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Old and young,
we bleed the same.
Queer and straight,
we bleed the same.
Fat and thin,
we bleed the same.
Black and white,
we bleed the same.

We were not born to hate—
we are taught to hate.
And those who indoctrinate
are the ones who shan’t create.

We must end this self-obsession,
this sickness that breeds oppression.
Stop feeding children poisoned lies
that twist their hearts and cloud their eyes.

Instead, teach love—teach respect,
so we can learn to reconnect.
Save them from our ignorance,
for we are the same—same—no different.
A powerful message of unity, equality, and the dangers of learned hatred.
Zywa Feb 28
Just live like a bus

driver, all the diversions --


then become the route.
Column in De Standaard (2025, An Olaerts)

Collection "Stream"
Iska Feb 27
Days flit by
like a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


As If watching a leaky faucet
In a plugged sink
The drops are slow to build
Weighted down by their own mass
As they reach a point where gravity
can no longer be surpassed,
To a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


As they fall into the basin
scattering ripples
And splattering droplets
As they fall
Gathering light in a glittering bowl
As the next drop slowly begins to flow
By the
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


But once you’re attention is pulled
And the visual is no longer there
Only a sound heard
Consistent tempo filling the air
Seeming to speed
where eyes can’t see
And the budding drops
fall carelessly
With a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


before you know it the basin is filled
With the drops cascading
beyond ones will
And the ripples now
scatter to waves against the brim
Caving to gravities endless whim
As a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


Once you notice, it’s far too late
The marble is shimmering
with streams and ponds
As it tallies the fee of water wasted
So too does time slip from the basin
And the coins we pay
exchanged with age
To a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


Before you know it
time has come to a stop
along with both
the drip
and the drop
jonathan Dec 2024
years spent numbing the pain
ignoring it's sting
covering it up
downplaying the hurt it causes

it will only lead
to you feeling

an aching numbness of existence
in self inflicted solitude

stand up for yourself
if no one takes care of you,
then you gotta do it instead
Ian Dec 2024
Once Baghdad was conquered,
And al-Musta'sim was imprisoned,
Hulegu Khan, aware of the king's
Great wealth and treasure,
Approached his cell, and bade him eat
Of his sumptuous goods.
The king, most bewildered by this order,
at once looked unto the Khan
and said, with voice stern,
“I shall do no such thing!”. It was then
The Khan proceeded to ask,
“Then why do you horde these gilded coins,
And precious jewels, and stones
Of land afar that you use not
To better the defense of your empire,
Or the welfare of your people,
Or the health of your animals?”
The king was silent, and the Khan's ire thusly grew.
“They then must be to eat
If they are not to be used
To strengthen your realm.”
“Do you store food for later consumption?”
“If so, why store these riches if they are not food?”
The king’s silence had yet to cease,
For he knew not what to say.
The days passed and to inanition
The king succumbed, alone and abreast of his treasure.
I once loved a man
Who had two faces
Told me words of love and reassurance
Even showered me with praises

But his words never
Matched what he truly felt
Because it was only pain
Not love or care I was dealt

I once loved a man
Who never meant what he phrased
His actions burned me
Leaving me chared and scathed

Told me he’d be there
When I needed him the most
But when the moment finally came
I was left with a ghost

I once loved a man
Who couldn’t be what I craved
The cards he left me with
Were truly cruel and depraved

The lesson I learned
Was only I could save me
Not the man with two faces
Who called me his lady
Aaron Nov 2024
The clock ticks softly but fast
There's no mean to see our past
Moments fade like falling stars
Life whispers to move onwards
First try to write a short poem full of teaching,meanings and depth
Valentin Eni Nov 2024
(Literal Translation from Romanian)

This poem, actually,
it's not even a poem,
just some random text
that
will waste your time
and energy,
will try to hurt you
and rub salt in the wound,
it will mess with you a bit.
That's what happens when you don't read
what you're supposed to.
This text was born
to teach you a lesson:
next time
be more careful
with what you choose to read!

(Alternative translation I)

A Poem Not Meant to Be Read

This poem, in truth,
is no poem at all,
just a simple text,
meant to stall—
to steal your time,
your energy, too,
to wound your soul
and rub in the salt,
mocking you,
it’s your fault.

That’s what happens, don’t you see,
when you read what’s unworthy.

This text was born with a goal in mind:
to set you straight, to make you find
a better path, a wiser way—
be cautious in the books you stray!

(Alternative translation II)

not recommended for reading

this poem truthfully
isn't even poetry,
just some random text
that will steal your time
and drain your energy,
will try to wound you deep
and on that wound will heap
salt, in other words
it's making fun of you.
that's what you get, it's true,
when you don't read what's due.
this text was meant to be
a lesson, you will see:
next time
be more careful
with what you choose to read!

(Original poem)

poezie nerecomandată lecturii

această poezie, de fapt
nici nu e poezie,
ci doar un text oarecare
care
îţi va lua ceva timp
şi ceva energie,
va încerca să te rănească
şi pe rană să-ţi presoare
sare,
adică îsi va bate niţel joc de tine.
aşa-i, când nu citeşti
ceea ce se cuvine.
acestui text i-a fost dat să se nască
pentru a te pune la cale:
altădată
să fii mai precaut
în lecturile tale!
The poem playfully critiques the act of reading indiscriminately, mocking both itself and the reader for engaging with texts of questionable value. It examines the relationship between writer, text, and reader, exploring notions of expectation, disappointment, and self-reflection.

The tone is ironic, self-aware, and lightly admonishing. The poem is a "non-poem," undermining its significance while drawing readers into its trap. Its conversational style, fragmented structure, and casual rhythm reinforce the playful nature, making the critique feel lighthearted rather than harsh.

Mocking its lack of depth, the "poem" provokes the reader to reflect on their choices and consider the value of what they consume. At the same time, it critiques the culture of superficial engagement, urging a more thoughtful approach to literature.
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