CC 6h

Your face is an illusion
It tells me you aren't mine
An intrusion, that keeps offering inebriation
It keeps painting expensive art
Eyes have expression because of you

I have many parts
The rest of my heart wants you
If this is what it means to be alive
Then living isn't easy
If I have to wait then let me go, to you
There's a distance that we have to fill
For our presence wholly becoming still
The moment permanent in time
We have no other moment but now

Your face is an illusion
It tells me to go do this
Then I have done it and surprise, surprise
I don't regret this
I have only this, now
Having your attention is plenty

I have many parts
There are parts of my heart that wants you
The rest just wants to be with you
If you are not with me
Then how can my war be won?
If you are away
Then I have to wait on my own
Waiting is easy when you are the sun
I can count on you, darling
To rise when it's time for dawn

Your face is an illusion
It tells of the flourishes in my penmanship
With a smirk you make my patience grow thin
I don't have forever
I just wish you were forever
When you look away the light leaves

Shifting into many forms
The parts of your personality have me on my toes
Every angle is making me dizzy
More than your face, I see who you can be
If nothing is easy, then let me call this nothing "life"
If everything is given, then I can have nothing to do with you
I am incapable of lying
I am poor man masquerading wealth

Your face is an illusion that makes me want to cry out
"Your skin is a gun!"
"Your smile is a bullet!"
"Your touch is the finger on the trigger!"
Your breath is steady as you aim.
I wish the target were these hands
I'd brush your hair back,
This ended with a bang

Seema 19h

A bleeding heart
A broken pen
Painting an art
With soaked hands

Sorrows deepen
Sinking in darkness
My vision weakens
Losing its sparkness

As you stare from the sketch
Grinning at my pain
I put on color to match
But it washes away like rain...


The sunset looks beautiful at twilight,
piercing through the underbelly of clouds,
the sky painting vehement, orange light
against the darkened faces of the crowd.
We listen to the sound of a sitar play
and feel the rapture of the beating drum.
Everything the spirit could want to say
is spoken by the motions fingers strum,
reverberating through the evening air,
and those who move to its smooth harmony.
I hold you close, sway with your gentle care.
True beauty is this rhythm, dancing free,
far from the dissonance a dark world cries,
an orange glow reflected in your eyes.

22:30 - 14/10/17
Sonnet - 30 -
Marwa 5d

I didn’t leave you

I didn’t run .

Even when every one told me to,

I stayed

to  patch your heart

the same way they used to repair broken pottery

with golden dust.

I didn’t leave you

I didn’t run .

But I gave you my love

and everything I had

even when i knew

that we were falling apart.

And now,

I can’t fix you anymore

with golden ink or deep kisses

And how am I supposed to draw you

when I don’t even remember

what I used to feel for you.

Is it my fault if you left me

Or your fault if I left you ?

But we will never found out my love

Because you left me too soon.

Or was it me who did ?

Marwa 7d

I went on a journey just by myself.

I wasn’t desperate for you anymore

and my heart was no longer craving for your kisses

My soul finally stopped missing yours

and this bound connecting us vanished.

I picked up those lovely debris you left behind

and put them in a jar

waiting for the right moment to come

the right moment to unite them for another time,

a last time.

I went on a journey just by myself.

leaving my memories of you where they belonged

in the dark, hidden so deep even I can’t reach them anymore.

I took my diary and started writing

about this peaceful  person I turned into

and this tenderness I found in people I met.

I didn’t know where I was going

I didn’t  know if I was ever coming  back

But i knew there was nothing left for me back there

Only  a burned land

with desperate souls

and collapsing stars.

I stood still in the rain

and let the sun kiss gently my skin

I closed my eyes and heard the wind whispering:

“No matter where you end up

even if it is in this exact same place where you started,

in this barren land

both moving through times

and  remaining unchanged  

Know you won’t be you anymore

Know you will become

Those billions laughs you heard

and those infinite hugs you gave

Know you will be

those shooting stars you contemplate

And those nostalgic paintings you wrote.”

yo , no soy yo;

por lo menos no soy el mismo yo interior

"I'm an abstract painting.
Some people
will easily judge me
as nothing
but an ugly painting.
Some people
will like the colors
or the composition
of me.
Some people
will praise the painter
for creating a piece of art.
But only a true artist
will understand
that in every stroke,
I'm telling you
only the truth
about a journey
of the soul" .
-Kanya Puspokusumo-

Abraham Oct 11

round and clean
it sees me sit in the gallery
looking at the painting.

smooth and generously
it pats my back when I get too tired to
look anymore.

if I said I could paint YOU
here in this room that YOU gave me
if I could touch the feet of
       the ones who cared.

please feed
please feed
please feed

round and clean
it sees me stand before the painting
laughing with Kitaj eyes.

smooth and sincerely

it looks at its watch.

A steel paintbrush in hand, my canvas lays on my thigh. One cut, two cut, three cut, four. I've already started I might as well do more. Paint on my arm, paint on my thighs. This feeling that it gives me is better than a high. Painting to show the scars buried deep, painting to show the secrets that I keep. Painting to show the pain I hide well. Painting to show my final farewell.

Ella Oct 9

We painted a picture.

With old wooden paint brushed,
and expired paint in rusting cans.

We swirl together yellows and pinks,
blues and reds.

The image of us comes together
as we go.

With each the stoke we push harder
on the old canvas.

Until it rips through the center.

The jagged whole going up the entire page,

and we have to start all over.

The lake with geese flapping
The red crane, with a flag swaying over
The grass where Monks sit
The ears, where the voice is drowned
The tree, which the sun enshrouds
The cement, which the foot taps
The cart contains an Accordian that plays
The sky contains a silky cloud, fleeting
The bench of impassioned loving
The stone of thoughtful dreaming
The shore, harboring harmony
The streetlamps, harboring wanderers

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