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At times refrain
to grow with age
Forbear the fruit
enjoy the strain
Much be learnt
in controlling pain

Plenty to benefit from
temporarily being empty

Mind regroups with a system cleanse
Body allowed to make amends
Fasts don't last but our choice remains  and will sustained
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
annh 6d
the present
forever shifts

yet remains

claiming and
re-claiming us

a sequence
of stillnesses

flux and

finite and
‘It is almost banal to say so yet it needs to be stressed continually: all is creation, all is change, all is flux, all is metamorphosis.’
- Henry Miller
Nothing Remains
by Fadwa Tuqan the "Poet of Palestine"
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Tonight, we're together,
but tomorrow you'll be hidden from me again,
thanks to life's cruelty.

The seas will separate us...
Oh! Oh! If only I could see you!
But I'll never know
where your steps led you,
which routes you took,
or to what unknown destinations
your feet were compelled.

You will depart and the thief of hearts,
the denier of beauty,
will rob us of all that's dear to us,
will steal this happiness from us,
leaving our hands empty.

Tomorrow at sunrise you'll vanish like a phantom,
dissipating into a delicate mist
dissolving quickly in the summer sun.

Your scent! Your scent contains the essence of life,
filling my heart
as the earth absorbs the lifegiving rain.

I will miss you like the fragrance of trees
when you leave tomorrow,
and nothing remains.

Just as everything beautiful and all that's dear to us
is lost! Lost, and nothing remains.

Fadwa Tuqan (1917-2003), the Grande Dame of Palestinian letters, is also known as "The Poet of Palestine." She is generally considered to be one of the very best contemporary Arab poets. Keywords/Tags: Fadwa Tuqan, Palestine, Palestinian, Arabic, translation, nothing, remains, parting, separation, loss
Nolan Willett Apr 13
I had an interest in archaeology,
Sorting truth from lie,
‘Til I realized those remains,
Will someday be you and I.
Tatiana Dec 2019
Hey Lord, I hear him.
He's not whispering.

"Dear Lord, I'm nothing but a pile of bones
picked clean by the crows
I want to go home."

Oh Lord what will you do?
I still hear him crying out for you.

"Lord, I know I'm a sinner at best
but please let my heart rest
they deserve to know."

No, he doesn't know how long it has been.
His heart has crumbled with his flesh.
His body won't be touched again.
Lord, if he is a sinner
then what does that make me?
I don't pray. He pleads to you on broken knees.

Lord what have you done?
His voice has left my head.
Have you shown your mercy and let him rest?
Or did you take away my senses
so I no longer have to deal with the dread
of a sinner's regretful heart again.
I feel like the poem I originally wrote has so much to say and I'm not done saying it just yet.
Link ^ to the original poem so you can get the full story.
Anmol Mago Dec 2019
Sometimes I feel
that you've buried
a piece of your broken heart
somewhere inside of my flesh
a grave some say it is
(the remains of a love that never lasted)
Dedicated to (you)
Mikey Kania Nov 2019
what remains if

nothing remains?
there is always a way out. it depends on the stops you make and on the people you encounter during your journey.
Tatiana Nov 2019
Skeletons rage when there’s no rain
'cause their bones have to suffer another day
of shameful decay.
All worms, insects, and maggots
have left with the flesh
and flowers like to wind themselves
around boney necks.
Do you think he knew how much time he had left?
He has eternity
beneath the dirt.
He has serenity
when interred.
But he lays atop fallen leaves
at the edge of a clearing that views the sky.
Will the stars cry for him?
I won’t tell if they lie.
Will the Heavens open up their gates?
To him I think they’d rather hate.
Will the aching bones get washed away
to somewhere only demons play?
I think he’s wary of the angels
and not yet known to those fallen,
except the leaves,
they know him well.
They are his bed and blanket.
His comfort and his hatred.
Bones rattle when the winds bellow.
Lord, it is his time to go.
Please Lord, just let him go.
Äŧül Nov 2019
Rallying in hordes of horses,
Assassins from malsI pillaged us,
Maraud they did our temples.

Merely by converting out from Đhärm,
And reading the Satanic Verses,
Never you do forget your roots,
Demolish the original temple they did,
India is Bhāräŧ and will always be,
Right now the Hïnđū people celebrate.
My HP Poem #1806
©Atul Kaushal
stopdoopy Oct 2019
Rip me apart
and cart me off
to somewhere unknown

Cut through the top
plunge fingers deep
disgusting, wet, and slick

Rip out the innards
make hollow
for your own pleasure

it sits and waits
for the rest to come

The carving
the face always
comes out ugly

At last
light the fire
and watch it glow

In the bright flames
of a dark night
they'll be left there

Until they're rotting
scrape up the remains
and dump the body
a Halloween inspired poem!

is it really a pumpkin?
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