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InkHarted Sep 1
After the Rose had shattered like glass
painting the fragility of a gift untouched
his body begins to drown in dirt
and his feathers embrace the roots
his heart hath given to the colder winds
and his eyes kept open to see the dark
its beak still open for its last note still hung
in the air of glum and awe
but from a distance she heard the song unfinished
the angel who hears his sigh
she descends from duty to null this darkness
from one winged angel to another  
she kisses him from divine intention
she holds in her lips the elixir of hope
for one touch of love and whisper of hope
and the nightingale sings again.
love is all that matters and love always finds away
Shofi Ahmed Aug 27
What will you do, should you do
If you are led pass to fly
far from the sight at the twilight?
Slip into a tucked away serene sky
Keeping your head held high
Sway free by posy astro ewers.
And as you please pick n fill them  
With your so exquisite star-flowers!
Then you may well fancy reaching out
to the Moon bubbling on the edge of the night.

If you then swing back at the day peep
Wake up listening to the nightingale singing
Now can you interpret what is it saying?

Or when all is in place something is missing?
Tanay Sengupta Aug 2018
In to the night,
As the breeze soothes the mind.
A lonely owl steps out to the light,
Leaving his nest behind.
As the moon shines
And the wind blows;
The nightingale hymns
And the gaslight glows.

Nocturnal creative artists at work.
The night only fuels their quirk.
Then a sudden cacophony disturbs the air.
A noise no one can bare.
From a distance it can be heard.
It whistles, but it is not a bird.

It slows as it reaches its destination.
Breaking through the peace with its whistle.
The train stops as it reaches the station.

Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
This is based on a true story. I was at a train station in a village, waiting for a train which was about 6 hours late. While waiting I could not help but notice the surroundings since it was a village, needless to say there were many interesting things to see. I have noted a few things here. I hope you like it.
The nightingale’s
voice was the
song of the
moment of
when I opened
my eyes to the
light of what
I was once
to, when
met with
In this
hour of
from the
& parting
of what
I have
I now
become an
part of your
heart, as
we held
stars in
our hands
our eyes
to their
as we
to be, the
magic in
your soft
what I
had been
all along,
past all
of these
on the
we hold
with our
cups of
tea, as
I whisper
to you,
“hold me
of the
for the
of our
Is the
to the
of the
“what is
this truth
they have
told, that
I have failed
to see?”
as the bird
with the
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2018
You’re nothing but a rose
I stepped on the thorn
and came out
to be your nightingale.
It’s all yours all in all
just give me a call!

Nothing can hurt me more
then when your shadow
isn’t in the shadow of mine.
Without you my rainbow
has no colour.
But if you come back you will  
find the earth in bloom
You will see the sun is in a dew
Come back, like you do
smelling of rose.
Just give me a call.

I heard you say
the sun is out basking
down on the blue sea.
I wonder what more
I am missing
with my limited vision!
But when you ring
the bell on my door
I can see the sunrise
in the little peephole.
Come now, just give me a call.
Chrissy Ade Jul 2018
The nightingale is titillating;
its songs shiver down my spine
while listening to its melodious voice;
hearing the pitch-perfect harmonies,
is as calming as the summer sea

I watch the nightingale, perfectly perched on the tree
whispering sweet sounds of seduction
beckoning to her mate
its voice echoes throughout the night
Filling the eeriness of the pitch-black sky

My own nightingale, won't you sing to me?
Your voice is my sanity,
soft-spoken and light, solace rests in your songs,
It covers me like a blanket,
shielding me from all harm

Safe and sound in your presence
captured by those gentle brown eyes
your peace is like the moon,
Resting still in the dark
But always following around

My nightingale sings me to sleep
as the sky changes from dusk to night
the sweet little notes caress my ears
while I gently close my eyes
dreaming to her lovely lullaby
I consider this poem an 'old' poem since I wrote it about 5 years ago. I decided to revise it from the original, which I may or may not post later. All feedback and CC is welcome!
There was a song
such a beautiful one
that we danced to
when we were young,
but now we are older
we listen to the gentle nightingale
that way I see you as young
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