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Carlo C Gomez Jan 2022
~
Strange how
my feet won't touch
the ground.
Strange how
my bags are packed
with sadness.

Plight is
my fellow passenger
to Osaka sun,
or Artic chill,
or some volcanic
love nest.

Strange how
my jet-setting eyes,
they see paradise only
on satellite tv,
yet they see the once
beautiful people
and all their utter dismay,
as they pass through
the metal detectors.

So strange
that I can hear
their strife
their suffering
well above
the engine's roar.

~
Zywa Dec 2021
The birds fly with me

in the same direction, if --


I look short enough.
Collection "Between where"
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
~
Cold cold heart
Frozen plumage
Like a peacock
Her ladyship
In the campfire light
Skating about the pond
Of her own vanity

~
neth jones Dec 2021
a semi seasonal species
we are subject —
— but many play out the Winter
with long work hours
and pricy imported foods
Zoe Mae Dec 2021
Shivering maples
Paint the heavens shades of grim
Wistful is the wind
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
~
taking sides
picking flowers
dead and buried
on the surface line

counting hostages
trading stamps
extended infinitely
at right angles

cozy spaces
married couples
perpendicular
legs and mingled stria
one over the other

It's all conjugated
hyperbola
a tourist trap
with zero interest
for a year

~
neth jones Nov 2021
vented clouds
form a mackerel skin sky
implanted chill
fills out
from a marrow ache
to the human exterior

i walk under the sky
porous to it all
connected by the cold
Autumn
Satvik gupta Nov 2021
People generally oppose the change in their daily life but get used to it after sometime .

Why so ?

You should oppose that till the end , or accept that from the very start.

This is really frustrating ,atleast for me, like really ?

Such a hypocrite !
Getting used to it is like forcing yourself to live in that situation and I don't believe in that .


By the way starting a new series "THE OBSERVATION"  . I will pen down my daily life watching's
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2021
How time
Eats away at our words
Like kernels of discontent
Tossed about
And taken by caustic birds
On the qui vive
Feeding off our book
Of broken pieces
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