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My pen has now run dry
No longer does its quaint ink
paint dreams of childish wonder
or giddy hopes
that maybe time might turn back
and the bygone days,
(their memories made sweet
with pain and with grief
dead-within the sheaths of past)
might come back alive

No longer does my pen
burn with the same flame of angst
or soothe my grieving soul
of the pangs of it's misery
or provide comfort to a wounded heart
as a catharsis
(setting aside the mythical Sisyphus stone)

No longer do ideas flow through my pen
No longer does it conceive
aspirations of a new dawn;
No longer does it's silent mouth
whisper to my soul
of the void and emptiness of life
of words devoid of all meaning
and of those silent thoughts
left unspoken

The clouds in the sky moved apart
like a lover dwelling on fears unsaid
the stillness of the night
and the silence of the stars
hung heavy in the atmosphere
and suddenly the moon shinned forth
from the tip of my pen.
Like the weeds uninvited
In a meadow near perfect
Violence and envy
Cloud over our minds seamlessly
We bicker - We brawl
Pouring out an endless stream
Of slurs from our mouths
Staining our hearts crimson
With hatred and deceit
Dividing the indivisible
Into shallow factions and ideologies
So often we split
Our hearts into two
One trying to relinquish
Over the other
Like broken pieces of glass
Trying to mend
Perspectives - distorted

Boged down by apathy
To nurture joy is a struggle
It is a struggle
For the flower of compassion
To bloom in hearts - barren
Rife with selfishness
In absolute darkness
A lonesome light
Whispers hope
into ears - parched
Anmol Mago Jun 2
We're dying by the minute
Our minds choked on rubble
Of failed ideologies
and pretentious dogma
Our identities are lying
in the debris somewhere
over-shadowed with towering posters,
Stigmatised and afraid

We're living in absolute secrecy
burying our hearts in darkness
Blotting out our inner selves
Filtering out our scars
for the sake of social acceptance
Our souls go up for a trial each night
As we concede defeat
to a foe unseen

Our lives are trapped
In a sorrow unending
Stripped away of joy
the endless tribulations
Of our souls
Speak of the ails of a society
Steeped fast in irrational prejudices
Anmol Mago May 26
Empty meaningless words
hastily scrawled over
half torn - bits of paper
Still reek of a heart,
long lost to despair
prey to twisted tongues
and shallow sugarcoated taunts
(reminiscent of an innocence
relinquished by years of growing up)

Sometimes by the moon light,
a pale trembling hand still
reaches for them instinctively
(trying to resurrect a poet long dead.)
Just a random muse
Anmol Mago May 19
Like a snail-curled
inside it's shell
too meek - to peep outside
Or like the faint glow
of a setting sun
engulfed by a horizon-bleek

(Agony and despair
concealed beneath
a garb of feigned smiles.)
It's a good day, when inspiration comes.
Zywa May 12
Beware of people

who cheer you along the way –

like vanes in the wind.
“Cien años de soledad” (“One Hundred Years of Solitude”, 1967, Gabriel García Márquez)

Collection "After the festivities"
preston Mar 17


I am not a man of fear,
but you do scare me sometimes, beauty.
I know this latest plunge of yours  was far
more difficult for you than you were letting on.
I also know that you were closer to the edge  of
letting go than you have possibly ever been before.

Fear on my part only comes from the distance-created
inability that all but renders love, impotent..   but still,   I feel..
and I knew, baby.. that if I didnt dig deeply into the earth's rich,
dark loam with all there is of me, able to believe for you on your
behalf-- within those.. the darkest of moments, that you might
possibly (out of the stifling fear of anyone close to you, to move
forward- into you in order to truly save you)..

    --that you might
    actually die..
    and I cannot allow that.

We do what we have to do in love, babe. I was not going to let you
slip through the cracks, so I did what I did. Tend to that gorgeous
garden of yours passionately--  wildly-untethered within the
beautiful parameters of full-on abandon. Love is finding its
wonderful way into places and parts within you  that have

   previously remained alone and cold..
   outside of its warm,  healing light.

Your gorgeously nectar-laden body is a beautiful, fully trembling..
and at times, wonderfully gushing temple of worship, celebration
and praise of the fascinating, permeating.. and often
(as you so righteously well know)
a deeply and passionately-thrusting   *******
of the Universe's finest  and warmest ways--
even when done tenderly.

The beautiful nature of  Love's full-on core ache will not let go of
you until it has fully coated every now deeply-craving cell within
that juice-filled, wildflower body of yours..  so yes.. come wildly
within it all, sweet girl. Your beautiful, deep, body-convulsing
******* are such a wonderfully-integral part   of  

  what is
helping you,  to become free.

They are not inappropriate or unloving or unfaithful to your
relational home-life.. if there is anything inappropriate, it is me..

   for speaking to you this way.    (lala)

But it has been so touch and go for you
that I now have no idea not to.
I will bite my tongue and withhold   from you
the powerful effect it all is having  
even right this  moment,  on me.
All's I can say right now is that I am glad  that you
have made it through this latest plunge into the pit.
The thought of it all working out for you  (so far)
truly does make me smile. :)

Keep feeling the comforting containment of the Wind, beauty.

xoxo  (ping.)

~**** R
I've reached a fork in the road and its time to decide. There's no clear path. My way is blinded by a light.

The decisions I make, I must stand by and at the side. Strong and tall in the fact that I chose the way with my inner guide.

Is this the ending you had in your mind? When the fork came and forced you to decide.

Was the fork created in your thought riddled mind? Was the journey one on which you could abide?

Or could you have stayed in the grey and stood aside?

The decisions you must make are they on your path or in your mind?

That is the true dilemma on which you must decide.
I write about my experience of my reality. Is what I'm thinking real or a paradox?
Jade Wright Dec 2020
Work? Still permitted.
If you’re still employed, that is.
Your windows are grey?
Just paint another rainbow.
Clap again if you fancy
around the bends of my mind
lies some memories
of uninhibited realism
of high fidelity
to myself
in letting myself go
somewhat joyous
somewhat chaotic
somewhat musical
but just there
to feel and see things
for more than what they mean
through my own eyes
seems rather unusual
but I go back in time
take a deep-dive
to recapture these ephemeral bubbles
of blissful euphoria
as if singing
to my alter ego
'We can be heroes,
just for one day
We can be us,
just for one day!'
Heroes by David Bowie seems to be the perfect song to relive those high-on-life moments.
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