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minisha Jun 23
I asked my better halves
how they desire to lie,
once their hearts stop beating,
and breath bids a last goodbye.

Whether they want the stars to
sculpt their constellation, or
the wind to whisper their
cacophonic tales.
Whether they want the earth
to devour their cadaver, or
the skies to weep and
wash away their existence.

The guitarist stated he'll despise grief
as his memories are being relived,
of who he was and who he remains,
as his guitar sleeps in the arms of its heir.

And maybe, the perished strings of an old guitar
don't have to be mourned over,
but applauded for the melodies
that once kindled a ripple of delight.

My dearest across the border
wishes to be nestled beside a mosque
to be enwreathed by The Divine
and lullabied by the Azaan.

And maybe, the eternal slumber is a charade,
and the past still echoes
within the mute boughs or
streets alive with familiar voices.

My junior casts an absurd wish —
to be submerged in cocoa's caress
and be tossed to the lesbian zombies,
who hunger, not for flesh, but for a passion, so savage and insatiable.

And hence, I believe, the hilarity will haunt forever,
but so will my adoration for her,
and perhaps, the craved fervour will
find its form in me.

Then, another writer wove it in her own syllables —
she urges to sink beneath the dismissed waves,
flicker among starlight, like undying thoughts.
She wants her bones to dissolve, ink for Gods,
and her heart to rest beneath a willow.

She wishes to slip into silence,
like laughter scattered over dreamy vinyl,
breath scattered over moonlit stars,
and a page torn mid-sentence.

And lastly, if you enquire of me,
I wish my corpse to be a legacy beyond self
and be gifted to time and science.

But if coerced to be cremated,
I wish to reincarnate as a litchi tree.
With my arms extended in a welcoming warmth,
I will embrace the excluded,
my shadow will shelter the weary,
and my fruits will sate the starving.

All of which I was never offered
in the frigidity of my bloodline,
but was abundantly endowed with,
in the refuge of my closest mates.
Soph Jun 12
Summer is coming up
Should I be excited?
Should I be happy?
I used to be
And maybe I should
But I'm not

Summers aren't
What they used
To be

As a child
Summers were something
That everyone
Really, everyone
Looked forward to

So Magical

The magic that used to be
Is gone
Never coming back

Now
Everyone is in their rooms
No one goes out
With their friends
Plays Ball
Goes swimming

The magic that used to be
Will it ever come back?
Wrote this for a summer themed poetry contest
Yavuz May 15
At the foot of my balcony,
there was an inviting hole,
allowing my eyes' vision to enter,
luminescent colors burning in my head,
like a child's fantastic playground,
retaken from memory's debris.

Running out of time,
night's veil faintly glowing,
stars reaching out to me,
asking me witheringly,
why I would treat my soul beneath contempt,
why would they appreciate my absence,
my whiskey's glass,
cascading,
down the shade's slide.

Breathy wind skimming over my soaked lips,
disappointment prowling through trembling legs,
the joy of night,
taking one's leave,
the sighs of dawn,
crossing the threshold
into waking life,
tears steadily drying out,
curling my consciousness insentient,
ruptured hole,
denying my presence too.
Salwa May 5
Flying through the abyss,
Nothing but darkness.
Everything wilted—
Not even eyes glow with fondness.

A dark hue in the air,
An aroma thick as musk.
This odyssey has left me stuck—
In thought, in place.

This land where even stars don’t fall,
The moon swallowed by a thought long gone.
These nights where no light is found,
Where heartbeats are not meant—
Is where I’m most content.
—s
Dutch May 1
A heart worn thin, still standing,
held up by wages and routine,
racing to seem put-together,
starving for praise, chasing the sheen.

I mend these wounds in silence,
behind walls that never speak.
I laugh where echoes answer,
longing for death each fragile week.

The days slip by unnoticed,
time erodes what made me real.
Even the mirror looks away,
and shadows flee what they can't feel.

In this room that breathes but hollows,
every wish sinks and dies.
What remains is just a vessel—
a pulse that lives, but never tries.
Yavuz Apr 28
Sitting all alone again in the dark,
sometimes you prefer it this way,
sometimes you desire vicinity,
in a way you never felt before.

What is this sorcery?
What is this madness that flows through you like nothingness?
Devotion, attachment,
yet there is no retort.

Even the sky above the grimly desert would bow to you, cry to you,
could not reciprocate.
All that's left is the withering rose at road's end.

Why must it be this trail?
You burn, you freeze, you flourish
no matter the result,
as notoriety will be immortalized,
upon this cursed and blessed land.
Yavuz Apr 28
Tell me why you left me here to rot,
the hole in my heart stretching out to the sea’s surface,
veiling a silk-made sun.

I’ve been anticipating your return by the shore across the nameless sea,
but when even the fog’s hive dissipated,
I could not bless my very eyes with your expected arrival.

My fingers trembling, turning numb from the chilly wind,
all blood within slowing down,
yet whenever I think of you, my fervent passion’s rising.

Now, truth be told, the draining cold gets the better of me,
the sheer heated thought of you dealing with the raging death battle,
wishing you would find me in all this unbearable mess.

If only you came sooner.
Yavuz Apr 28
Venom creeping across the surface,
enveloping the darkest spots of my feet,
wishing it'd be time to make you cleanse me,
wherever you might be.

They say the greater you rise, the harder you break — is that the shape of happiness fading?

The sky is blue, the grass is green,
yet my eyes are red,
wondering where my yellow is,
for I want to experience the peaceful sunset at last.
Let me drink the light your eyes have touched,
A glimpse to still the tremor in my veins.
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