

I don’t know
I want to talk to myself
A heart-to-heart
I want to ask that *****
What is going on
What is wrong
What the **** is wrong, girly!?
I want to hear her ramble on about stuff
Be bored of her talk, but feel kind of happy
That I’m the one she’s confiding in
I wanna give her a hug
To show I don’t have words good enough for comfort
Which I probably do
But am too lazy to fish them out my gooey head
I think the poor **** needs a hug)

I wanna zone out and nod along to her words
Just so she can let it out for once
But that *****’s a *****
She acts tough and all smart
But she’s a sappy preteen girl inside
I say,
“Yo, Ayesha, you can cry, you know—”
And she goes,
“Yeah, I know.”
A flip of that inexistent hair
That she long ago butchered
And, bam, she gone.
She tells me
"Yo, Ayesha, you can cry too, you know?"
"I know" I tell her.
I don’t know what to do
So I lie around
Feeling this stupid ***** dance in my stomach
In my wrists
In my temples
I run my fingers down my neck,
Feeling for the echoes of the gong
That keeps talking, talking, talking
As if calling me to my people
gathering us together for a battle
that is yet to be fought
yet to be fought—
yet to be ******* fought

And, hey, my
Money plant doesn’t even look rich
That *****—
(Hey, I got a rhyme!)
I don't know how I got from carefully carved and beautified poems to this *******... the little girly had learned some bold words eh
Ayesha Apr 2021
So there is this little jasmine
stolen by the wind
Away it soars with every gush
of blue
And shawls tease their women red
As foliage wingless flees, flees—
Litter and puppies down for a race
I have not been here before

Within these
swaying trees and woollen grounds
Yet I have—
Something smiles
but I cannot fathom where
My paw prints
etched upon every street
I am a stranger to this town
Its soft folks and gentle turns
Then the jasmine

giggles over winking waters
I reckon these smug faced clouds
kiss more than they tell
But I cannot assure
They have cooked up a charming brew
And I see, just in time, them pearls
and their shimmering armours
Tripping over,
And running over
—how very charming, indeed
embracing us with their lively touch

They laugh all around
And scare our dusty shadows away
I have wandered around
the notes of this song
—Wandered restless
Yet only now do I slumber
Only now do I hear—
the flirty gusts with their vivacious fingers
I am a fox

a squirrel, a wolf, an orange cat
a jasmine
Stolen by the wind
Plucked from a hollow branch,
deprived of my clawing bed
I tread through the beaming verses
of this obsolete ballad—
Tentative touches of those tipsy tulips
I’ve heard the tales
of their euphoria before
Much I had learned

back in my leafless den
But the grasses are golden here
and not at all deceptive
They yield lovingly around me
And how could the sparrows not chatter?
in my felicity
Wonder what’s making me cry
A pack of wolves
romps in my chest
the full moon of my heart
weeps, weeps, weeps
It is beautiful here

shops only whisper
and vehicles are patient
I’ve lurked at the edges of this poem
Yet only now do I fall
It is beautiful here
I am an owl, a rabbit,
a dolphin, an orange cat
a jasmine stolen

by the peachy yonder
I flutter my petals
over the freshly bathed meadows
In this vacant ember of my self
Moths lie contant,
and the trapped flame
shivers, shivers, shivers
— I cannot fathom
where, but
it is beautiful here

I am just happy dah
jack Oct 2020
you are afraid to die in your sleep because you think you will forget how to breathe. it’s okay if you do; this mortal, dying body isn’t something familiar to you.

neither is the air you breathe, or the soil beneath your feet, or all what this body craves and all what it needs — but it’s okay, see, you’re not lost. not yet, anyway. you simply don’t know where you want to be.

you aren’t even sure if you do want to be.

but here you are.

here you stand, in all your glory, void of any connection to this planet and its people, and your ears ring. you listen. you don’t care, but you listen and you hear voices, coming from beneath your feet, and they’re calling out to you — they’re calling out your name, telling you where you need to be —

and it’s right here.

damascus. she’s a city built on seven and she has many names — the ones you call her are the ones  your heart claims. jasmine blooms at night but thrives under the sun; shameless and proud, aggressive and loud. and you love it more than you’ve ever loved.

it’s damascus, and it’s a holysite come nightfall, at midnight. you follow your heart and wander around, and you forget not to breathe so you end up drowning in the jasmines — the yasmeen, and that’s when you realise it —

you are more alive than you have ever been, standing right there, in all your glory, with the yasmeen framing the old streets and glowing in the moonbeam. you are more alive than you have ever been.

you try not to breathe, but it’s too late, and your fear of dying in your sleep is replaced.

a newfound fear of living forever swims in your head, haunting your thoughts like a shark with its eyes on a prey. you’re afraid of living forever. it’s okay if you do; you know that the world will someday turn gray, you know that it will all fade away, but you won’t be alone.

the voices calling out to you — your ancestors, kings and queens, artists and their muses, the ones who wrote history and the victims of the margins, the saints and the sinners and the ones who got away with their sins — their voices will always be there, echoing in the air you breathe, calling out your name from the soil beneath your feet.

they will always be there, and so will this city — damascus, the city with an infinite faces and endless names. the city, the beloved of fate, the sister of destiny.

and if she were not fate’s beloved, how do you explain her immortality? and if she were not the sister of destiny, how do you explain the fact that you ended up here, with all your mortal, dying glory?
hybridstorm May 2020
A little wit I think I have,
A little strength I believe I have,
A little heart I sure do have,
A little soul I currently have,
A little beauty I thankfully have,
A little friend in you fortunately I have,
A little grace inherently I have,
A little luck hopefully must I have.
And yet you look so confused,
when I do not fear the so little that I have
                                                                ­                  -storm-
Realize your blessings and be content with them. Never lean towards extremism and unnecessary perfectionism. Realize that nature is a balance, and you are a part of it. Live a humble, happy, simple, and worthy life for it is what is best for you. Fear is like poison, knowledge is its antidote. Be inquisitive, brave, and calm all at the same time in adequate amounts. There is absolutely no need for you to hide from the spotlight that is rightfully yours because you feel like you are apparently "not enough".BOSS UP!

— The End —