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hami Oct 2017
Everytime that the lustrous moon's visage apply
as how the stars that glimmering divided in the sky
waiting to perceive a new chapter of tragical book,
that she always utter while descending her tears—
When she's sensing at the antiquated photographs,
titled by their names with date and sugary caption
especially those blessed-satisfactory representation.

She poisoned her mind that he's a gentle saviour
as how he grasps her hands when she fell before,
She reminiscence when he enunciate the word hello,
that gave color to her life but he just left her alone.
She severed her wrist to release her poorly feelings
and filled a pen with her blood that she use to write
her unheard emotions and questions into a paper;

Is it bad if I look to our immemorial representation?
Is it bad if I believe that you're a good-hearted person?
Is it bad if I verbalize your splendiferous sanction?
Is it bad if I cut my wrist to impoverish my emotion?
Is it bad if I wear happy mask to hide my impression?
Is it bad if I didn't fight our love for your satisfaction?
Is it bad if I still love you without any hesitation?
Is it bad if I want you to be yours without limitation?

She asked using literary art from her fragile heart—
as a glass that downward-sloping from the paradise,
Moving swiftly with air, think through being escaped
but directly goes to the pits and broke into pieces.
Sunlights reverberate his faded shades of love for her
make her to reckon his spoken metaphors anywhere,
that slowly killing her willingness to symphathize life,
due of his falsity phrases that stabbed her as a knife.
9th poem! Hope you'll like it :>
hami Oct 2017
In a city of excruciating love,
where there's a moon
that shining bright for it's darkness
but that darkness didn't want
to be guarded by the moon's bloom.

And there's a sun that keep in rising
every morning in the eastern part
and falling— in love
every night in the western part
for the sake of her reverse.

To bloom for it's obligations
that never would be the sun.
because both of them are created
to make a day and night,
keep going and tight.

Not to meet each other,
not to be together.
7th poem <3 Hope you'll like it!
hami Oct 2017
I found a treasure box that filled with dusks
that doesn't have a golds or diamonds on it,
but got a simple antiquated photographs
that displayed what occurred on my past life.

The rainbow by refraction of the sun's rays
the times that there's no great challenges
positivity is just living at heart of my personify—
illusory of hope's beauty can make me satisfy.

The star that origin from the southeastern part
the vis-à-vis of waking up and talk to my friends,
counting one to ten while my eyes are closed
seeking their wonderful visages with a curve.

Those flowers in the yard that starts to bloom,
taking it and say he loves me or he loves me not
while eating some soil and collecting the petals,
marked a colourful stains on my vesture.

The moon's gloom that guide me to my home
after a almost a day of playing out-of-door,
and everything will start again tomorrow
but all of what happened is now a part of yore.
5th Poem! Hope you'll like it.
Mims Sep 2017
how do you know she's a poetess?
she'll mess with your brain just for inspiration.
just in case you were confused.
don't get cocky
you're not special
not the way he is.
Debanjana Saha Aug 2017
There were many Poets/poetess
who are forgotten by now.

They used to write every other day
spending most precious moments here.


But now I don't find them any more,
replaced by new one's I suppose.

Either they write on their on
or continue with their life as it flows.


I miss all of you.
This poetry of mine is dedicated to all my Hp friends. I see new poet/poetess here and all of them write really well but I miss all others too whom I don't find here more often. Its always a pleasure to read.

Though, lately even I got busy with life & work and find less time to read & write poetry here. But I still recall all of you.
Jayantee Khare Jul 2017
शायरी भी एक खेल है
शतरंज का…
जिसमे लफ़्ज़ों के मोहरे
मात दिया करते हैं एहसासों को…
और शहंशाह अक्सर तनहा हो जाते हैं!!

Poetry,
a game of chess,
In which
the words, the chess pieces
keep defeating
the feelings
and
the winners end up lonely!!
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