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Society taught me to hide.
A mask became my survival.
Now I wear the crown they covet,
and my truth drowns their silence.
Description
A raw exploration of breaking free from the pressures to conform, this poem reflects the transformative journey from hiding behind a mask to stepping into one’s true power. It speaks to the courage it takes to silence the noise of societal expectations and embrace the authenticity that is both freeing and fierce.
I was never made to be an anchor.
I am the storm that cannot be stilled,
the ocean that cannot be held,
and the light
that leads itself home.
"Untethered" captures the essence of resilience and self-reliance. It is a tribute to those who embrace their own storms, navigate uncharted waters, and become the guiding light in their own journey.
Jamil:
Where dost thou dwell, O’ queen of bees,  
In silence, yet so deep, so free?  
Is it by crown, by power’s hand,  
That thou dost lead this sacred land?

Queen Bee (Buzzing softly):
Ah, Jamil, not by crown nor might,  
But in the pulse of love's own light.  
In the heart of the hive, I take my place,  
In every breath, in every grace.  

I sip from nectar, time's own brew,  
A labour's gift, both old and true.  
In each drop, a secret calls—  
A dance where soul and silence fall.

Jamil:
And what is this dance, where truth is spun,  
In each beat of wings, in the rising sun?  
Is it love that shapes the rhythm you keep,  
Where all things wake, and none shall sleep?

Queen Bee:
Love, like honey, doth life bestow,  
In its flavour, light, a dream aglow.  
The workers glide—each step a prayer—  
Their wings are whispers, soft in air.  

In every pulse, no greater, none too small,  
We rise, we fall—each answer calls.  
Is it I, who reigns in quiet sway,  
Or the hum of life that leads the way?

Jamil:
A hum of life? Can power be so pure,  
In a rhythm silent, yet so sure?  
Is’t the heart, or crown, that holds dominion,  
Or is there something beyond our vision?

Queen Bee:
Power lies not in the hand that reigns,  
But in the breath that sustains,  
In unity's pulse, in silence deep,  
Where hidden truths in stillness sleep.  

The hive, a mirror, a universe wide,  
Where every cell and pulse collide.  
In creation’s hum, we rise as one,  
In the sacred dance, all hearts are spun.

Jamil:
The dance of One… I feel it, too,  
In every breath, in every hue.  
But where is the throne, the crown of gold,  
In a world so humble, yet so bold?

Queen Bee:
Seek not the throne, nor crown's bright light,  
For in humble steps, shines divinity's might.  
The soul of the hive, the heart of song,  
Is the truth eternal, where all belong.  

In love’s embrace, no power is sought,  
For in each hum, the truth is taught.  
In the smallest grace, the Divine will dwell,  
In silence, where all truths swell.

Jamil:
And what of the path, the way to glow?  
How dost one dance, and truly know?

Queen Bee:
In rhythm’s hum, in love's sweet breath,  
In unity’s dance, we transcend death.  
Each step we take, each breath we draw,  
Is sacred song, eternal law.  

In honeyed light and grace unspoken,  
The chains of fear are swiftly broken.  
In every soul, in every mind,  
The dance of the One is all we find.

Jamil:
So we dance, not by force, but by grace—  
In every step, we find our place.  
The hive, the pulse, the hum, the song,  
In this, we rise, and we belong.

Queen Bee:
Yes, Jamil, in love’s embrace,  
All is One, and all is grace.  
The Queen within, the song of time—  
The truth of life, in every rhyme.  

Embrace the dance, the sweet release,  
In the pulse of love, find peace.  
For in this hum, in every heart,  
We are One, and never apart.

Jamil:
In humble joy, in silent prayer,  
We rise as one, in endless care.  
And in this truth, this dance so pure,  
We find our light, and we endure.

Queen Bee (Faintly humming):  
So hum, so dance, in love's embrace,  
For all is One, and all is grace.  
The Queen within, the heart of song,  
The truth of life, where we belong.  

In every soul, in every mind,  
The eternal dance of love we find.  
In unity’s rhythm, we shall soar,  
In love, in grace, for evermore.
The Hum of Unity 05/01/2025 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
Millions of people, mostly women, live
     In abusive or controlling relationships.
          They aren’t “allowed” financial power
               And can’t even control their money.
                    In this way, abusers can maintain
                         Control as they deny the way out.
                              Therefore
                         We need a form of money that is
                    Open to all people, with no abuse.
               Bitcoin is permissionless and can
          Be used by any person or entity.  
     In this way, Bitcoin gives financial
Power to those who really need it.
You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery123FinancialPower.html
Heidi Franke Dec 2024
Engrossed in
Electronic word game
Famed on phone

Ad delay my
Path to next level
Dropping my attention

Sudden rush of
Nothingness in
My blood

No screen time
Felt a bottomless
Bleak pit

I fell until
I measured my breath
Of existence leaving

All defined on
False electric bait
Clips of wins and loss

Almost threw up
In my felt emptiness
Messy messy power grab

Measure me alive
Today and Now
Not then or ever
Playing a number matching game on my phone. Engrossed daily in getting to higher levels. How far can I get? The further I get to the higher number the less I am attached to my self. Losing all definition. Realizing the power of myself I give away to a meaningless device.
dead poet Dec 2024
there’s enough anger in one man
to put even the Gods to shame;
it speaks to him in
mournful moments, when -
the shadow of doubt clouds  
his acumen, and his candour
reigns far too long.

he sleeps with it;
dreams of it;
and once it has
invaded his subconscious,
he revels in it --
it makes him feel powerful,
and hungry for a scam
that disguises itself as a reward.

belittled by his own words,
he seeks refuge in others
who share his wrath -
for they are everywhere:
they help him carve his words
into a dagger of insecurity,
with which he stabs those
who tried to offer him
an antonym for violence;

the blood he draws shall
dye his conscience -
evil red.
dead poet Dec 2024
pulverized by desolate winds;
brutalized by ungodly kings;
capsized by the violent waves;
neutralized by the scorpion’s sting.

terrorized by the thoughts of morrow;
legitimized by a trademark of sorrow;
authorized to live in vain;
generalized - like the streets,
and the boroughs.

synthesized by the alchemy of remorses;
romanticized… like the dark horses;
mesmerized by the notion of vengeance -
hypnotized by even darker curses.

digitized by the ways of future;
mystified by metrics, and conjectures;
specialized in the pursuit of reality -
'civilized' by the grand architecture.
dead poet Dec 2024
i was there when it happened:
when the clowns fell off the bandwagon -
when the curtains burned down,
and the farce ran out of fashion;
when the savages dispatched -
their army of assassins.

i was there, when the world stood still
in a void so deep no beauty could fill;
when the mountain of lies -
crumbled back to a molehill;
when the rubbles rained like hellfire,
and truth had lost its will.

i was there, when the wrath of the masses -
echoed the streets, and shattered the glasses;
i later reflected, on the root of the violence -
there wasn't a good defense for the upper classes.

i close my eyes, and wait for dawn;
lay half-asleep, with the curtains drawn:
agamemnon's doom, forever lives on -
i'm still here -
and the show goes on...
Ira Desmond Dec 2024
Power flexes
downward:

a hulking, indifferent
appendage

obscene in its
obviousness,

but the obviousness is the
point,

you remind
me.

This latest one was only twenty-
six

and seemingly healthy, but no
matter—

in Hokkaido by now the
larches

have all dropped their
needles,

and the fumaroles of Mount
Asahidake

still hiss, even while
covered

in heaps of snow. I wish
that

you could take me there. I
wish

that we could set
off

into that pale oblivion and never
return,

immersed for the rest of our
days

in the frigid, accurate
waters

of Nature’s
reality.

But she has no dominion
here,

you remind
me,

and we are all just tourists in this place
anyhow,

sidling beneath cornices and sidestepping
crevasses

aslope an angry volcano in
winter,

that warm, glowing lodge at its
foot

seemingly never
drawing

any
closer.
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