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On the evening of August 6th
The body is separated, eviscerated
Stone walls
Lost thralls
A family takes their evening stroll
And finds themselves imprisoned
Their umbilical cord, cut down the half
Microwave oven
Searing monsoon shower
Vagrant feet are shackled
Eyes are blinded with exhaust pipes
The East is not allowed to cry alone
Decay, wail on
Wail on
Contain us
Dear Marcus, free me
From these Pyrrhic victories
Clean this dusky mall
I feel safe under phosphoric lights
Guerillas swing on electric wires
Transatlantic conversations
Acquired on paper
Perverse
Desecrated
Red cloth seizes everything
Stray, running felines
The impassioned, waving flag
Kept in a velvet pocket
Stay here, stay a while
This cold era is a rising draft
The Bermuda Triangle
Quarantined
No more ships crawl along the winded shore
A time capsule
The nation sinks into antiquity
The brink of armageddon
Cusp of oblivion
Crimson hand of eternity
An old, whittled clock
Last minute
Cold Turkey!
*** almighty
Peace is never promised
But we may yearn again
Nobody is free
But we are safe for another hour
*** almighty
Leases on the lands
Paid in thorns
Nations playing circles
Mr. Versus Mr.
An ever-changing world
Stagnant and tightly oiled
Save this soil
It will cave in silence
The clockmaker sits in the backdrop
Readying her tools
Caitlyn Nov 21
there once was a girl
she wasn't as she seemed
she was kind, sweet, superbly smart and had a massive sweet tooth

There was a boy
he was exactly as he seemed
polar opposite of the girl
rude, failing grades, hated sweets in all forms

but they came together one day
it was like the stars aligned for them
it was a sudden connection
he was sweet to her
and she was amazing to him

he wanted to know everything about her
he wanted to feel the form of her body
he wanted to be in her mind
he wanted to know how a heart,
so broken and crushed
could still love

she wanted to know how someone
as amazing, sweet, and beautiful as he,
could love a broken girl like her.
she wasn't like other girls
she learned from the pain
she learned to never let it bug you
she has only told her story once
about all the madness behind the beauty

they finally got together
oh what a pair they were

the human body has 2 ears
2 eyes
and 2 lips
and 1 heart
she believed it was because the heart was independent
he believed it was because we were meant to find the other half

she broke him
the firey eyes he once had
were now burned out.
she said it was because she lost feelings
but you see the thing is
if you truly love someone,
how do you just stop loving them?

how do you wake up one day and decide you are no longer in love?
how do you leave the person who has been there for you
he never understood why she left him
he thought she was a flame
a flame to join his flaming heart

but what he didn't know
was that she was the bucket of water
to put out his burning heart.
WOW
also plot twist lol
Alaska is a cold place, where I met my love
Though memory eludes me, know that,
The girl I met from a number of miles away
Whom I grew to love as we took turns shouting
She is as true as the piercing gale
She is as warm as she is pale

I let her go from a great height, into the depths of the Pacific
And watched her fall into the chasm
She did not fret or stare, but closed her palms 
I smiled and cried happiness until the sea was filled
She is as true as a dying mill
She is as warm as she is still

We are so cavalier, the world in a waltz 
As we shoot a parade of bullets in threes
These crimes! It is the blissful appeal of watching
Humanity itself die, for the sake of one human
She is as true as I
She is warm as we fly

We speak of stories as borealis enshrouds us
Her stories would have us freeze the world over
I gawked and adored her beautiful mind
But I would later be her fool 
She is as true as an aimed gun
She is as warm as she is undone

She did not keep up with her age too well
Our crusades had stalled her mind and then
I knew she would not stand for me to dream without her
We would not have the world to ourselves again
She is as true as our last winter stroll
She is as warm as the coldest atoll 

Alaska is a cold place, where I lost my love
Though memory erased her, I know this much
I would have frozen her in time
Just to rule the world a little while longer
I don't hold regret for the deaths we brought
I write her, holding the same thought
Blade Maiden Sep 15

I want
my heart on a platter
so I can see the ins and outs
Want the act to matter
See it mirrored, my mouth, it shouts

Feels like
standing in front of the mic
singing of losing track of time
remembering this certain chime

Means I
don't really know how to defy
feeling lost in the rubble
of uncertainties and trouble

I hide
behind buckets full of the tide
I filled when the ocean didn't look
all I could see I took

I keep
time in a place safe and deep
live inside a moonlit jar
an ocean filled reservoir
read my own memoir
and said au revoir
Shofi Ahmed Jul 23
Tomorrow's sunrise
is a memoir.
It remembers
an exact mirror.

Like it showed up
a thousand times earlier.
At the end of the same
veiled night.

Once again will it take
a trip to the memory lane
and lay on a sea of primulas
interpreting in colour
that’s sweet dream!

The sun is in the know
It will paint across.
But own’t touch the rose
it will sleep in its dew.
Breathe in the rustling leaves
Hide behind the unwanted plants that arise
From the creaks in the concrete.
Perhaps they have discovered a source of life
Far sublime than the one you dwell in.
The wind, the wind,
The wind blows opposite
To where the bird wants to go.
The wind, the wind,
The happy eucalyptus oscillating in unison
Bidding adieu to the birds in flight.
The wind, the wind,
Making fishes out of thoughts,
Myriad corals and hydrae out of trees.

The water tank
Formidable in its all absorbing blackness,
Contains the most lucid, transparent and fragile,
Of man’s ultimate conquests.
Water.
Which drips from above sometimes
When the sky salivates
At the hot porridge
Of a lifeless mess
Beneath itself.
Birds are like kites,
Leaves are like fingers
Dexterously typing whispers
Like signals to the wind.

Limited is the vision
Where we sit now.
Our backs immersed in the restlessness
Of the occasional writer;
Our eyes fixated on the botchy
Grey watercolor work of the sky.
Everywhere we look, wherever we see,
A band of seven colors break the reverie.
The enthusiastic trees type harder
All leaves in the virulence of a martyr.
Close your eyes.
Step beyond the panorama which
Refuses to bare itself before your soul.
Step beyond the boundaries of the visible,
Into the consolation of the miscible
Voices.

Moribund shrubs,
With faces of the half dead,
Half faced creatures of the unformed,
The cruel monotony of their demands resonate
Wildly with the marginalized.
How in their knots and hunches,
Leaves drooping intoxicated
From the light stolen away by
The more representative, the more vociferous,
Lies the silent acceptance of their abandon.
Here and there taller branches,
Crane towards the sunlight,
Hoping for the winds to listen,
Or perhaps,
For the sun to burn them away first.
Old cranes and their ignominious hoarse throats,
Can only coax words that are coarse.

The dull, blotted uniform grey
Densifies at certain places
A somber sleep indulges the sky.
The winds now,
In their frightful fancy
Scour the floor of your feet
Touching you soles,
Your shoulder, your spirit.
But the playful naught of the wind
Derives insatiable pleasure from
Tickling the trees,
Rocking the eucalyptus,
Till the moonlight washes away
All the eccentricities
Of the frivolous day.

After a joyous revelry,
The tree laughs less
The vigor in its chuckle realizes,
That it is time to retire.
The sky rearranges its clouds
To cast a pallor
Loses the yellow
The grey, for a darker, almost impenetrable
Black.
The water tank camouflages
With our beady eyeballs.
The transparent water fills up
You and me.
Our eyes dilate, staring into the sky
Bidding the dusk good-bye.
Come, live with me, a little
Poonam Mar 28
In the wake of twilight, When memories stir you
Unwrap the book of a soul, A sketch have been carved
Unravel a chronicle of its painter, Hidden in the canvas

Moments of lonely summer days, tumultuous rainy evenings
Craving for someone to hold, in freezing winter nights
Etched in the canvas, She painted it with words

Distance would be crossed, separated by life and death
Caress the words, You will feel her pounding heart
Smell the pages, Breathe in her feelings

Lifetime she has woven, It’s her mirror image
You will understand her, Love her more than you did
She sketched it for you, It had always been only for you

If smile brightens your eyes, It’s her smile for you
If it saddens, remember it would be only her sadness
Tears smudged in words, The ones she couldn’t hold

Her soul thrives in her memorabilia, Kept hidden in her lifetime
If you see her spirit between the lines, She will rest in peace
Wrap the chronicle as the twilight sleeps, Rest embracing her memories
Someday I'm going to wake up
From my old rocking chair,
Somewhere far beyond this shore
And begin writing a memoir on my laptop.
The title, though vague and mundane,
Will encapsulate the tales of my life's journey.

In it, I will say less about money
or the girls I once called honey.
But I will rather mention that one special lady;
Who stood by me and only called me baby.

I'm going to dedicate an entire chapter to my people,
I'm going to talk about their resilience to the struggle.
There will also be a chapter dedicated to love;
Love for mankind, my family and the man above.

I'm also going to make mention of all the things I have done.
Be it good or bad, I will write even if it takes the afternoon.
One by one I will write down everything I did wrong.
After that, I'll play me my favorite Bob Marly song,

That one that tells the story of slavery and redemption.
In that particular one, I will use a little procrastination...
And at the very end of that memoir, I will give thanks to ***,
For grace upon my life, my kids, my hustle and for spoken word.

Someday I will wake up far beyond this shore,
and write the final chapter of my life's journey.
I will then reveal the last wish of my life before I die.
I swear it will be so funny, it'll make every reader laugh.

IB-Poetry ©️
3/25/2018
I really don't know much about writing a memoir, is this a part of it, have I revealed too much already?
Tsunami Mar 17
I talk to the moon every night,
During my evening smoke break.
Bathed in moonlight,
I ache.

Her and I,
Waltzing around the subject of goodbye.
We parley.

The stars,
Inquire of my lonliness
As if my memoirs
were written anonymous

Whisper to the nebulous clouds
resembling smoke from my lit cigarette
nothing to make a sound
Looping over and over on a cassette
i know you hurt me and you think its funny but i still love you and i still miss you
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