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Nylee Jun 26
You find something in seconds
You lose it as fast
What remains is the presence
of an absence
the void, the nothingness
Lamenting wondering
What's wrong
and what is gone.
Jenish Nov 2019
It was a weekend and I was in a mood
To reach my home as early as I can
I urged the wheels to start a friendly race
With the competing cars rushing around.

The sky getting dark, is it unusual?
I switched on the lights to make the way clear
Sun already hiding, behind the trees
Unable to bear the horrendous scene.

The leaves were silent and the mighty wind
The waves of ocean also stupefied
The nature remained as stunned and low
Heavy and gloomy, sadness in the air.

The beams of light while tearing the darkness
Suddenly found out two eyes so bright
From a small head that holding so high
From a small body already half-dead.

Her eyes were staring straight to my eyes
Calm and serene in their last minute
Piercing my heart with their emotions
Pity and sorrow and dismay and grief.

I turn the wheel to avoid the hitting
Risking my life and car to another track
But behind me, the vehicle of death
The one which she was longing so long.

Oh! Dear soul, I couldn’t forget
The bright little eyes that searched for pity
Like a brave soldier of a defeated army
Holding your head as high as you can.

I imagined the short life that you spent
In this splendid world of cruelty,
As a cute kitten dancing around
And following the little butterflies.

Full of fur, your body was so white
And a long tail, waging in anger
You chased down the tricky doves in vain
And the little sparrows that fly around.

Vibrant and vigil, your life was so full
Until your clock stopped ticking
I couldn’t sleep, the eyes are haunting
Close your eyes dear one, I’m lamenting.
Ackerrman Aug 2019
Time is not a line nor a road,
It doesn't pass by in equal integers:
It grows,
Swells,
Accumulates-
In small moments,
Gets caught in the reefs.
larger pools for more prominent moments.
Boundless depth in a singularity.

To see through the eyes of a dead man,
In a moment long past,
Forget the small,
Happy,
Tranquil,
Streams.
Waves career from the bigger ones,
Crashing into my small boat.

To be cast from the hull
And sink in the singularity,
Be consumed,
Drown.

A moment doesn’t pass,
It clings,
Accumulates.
Swipe at the water,
Seeping in,
Try and throw it out,
Before another wave…

The time we spent
Continues to consume,
It swells,
And dwells
In the foreground,
Always.
Time does not pass by,
It is here,
Screaming,
Just as it always has been,
Growing.
Haunting.

I don’t think that I can bare
To accumulate anymore of our time.
My lungs are full,
I have choked on the untameable mass of the lamenting sea.
Fawn and Sukanya Sinha Roy wrote a couple of beautiful pieces concerning time. I felt inspired. It is a bit rushed, but I don't mind so much.
CautiousRain Dec 2018
Ought I be so scared
of the monsters I fell in love with?

I should know by now
that a man with such an acquired taste
for knives and playthings
could tear me in half.

Their desires to be like me, of me,
torments me as much as the thought
of being like them;
and oh, how my false confidence
destroys me in the end,
pretending I could never fear them.

How quaint it is to exist
inside, between, such disfigured forms
of speech and image,
but must I tremble at their voice,
must I crumble at the feet
of something so deformed?

I know if I see him, see them,
I would much like to be afraid,
and every part of my bones
will collapse into flakes and shards,
only for me to later inhale
my brokenness, with disturbed breath,
and I will feel my eyes swell with lamenting salt,
sensing I'm letting my weakness show.

I've never wanted to run away
as much as I've wanted to run away from him,
from them,
from the absolute tormenting weight of them,
their brown eyes, their brown hair,
their terrible smiles,
they've always claimed to want me
and now I fear they might come
to take me, just like they always said they would.
what a horrible mess we made
what a shame it is for me to have to clean up the pieces
harlon rivers Dec 2018
White violets in the window
Scarlett leaves tumble across
the mossy hidden stones
mound beneath a chilly winter's dawn

A cold wind bares the dogwood tree
where puffed out plumaged woodpecker
gleans on creations' plump red bounties,
beheld subsistence beget for feral wings

Bright crimson fattened rose hips season,
lingering in the frigid morning dew;
stirring warm memories of fruitlet tea's
steeped from gathered garden magic spells
A spoonful of love and raw honey mellowed
a life once so lovingly endeared

Hot Blueberry dutch-oven scratch biscuits
imbue the wafting fragrant air —
life's cherished moments tarry
in the head and heart;
sipped by ruby lips still tasting
the untamable passion
of a breathless goodnight kiss

White violets blossom in the window
the morning fire's crackle echoes
a pining  memories' gentle whisper
awakened by the incoming wintertide

A dulcet breeze not soon forgotten
— melancholy traces linger
like a passing season's swan song

as your memory — leads me on...


harlon rivers ... December 5th, 2018
anon Sep 2018
long before the days of the netflix
streaming services
people either had cable
on demand
or got netflix dvds
like a mail order
redbox

but i grew up
with public television
pbs
the the public broadcast station
filled with stories
and shows
that wanted to teach
while entertaining

liberty kids taught me history
while cyberchase showed me
math can save the world
when it's important
arthur allowed children
everywhere
to see that we all are equal
and we all can be friends
because everybody that you see
has an original point of view

and i say hey!
why have we abandoned
the important lessons
for the sake of entertainment

my little brother makes jokes
about logan paul
recording
and exploiting
a suicide victim

my little brother told me
he wants to be the next
bachelor
on abc

my little brother called me
a **

when i was nine years old
like he is
i asked my mom
for extra television time
so i could tune into
fetch with ruff ruffman
at 3pm
and see science
in action

i begged for a game boy
not for madden17
i read by the light
of a little reading lamp
not with a blue glowing light
exuding from a new samsung tablet

i'm not saying technology
is bad
or that we should
regress

i'm saying our children
our siblings
and maybe even our friends
are growing up ******* up

and we can change that
but we never do

i want to tell my children
dragon tales
dragon tales
not to turn off youtube before bed
i want children now
to learn before they even
enter a classroom
but i suspect that no one
will listen
or even stop
to care
aniket nikhade Dec 2016
Time flies
Time moves fast and world seems to be very much different than what was initially thought.
Present becomes a thing of past and past becomes a thing of remote past,
what remains in mind are moments from past.

Images and instances from past
Quite a few glimpses from past
Essentially what remains in the mind are moments that went on to define the past.

Annoying facts
Bitter truth
A past that cannot be denied, even if it was disturbing
To add to it there is an undisclosed future, which largely remains uncertain.

In all the chaos and confusion of life quite essentially what remains in mind is the present moment in time, which won’t last forever
It’s always better to remember that the present moment in time belongs to the present, which is the best thing to happen in life.

How fast things have changed in life over a short period of time, which brings the mind back to present moment in time.
Is this the thought that comes to mind over a period of time with regards to what’s going on in life?

If yes,
then better remember,
neither facts and nor truth it changes.
It’s the perception that changes.
Hence even if for a moment or so it’s thought that rest of the things in the world are the same as it is,
as it was,
as it used to be like it was thought prior still facts and truth will remain the same with regards to the present and past.

Hence the best thing to do is to be what you are.
Be what you are
Do what you want
In doing so always remember not a single moment in time is going to last forever
Hence never waste any moment in time lamenting over what has been lost with regards to everything that happened in past.

A thing of past is a thing of past,
from where it came,
to where it belongs.
A thing of past is a thing of past and it will remain in past.

The world is a fast changing place where everything that belongs to the present is going to change with regards to what’s best that’s possible in an uncertain future.
Given the chaos and confusion in life what needs to be thought is something certain in the present, which will also have a place, space and position in the future.

Initially something like this was neither planned,
nor was it thought,
however something like this has happened in life and not only happened,
but now it’s part of life.
A force greater than what was thought continues to exist, remains in life and guides every individual in the best possible way
In whatever form every individual recognizes it,
finally it’s called by the name, God.

First you have to believe in yourself,
then believe in the world around you.
Finally your life belongs to the world in which you live.

So think positively in life
Be positive
A positive attitude towards life is what is going to shape life in a better way

In all the walks of life,
always remember,
if you have a positive mindset,
then the outcome is going to be positive.
Ottar Feb 2015
Colours.
The Arc is a contrast to
the stark, overcast sky.

There are,
two end and there
are two sides.

Meeting
means to
collide.

Box
emptied of vacation
memories, blossoms
of plastic, frozen faces.

Broad smiles, hid the
lies behind the lines
and teeth, bits of sand,
those once were hot,
Between the ugly toes,
grains now discarded,
But no more enjoyed, the
mind is blind to the litter.
                  what was toyed, with
blackmailed emotional *** of gold.

The Colour
has drained away,
rummaging in this, in the dark
is too damaging, with gritty fingers,
on delicate nerve tissue, softly,
please, mind the
Grey matter.
Äŧül Jan 2015
Whenever I enter any Indian Wedding,
The clarinet would be lamenting in rejoice,
Playing it would be very frequently happy tunes,
The irony became so profound when I'd move further,
Clarinet already lamented that the groom would lose himself.
My HP Poem #752
©Atul Kaushal
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