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low poetry Feb 5
you should have an intention
to own yours attention

be conscious of your species
be unpredictable like dices
use more spices
smell your faeces

constant flow of changes
be with it, don’t try to hold
write your own pages
be patient, free and bold
kiran goswami Dec 2020
I will turn the pages this time,
Not the tables
But the pages

For the chapter is over now.
annh Nov 2020
π™Έπš—πš” πš‹πš•πšŽπšŽπšπšœ 𝚊𝚜 πšπšžπš›πš’ πšŒπš˜πšžπš›πšœπšŽπšœ,
π™·πšŠπš•πš-𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 πš πš˜πš›πšπšœ πš‘πšžπš›πš•πšŽπš
π™Ώπš˜πš˜πš›πš•πš’ 𝚊𝚝 πš‘πš˜πš—πšŽπšœπš πš™πšŠπšπšŽπšœ;
π™°πš— πšŽπš‘πšœπšŠπš—πšπšžπš’πš—πšŠπšπš’πš˜πš— 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πšœπš™πš’πš›πš’πš.

⌨

πš‚πšŒπš˜πš›πš— πš›πš’πšπšŽπšœ 𝚝𝚘 πš‘πšŽπšŠπš›πšπšŠπšŒπš‘πšŽβ€™πšœ πš›πšŽπšœπšŒπšžπšŽ, πšπšŽπš—πš’πšŠπš• πš’πš— πššπšžπš’πšŒπš” πš™πšžπš›πšœπšžπš’πš.
β€˜She was fury, she was wrath, she was vengeance.’
- Sarah J. Maas, Queen of Shadows
Juno Oct 2020
the scratch of a pen as it glides across the paper,
ink pooling in the words.
a stain on fingers here and there,
rustling pages full of thoughts.
sunlight filters in through curtains,
settling on the pages like snow on the ground.
ink bleeds through to the blank side of the paper but the pen keeps writing, regardless.
kind of ironic to write this on a screen.
Jamil Akram Oct 2020
The pages flutter through your fingers,

The eerie theme lingers,

But you turn the pages.



You sink your teeth into this book,

Your head staying shook,

But you turn the pages.



The words are eating you,

Your thoughts stew,

But you turn the pages.



The last page is a mirror,

The pages are much clearer,

The pages turn you.
I turn the last page,
The next is blank.

Blank blank blank blank blank
Blank blank blank blank blank
Blank blank blank blank blank
Blank blank blank blank blank

B L A N K

Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Blank

So white it's screaming
So empty I’m left reeling

The lack of words
A void so loud
I squint my eyes unseeing.

I don’t think I’m ready yet
I dont think I'll ever be,
It hurts too much to be alone
Is this the price of being free?
Γ€Ε§ΓΉl Oct 2020
There's a story of a lonely childhood,
A saga of a musical teenage,
And an account of a painful youth.

There's a poem of romantic adulthood,
An epic written in the search for love,
And your sign in a moment of truth.

There's one desire in my heart untold,
A thirst that is yet unquenched,
And your name on its walls of blood.
My HP Poem #1891
Β©Atul Kaushal
s y kalindara Oct 2020
My heart is an addict of fiction.

Awakening your pages with every drum,
it beats to remind me
that you're my very own
perennial paramour
and I'm so sick of its pounding propaganda.


Copyright Β© 2020 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Why does my heart keep insisting that you're the love of my life?
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