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Maria Mitea May 17
I feel
the burn in my chest,
as the sunny dream chops its edges
I run happy warming up in La vita è bella,
while the soles of my feet are burning
into the dark earth. Who cares? only
into the dark earth roots grow,
all lilac is still there at the Moscow Metro, while illusion succumbs to temptation running faster and harder,
the underworld has a life of its own,
a life of greater depth and purity, while
my eyes touch the cold striking murals, and
the book falls on the
Whisper
"The book.." is all knowledge we humans created and possess, and that still doesn't answer our big questions.                                                            
"Whisper" is the invisible reality;  that which is present but overlooked, obvious but not seen with an opened eye, the mystic, the soul, the spirit, inspiration, imagination, desire, passion, inner drive, ...
japheth Mar 25
‪huminga ka.‬

‪hindi porket nagparamdam siya, ‬
‪susubukan mo kung may pag asa pa;‬
‪kung may natitira pa.‬

‪sa oras na ‘to na lahat ay magkakalayo, ‬
‪na lahat ng tao’y may distansiyang higit sa isang metro, ‬

‪isabay mo na rin ang puso mo. ‬

‪di lahat ng bagay, may pagasang bumalik sayo.‬
english translation:

“metro”

breathe.

just because you felt his presence,
you try to see if there’s still a chance;
if there’s a hope left.

in these times where everyone’s apart,
where every person has a distance of 1 meter,

do so with your heart.

not everything has a chance to come back to you.

- been a while since I last wrote. i checked my messages now and i cried because someone told me they like the pieces i write. im sorry for not writing enough. i promise to make it up to you all once this pandemic is over.
ari Mar 4
that feeling you get
              when you’re on the tube and you’ve got
that song blasting in your cheap earphones
            you stare out the window, not that there’s anything to look at
     just a blurry wall
                you think yourself to be some sort of
cinematic genius in these moments
              you watch yourself in something of a movie
                       where you’re the director, the star, and the writer
       it’s emotional and perfect
             like a stupid ******* indie music video
                  for the song you love that nobody knows
Riddhi N Hirawat Nov 2019
Ek metro, saanp si guzar rahi hai kuch duur
Ek nabh faila hai uske upar - Neela sa kaala
Ek chaand chamak raha hai uss nabh mein
Kuch baadal sarak rahe hain paas mein uske
Usi metro ki tarah par dheere zara
Thandi hawayei hain.
Usme goonjta mera aaj khada
Kuch thandak hai inn hawaon mein
Aur bohot sara sukoon bhara

Aisi hi hoti hai wo chaand ki thandak?
Jinhen sunte, apna bachpan beet gaya
Kya sheetalta swarg ki aisi hai kahin?
Jisey suna kayion ka jeevan guzar gaya
Kya raambaan sukh yahi toh nahi
Kya kamdhenu vriksha aisa tha kabhi
Kya Ramcharitmanas mein hanumat
Ka Rambhakti amrit lagta tha yun hi?

Aisa hi amritmay bachpan mein,
yaad hai mujhko lagta tha
Zameen se shuru uss lambi khidki
Se yahi chaand chamakta dikhta tha
Mama sa ban chup shant bhav se
Kuch baatein meri sunta tha

Kyunki khud bhumi par bistar pe so
Holi mujhe khilayi thi
Khud bhookhe reh uss ke paiso
Se mere bhai ko idli chakhayi thi
Bohot pasand thi usko uski idli
Aur rangbhari mujhe holi meri

Kya kabhi unhen main unka wapas
Ye rinn chukta kar paungi
Kya kabhi unnsi balwaan main ban kar
Unke liye itna kar paungi?
Kya usi chaand ki thandak si khushiyan
Unki jholi mein bhar paungi?

Kya bhool maaf karne ki hadd
Ko paar kar kar ke thake nahi wo?
Kya raat bhar bhi jagkar subah
Hans dawa banna bhoole nahi wo
Kya insaani roop mein hain
Bhagwan, "maa baap" kehlate jo?
next time I'll hug the woman
crying alone in the metro
Poetry Addict Feb 2019
Buttoned-and-pressed eyes
Crystallized rationality glistens
(or so it seems!)
in their quest for whoisit.
Policemen occasionally search our underground train system when we're downtown and stop all the trains. My hometown is known for the huge quantities of police.
The world plants a desire,
and tells me I must douse its fire.
But this morning I toasted some bread
and read a Japanese poem about geese,
and I realised that all the time I lease
to smartphones and buying things
could be simply spent with a coffee, reading
a text that makes my bleeding heart sing.
An emergency macaroon
on a boulevard, in March,

Because my sugar levels dropping,
mind foggy, dopamine high crashing;
because legs aching; I can’t unknot
the multi-coloured tangles this evening;
because yesterday; because I said yes; because.
Because you never said in so many words.

You say there is cloud cover
with chance of rain, but you know there
will be rain because you have a headache.
You can tell but you can’t say.
Submission for the theme 'distance' for The Menteur Anthology
Latina1813 Feb 2018
Coffee blotched wool woven seats
Impassive solidarity on your ***
Dank rapidness
Screeching scream let loose as we transend
Through bleak blackness
Thoughts stream
"Wisdom teeth dont make you any brighter"
"But Starbucks coffee makes my stomach..."
...turn left
Stale air in my every crevasse
The doors to the train open
Crowded shuffles between aged avacado quiescent places
Those weary may rest on, float on
Shallow jolted perfume
As cucumber melon intoxication erupts
On undetermined destinations
Aspiring poets gaze
Out into the open world of
Twinkling city stars
On curved paths
On dipped forks in the road
"All passengers must exit"
Crowded shuffles between aged avacado quiescent places
Those weary return home
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