Thou hast the ability

to seek the flickering light,

of hope in the dark

Thou hast the power

to gather thy shattered pieces

again and again.



O thou real artist!

Thou paint the colors

in thy life.

What thou do is not so easy

when thou choose what thou like

rather than being bound by hallow promises and fake  love

Thou finally free.



O thou real beauty!

What thou do is not so easy.

Gathering thy broken pieces

holding hand of those who once betrayed.

masking pain with thy most beautiful smile.



O thou touchstone!

What thou do is an art.

An art to be practiced.

Art of choosing.

The hard way to right destination.



O thou real artist!

What thou do is not so easy

To be true to yourself

to be honest that make thou so lovely.



O thou beauty!

thy sedate tone...

After all the hardships of life.

proves thou a king.



O thou real artist!

thou paint the colors

in thy life.



O thou king!

thou got no jewels in thy treasure

but when thou unlock thy word-hoard

In whole world's treasures,

there left naught.



O thou king!

O thou beauty!

After losin' everything.

Thou win, thou win, thou win.

O thou touchstone!

~Sweara Ahmed~
#copyrights_reserved
Nuna 6d

First things first,
I miss your eyes
Mostly your lies
The lies you used to wrap around my neck and hang me from the 7th cloud you put me on, making your lips vibrate on my skin
They warned me
But could you blame me?
I only saw the good in you
You brought out the best in me
And kept it for you
I was left with the worst of me
It was too much for you
So you left me
Hanging still from the 7th cloud I don't dare to move
Tell me,
Why do I miss your eyes
Mostly your lies

Words from 2015

Happy, happy April Fool’s Day,
Make it a good one
Search terms searching the night away
I have gone too far away

Nothing to breathe
Pleasure and the fume
Fists of a clock
Entering a dark room

When you were younger, you sort of looked like
Lou Reed looked when he was young
Maybe not up close, I was too far away
It was too hard to see
You were all I could see
That's just who you were to me

So many, so meaningless
I could not ever make you exist
I should have kept it zipped
But I turned the vocals up just a little bit

I should have been more kind
But not to you,
I should not have lacked so much in empathy
For all those suffering around me
I should have kept them better company
But it was too hard to see
You were all I could see

Good, good things happen to bad people,
To cruel and unusual people

There is good news, even for bad people
Bad people are never alone

Dumb fathers many children
L’Wren Scott never had any of her own

Seven million, so many, so meaningless
Too many pay too much for this
High prices for good feelings that just don't exist




Do not go back to visit on a day
You have nothing to do or on a day
You have other things to do

Leave it where it is
It is in its place

Un-recaptured
Haunted in empty fairgrounds
Canary not coming back from the coal mine

Missed connection disconnecting

Better keep the past in the past
Lowly places built in place
Of torn down places

The creaks of the walls setting. The silent pitter of the leaky facet in the hall bathroom. That black stain on the entryway rug. The intoxicating light scent of lavender incense. These are the things that made home......home. Now its all a distant memory, for I have moved on. Moved out. Gone.

Nightsung Dec 8

The cold rays landed on the surface
Boiling the earth in its radiance
For the morning so cold
The sun still holds
And warms our mother gaia

Why wouldn't birds bathe in the sunlight
As they travel from haven to haven
Why wouldn't the beetles traverse the grassland
Underneath the amber glow

The warm rays landed on the surface
Boiling the earth in its radiance
For the morning so cold
The sun still holds
And holds us dear

older poem
Nightsung Dec 8

Respiratory chambers inhale the frigid air
And distorts its inner peace
Visions flounder and loud noises
As the water carresses its surface

The water retracts yet the peace remained violated
Simultaneously being unexposed to the change

I exhale but frail air merely makes me meek
To the fumes of an alternate similarity

older poem
Nightsung Dec 8

The mere brushing of your skin against mine
The mere scent of roses lingered
I remembered your soft embrace
The faint breaths agains my chest

The eternal bond, before death's carress
In bliss I stood and looked in your eyes
They were dull yet dillated
And I traced your pale skin
Why are you asleep?

older poem

Late in life I struggle against my insignificance
When I should enjoy the freedom from performance before an audience.
Applause is happiness but if they withhold applause, embarrassment.
When Da Liu put me to work crunching hexagrams and spreadsheet
      numerology
Instead of ghost writing his books about T'ai Chi for longevity
I was humiliated but freed. No need to interpret
The Chinese master's wisdom or endure his disapproval.
All this happened in an apartment on 110th St. when I lived on 111th.
I wonder if Da Liu lived to 100 like he predicted. Pop Pop
Didn't make it. So be it. Ken got me that job, old friend Ken
Who goes back all the way past high school to Thompson Junior High.
Tomorrow we're eating pizza together in Troy.
We'll remember Da Liu and also the painter and sculptor who had a
      room
In our apartment on 111th and a dog so intelligent it could walk off the
      leash
On the crowded streets of New York without an altercation, and Zach
      Sklar
Of course, journalist, communist and jazz afficionado
Who listened to Jo Jones and Paul Quinichette, Count Basie's men,
Often as possible at the West End.
Back then I was playing the streets for quarters, not much more
Than that sculptor's dog, the sculptor's name I wanna say
Was Mike Johnson and he was a man of few words and many women.
We had a major cockroach problem in that apartment on 111th St.
And I also remember the ceiling leaked in Ken's room and he
Did battle against the landlord, helped form a tenant's association.
We were young and blind as newborn mice, puppies or roaches
We went to our daily disciplines like children of paradise or Da Liu who
      was already old.

When we meet for pizza and talk it will be hard to hear now that I'm deaf
In one ear. Ken, whose name means knowledge, has trouble seeing
      faces.
To want to be famous is a silly goal for a man almost old as Da Liu.
Not the right motivation. Much better to look slowly, labor
For the success and happiness of others.
I'm still avoiding the deeper question. Which is what? Cultivate
An acceptance of nature (including the biomass in the crosswalks)
And know the names of all the grasses. Much to learn about molecules,
Still trying to make sense on the trumpet. What's Ken doing lately?
He's retired from teaching. Is he spending his time reading?
So today I ordered Da Liu's books, maybe the ones I worked on,
Because they offer assistance to others for further living.
Service to others, that's the key, or conversely,
I pleasure in and treasure my insignificance, the autumn I
Realized my insignificance, it ought to be a great comfort
To be so insignificant, being knowledgeable is the best defense against
Your insignificance, it does not put me in mind of the species'
      insignificance,
Exiled or sidelined to an insignificant role, a valued
Member of our community or so insignificant no one notices
Or cares, insignificant and mighty happenings
Seem the same from my vantage aging gratefully, inexorably,
A way to learn your insignificance, freedom to have never been.

www.ronnowpoetry.com
Kashish Dec 7

With the promise of being friends forever they parted.
40 years later the will to meet each other started.
All dressed up for the reunion, the tears rolled down.
As the health did not cooperate with the mind.
Then they remembered the party was uptown.
With the moan, they started to breakdown.
Then a flashback appeared.
The laughs, the pranks and the sensations.
One puts on a brave face and break fear.
From the wheelchair he gets up and calls the dear.
Says doesn't matter the disability, the friends will never out wear.
Get up o get up dear.
The one with low eyesight, calls for the car.
Says doesn't matter if I have to go far.
One by one all leave the fright and go with sparkle in their eyes.
40 years later, again under one roof.
The faces have changed but not the emotions.
Everybody remembers the good old days and promises that never failed.
The clown of the class again makes a joke.
The Romeo and Juliet of the class are still poked.
With funny thing in mind, they make a pact again.
This time to not meet but to get buried together as a team.

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