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Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Sailing the guilty-seas
as regret trickles down my spine
and unloads
its over-thought-husky-murky-thoughts
upon my shoulders.

My daily rations are here:
shame, regret and guilt.
They’re brewing me to the bone;
into a rotten broth.

My thoughts pace
backwards and forwards
from guilt —
for remaining stagnant,
one of the past.

For being recycled
relentlessly-unbreakably
in this unhealthy cycle.

It is a cycle
of forget me nots;
such vile fetters.

But no dose can
reverse the abused time,
the stutters-and-mutters
the time that slipped my grips
and the sins
that swallowed my innocence whole.

For remorse, guilt and shame
only anchor us back
unless we were to morph them
to fuel and experience
to propel us forward.
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2018
Truth is big
it's imminent.
Little is in the know.

I wonder though
what if we knew it a lot
will we not die no more?

Pondering me
ended up on the water.
There was land no more.
Or the colossal ocean
at the end of the earth
is its backdrop who knows?

If this little soil earth
can stand in the midst
of the giant ocean
why can't a life's
bottomless backdrop
billow up when the
momentary death swoop?
(Thus propelling it into its
deathless eternal portion.)
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2017
It’s a garden I saw
one propels within oneself
there was no shadow.
I saw starry rows lining up
in broad daylight, I was stunned
Yes, stars in the broad daylight!

Here I see the sun up on the high  
and the full moon in the night.
But here they weren’t
needed in the fair fare!
George Krokos Mar 2017
Whatever goes up, in this world, must also come down
unless it defies nature's law of gravity which is renown.
For anything to rise to a certain height and then have to come down again
depends on the force that initially propels it and how high it attains to then.
______
From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Dawn of Lighten Jun 2016
It is the ink propelled with mold and feces,
And the grandeur of dogma littered with arrogance.

The persistent deconstruction of ideals covered with dust,
and yet it screams openly to the audience of deaf.

Forbidding irk come with forbidden shadows beyond it's own screech,
And the scatching of the chalkboard has friendlier tone than unoriginal scribes of embellishments.

The act of taken lives from people who do not deverse your pardon need not be your tropies,
For those actions of hate deserve no love or pity.

For this is the land of united people of places and hope,
For you can not divide us with words,
Or sword upon freedom.

The vigilant light shall warm us,
Your hate will only fuel us,
You shall never silence us.

For we shall live for the dead,
And their memories will not be forgotten.

We will defeat your hate with our compassion,
And we will prevail where you so sought to undo,
For love will defeat your prideful destruction.

Say good bye to your yesterday,
For no song of your will be heard but in the mist of ocean,
And our choir will muddle your preformance.

For your last act stood as an epilogue,
And ours has become the prologue.

Have you truly succeeded?

I think our cheers shall resonate the true answer.
Quiet mouth never gets fed,
So let us feast by opening our voice.
Fizza Abbas May 2015
Yearning to give you
a hefty shove
to make you realize
that I'm not broken
albeit you tried
to push me in a
dungeon but
in reality,
you didn't push but,
propelled!

— The End —