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lilhadi Jan 8
“I lOve you”
Those words
                                      from her lips.
I believed her deceitful manner, her charisma; it was alluring.
I think most people take this as an s.o. but it could be anyone who stopped loving you a friend, a parent to just deceived you to get what they want from you. I also think of the devil to deceive you & feed you with lies to follow her.
Mikey Kania Nov 2019
write the beginning of a
sentence in capital letters

mind the dots please.
you mustn't forget to finish a
sentence properly as
well as writing in accordance to
the given guidelines of
our faculty and its members
esteemed personalities who would never
forget a dot.

can you sense how i
talk and how i
take care
of my writing?
Creator Sun Aug 2019
Her mouth twists into a smile.
A couple of hours later it becomes a frown.
It looks a little lopsided, doesn't it?
One arm is longer than the other; and faster.

But she doesn't care. Nobody does.
She smiles and frowns all day.
For she is but a servant tell,
the true master of the day.

It reaches out to us.
Tells us what to do and when to do it.

An age old foe.
For no one can escape it's cages.

A fabrication of the mind.
It traps us all in it's never ending orbit.

It's just like a dime.
Our future depends on how we use it.
I've picked this word to write a poetry about today since I'd gone off schedule due to falling sick. So here's a poem about time and its servant. clock. We all have the same amount of hours a day, so why are some people able to keep everything on track while others fall to vices such as procrastination? I've been watching a few Ted Talks and the monkey one stuck out to me. Also the paperclip for a house. Anyways, I'll end the note now and get on to writing another poem. I do hope that you enjoy a new experimental writing style I've used!
solfang Sep 2018
I was told that
you do not like
my disjointed arms,
my geekish look,
my elongated legs,
my unruly manner.

I never knew
I am imperfect,
until you
pinpointed my
obviously beautiful flaws.
allow me to love myself the way I want.
Ronjoy Brahma May 2015
फंबाय-बिनानावमोन आं दिनै मानसिनि गोसोआ
माबादि खाना बेखौ नोँसोरनो खिन्थानि।
ओरैबादि दं जाय मानसिया
बेसादनि सायाव मेगन खोख्लैयो
बियो गुबुन आरो जेबोखौनो नुआ।
नाथाय ओरैबादि मानसिबो जाय माखौबा नुदोँ
बियो बेसाद होन्नाय
जेखौनो सिनाया।
फंबाय-बिनानावमोन फंसे बाथ्राखौ नोँसोर
खोनाबाय नङा ने?
'फिसा सिमां नुनाया फाफ'
भारतनि रुंग' हादरगिरि आरो सासे
बेसेबा गिदिर बिगियानगिरि
आब्दुल खालामा बुंदोँमोन बाथ्राखौ।
जोँ गिदिर मिजिँ लानांगौ, फिसा नङा।
सिमां नुनांगौ- बेखौ दाफुंनांगौ।
मानोना नोँ जेसे हास्थायो
बिदि नोँ मोनद्रायनाय नङा।
अब्लाबो जोँहा गिदिर सिमां; बिनि मिजिँआ थायोब्ला
गिदिर सिमांआबो नाजानायनि बोलोआव गावनो गाव फैयो।
सरासनस्रा मानसिया गासैबो जिरादखौनो मेगनजोँ नुयो
नाथाय बिसोरो ओरैबादि खाना थायोदि-
सासे आबादारि, थेला बोग्रानि
फिसाफ्राबोदि सासे दाक्टार जानो हायो।
सासे हादरगिरि जानो हायो
बेखौ बेसोर गोसोजोँ
सान्नोनो हाया।
जाय गोसो गियानजोँ सान्नो हाया
बिसोरखौनो गोसो खाना होन्ना बुंनाय जादोँ।
जाय उन्दै गेदेर सिनायनाबो,
गोरिब- हावरिया, खैफोद-आफोद नुनानैबो मदद होआ
बैसोर बादि गोरोँखौनो
गोसो जाम्बा एबा गोसो खाना बुंनाय जायो।
फंबाय-बिनानावमोन जोँ गोसोखौ बेमा
सोँहोनो नाङा।
बयखौबो नायनो सोलोँ,
बयखौबो अनसाय मानसि महरै
मानसिबादि गेदेमा आखल गियान दाफुं।
md-writer Apr 2015
The careless page on lamp-stand resting,

With pure white the glow reflecting,

Catches the sore wand’ring stranger’s eye,

And keeps it there without a sigh.

He reads thereon a poet’s verses,

Sore reflecting many hearses,

That should have rightly never rolléd,

Bearing corpses cowl- and hooded.

“Oh, the manner that he writes in!”

Thus the words that cross his cracking lips,

While tears run down to fill the rips.

Then eye, though dimmed, still struggling onward,

Next reads words that turn him upward,

Looking to the bright heav’nly places,

Where God with parted soul paces,

And—leaning down through clouds—soft touches,

Man’s heart so now again he blushes.

“What a manner that he writes in!”

“What god-like genius inspires him so,

Such lofty heights to rise unto?

Do Muses bright surround him—ringéd

In fair halo slight and gilded?

Or warrior-like hews he his figures,

Out of flesh and blood by measures,

‘Til the beauty shining forth o’erwhelms,

All other mortal verséd poems?”

“Which the manner that he writes in?”

Weary much from traveling afar,

The stranger sleeps him under star,

And as he dreams he sees the poet

—Yet in thought he does not know it--

Who sitting desk-bound looks about him,

Searching for poetic fountain;

And ne’er receiv’d he supernal

But from this life poetry made:

That broad noble brow in thought contracts:

The genius broods; his mind he wracks.

Then eye with pure, clear light shines—spilling

Evanescent* light, so thrilling,

And lip with rev’rent murm’ring carries

Sweet words to ear and gentle lays,

While pen—by trembling fingers wielded--

Marks the page to make sure-founded;

This, the manner that he writes in.
This poem is a refutation of Kharturi supernaturalists who believed that the Attar aided those who devoted themselves to the arts.

— The End —