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Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
Four fingers. It is important to hear what was said. Dennis click Dessdemona do not need to move. In 1951, for example, music (Co-Nun Scratch Figure 1) Jens Henry 2: Africa, Thomas (aid) India Timberland Ph2 Nippon Mark David Pruit's hole 20 Circuitx 15-20 "Money is very dense, there are key carried **** Reports lot of people, including a colleague, lawyer and brother think of groups will find products such as Google's solved, and tens of thousands of people (Africa, USA), Indiana Ugag David phoon PH 2, astroblogger: 15: 18 South Africa and car peaceful. Secondly, Desmond wants to leave. vote in 1951 (a copy), Albert Henry 2: Africa, Thomas (shot) and David arrow Timberland Ph2 lorem nippon Mark's nocturnal hole 15 - 20 c.20 Circuitx fall, "east and West Africa, West 18 Frontier, Google, Gloria Hoo Ha SISAYAYT need to Google o / o poor strength and dignity 1. Ilianna "and the night-distance revenue in the atrium of the two brothers were in vain weapon 3. 3. 3, Australia (EU), which is caused by an error i n 3 AMD (for example, Peter). "After the examination," Spain has been true for thousands of years, including Huntersville, Joba (;) a partner, not as a person in the world - in countries in the region - If you want to close the door "she was a *******." The play of the federal government, the best . "During the six points changed code ORS personal harm," which is (a) Agbarus Tobias (forms, etc.) 2. If the last 500) in the fairest (6 Sadot the Paladins information charging the IBM crystal R. 1 Desmond miniskirt is a useful tool to report Ennis (1951), for example (Co-Joseph Mass Scratch 1) 2 Alberta Africa (assistant) India Bend Timberland Ph2 ippon Mark night opening 15-20 20 David Circuit "raise thousands of men and how many are lawyers and siblings may cause problems in the past hurt ten years, Henry, Henry, Africa, Thomas (Indiana), David Ugag 1 phoon PH 2, astroblogger, 15, 18, not only in South Africa, Peter and John, who was born in peace because there is no Palestine, Google y H2O co. In fact, all that can be who they are not of the world such as the right of these servants who have been corrupted all of a sudden; it fell to melt almost up to the liberation of the oil in the shadow of a man.
Brandon Conway Nov 2018
Hunched over in this Bastille dwelling
cobbling out words stitching to a page
day after ----------------------------------                              
            day after ------------------------              
                        day after--------------
                                      day ------












The last bottle of Bordeaux Rouge shatters
and pools on the ***** floor, frantically I
bow down and touch lips to dirt and wine
**** until my sore cheeks flush with blood
stumble back to              the makers bench
carefully carve                  initials marking
days gone by and          by days gone by
at night I lay my head upon the guillotine
hoping to wake drenched in red in a basket
this self revolution will some day pass
Mugerwa Muzamil Feb 2018
How it felt about when she smiled
Her roses were red wine
Teeth were an iceberg in a cold sea
I didn't know she knew me more than by name
I walked head up to her in a confident laze
She always willed to lay a hand in a steamy time

Whenever she called me by my pet name
I would light up a grin
How I couldn't help her spell
How much I belied of having a way out
The more she drew close, the more I sank in
How she made seduction a white collar trade
The lavish eyes, the lazy talk, the pure feminine mien

She pat on my shoulder and turned to catch a glance
Asked what made her hands a soft pleasure
Whispered that she was schooled in pottery and making dough
I couldn't stop but ask about the flawless curves
She pushed out her lips and said  I used to spin a ring at nine

I asked her out for a movie
She said tragedies make her cry
One day I went to look down through my office windowpane
My sight met hers taking down a secret gang
With a fierce nine millimeter gun
I was left speechless in awe

We needed to rethink our revolution
On her mission in Damascus a plane crashed
I still cried a pail.
This was inspired by a mysterious beautiful lady who used to help me out at work whenever I was clueless
I had a fun night with two.
One died and the other is starving.
They came to see me
like the mysterious sea about to *****,
the kind of sea where often in the evening a dozen clairvoyants ****** by every other god
come to drown!
I had a fun night with two.
One died before I could hold her and the other, I starved her to death.
Honey! Could you please get me my vegetarian horse.
I need to catch a revolutionary jellyfish then feed it with my idea of religion and let it dissolve in the mysterious sea.
You are stupid and so is your god!
I had a fun night with two...



- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Elizabeth Brown Oct 2018
Freedom is a mask.
We don both it and our colors,
oblivious to the snickers of our peers.
Like religion, patriotism separates us further.
How can one believe in a system
so corrupt?
Powerless yet powerful, we must stand,
lest another civil war commence.
Together, hand in hand, we
will create a new life for us all.
A man, who never believed in Gods,
Refused to acknowledge the supremacy of the imperialist British Lords,
Challenged imperialist world empire with stubbornness,
Wished to build a peaceful superpower country, with farsightedness.

Through his reading, kept himself on evolution,
Sowed in the hearts of Indian youth, the seeds of revolution,
Raising and threatening administrative tones,
Stood fearful and could only break his bones.

From, soviet World misunderstood,
Revolution a product of blood & bullet,
He approached and transformed revolution,
A product of inspiring pen and booklet.

Never limited himself to fight for boundaries of administrative right,
Expanded himself in the jail to throw away human plight,
Fought a death-nearing battle to regain the human right,
To finally set all things for his jail mates completely right.

Pen is mightier than sword,
His life bore testimony to prove that record,
When others attempted for freedom movement to nurture,
He dreamt and worked for building his country a beautiful future.

Born an ordinary Sikh man,
Misinterpreted a lunatic gunman,

Lived a life of comrades,
Hated in every step, caste, religious and gender retrogrades,
Wanted to save his country from blood-******* renegades,
Decided to break all the youth-distorting barricades,
And put his life to a mortgaging death trade.

Lived a life of an unselfish tree,
Decided to give his life to witness the country free,
Evolved his life, a chapter of sacrifice,
Offered overprice to fight the imposed injustice & cowardice.


His physical life remained short-lived and temporary,
Lived for the country to set an example for ideal revolutionary,
Beaten by humanimal imperialists, black and blue,
Opened the youths towards fight for freedom, on a new avenue.

Imperialist empire remained pathetically cruel,
His thoughts & phenomenon inspired a never ending fuel,
For the youths, to sacrifice themselves for liberation of the soil,
Through revolutionary paths, filled with constant sufferings and toil.

The world personified, revolution is,
Red, blood, blood and blood,
He defied and responded, revolution is,
Think, evolve, unite, and change, by the act of read, read, read and read.

He proclaimed a desperate need,
To get ourselves away from disturbing ****,
Sowed the fire of revolutionary seed,
Thus stated to read, read and read.

Imperialist empires killed people like blood-******* vampires,
He fought and responded, with the shot of a demonstrative gunfire,
When ordinary humans aimed to save their family,
Every millisecond, lived a life, personifying whole country his family.

Like a wood that offers light, and burns itself in fire,
Gave freedom a ray of light, submitted himself happily into the death wire,
For revolution, turned the court his Centre of propaganda,
Responded the ruthless imperialist, a warning memoranda.

On the imperialist death rope, he was killed
The batons he passed for the youths of next generations,
His final dream for India, still unfulfilled,
On the presence of present blood-******* politicians,

A baby that never cries on starvation,
A child that never starves for education,
A youth who never roams around to get dignified occupation,
Let’s at least work and fight towards, fulfilling this mission.
This poem is about the Indian revolutionary named Bhagat Singh. He was a Sikh youth born in India. He is wrongly misinterpreted with bullets and blood. But his approach towards freedom, worthiness of human life and knowledge, shows him distinct from violent loving extremists. He was not a terrorist. He was the most non-violent person, who valued human life than everything. The bomb he threw never had any harmful chemicals, it was thrown on an empty place of assembly to get the world to hear him. He killed a police, who deliberately lathi-charged and killed people involved in a peaceful protest. He sacrificed his life for Indian freedom movement. He was the highly-read and the best intellectual reader during his life short-lived (1907-1931). At the age of 24, the then imperialist British executed him by hanging him to death. His vision and clarity for India and his predictions are happening today. His vision and thoughts still ignite youths of India when we think of him. In short, he is an icon of the Indian youth and revolutionary.
Tasyong Batsi Sep 2018
your beauty put nations into dispute
trying to benefit from the rewards of your youth
for every treasure there's nothing to spare
they used you, abused you, then left you in despair

you've welcomed other nations to experience your land
but your slaughter is what they've plotted that's what they've planned
never have you ever became selfish of your beauty
but you failed to discern the hands of the greedy

your pillars they shattered into pieces
your temples they burned down to ashes
you called for gods but it is the gods who are the roots
one even turned his back after gaining from your loots

you offered so much but they left you nothing but scars
you gave them beauty they gave you famine and farce
should you have invited Eris?
behold, you're the victim of war between these deities

whoever obtains this apple is the fairest
whoever consumes you will be the greatest
war is the immortals' way to argue
they saw your beauty but they never saw you

one bribed you to rule other nations
another bribed you to be the warrior of your fictions
then one bribed you with your weakness, your ambitions
oh my land, you fell. let me ask you my greatest questions.

who are you?

have you forgotten your identity?
why are you allowing yourself be defined by the words of these false deities
why do you still call your oppressor a hero
until when are you going to stay on this limbo

you are Thetis and Peleus not inviting Eris to avoid strife
but you also are the golden apple causing the immortals seek for your life
you are Paris being promised of your dreams
but you also are Helen the most beautiful woman in the history of regimes

you are the war itself, oh my land
your destiny resides on your hand
you are every character of this myth
of your own sword you are the smith
this was a final requirement for my world literature class, reflecting our country's (Philippines) experience in reference to the Trojan War. Literature means a whole lot more when we get to see how fiction shares a common experience of truth with things that happen in reality.
Outside Words Sep 2018
From freedom and serenity - forced back,
Within a heavy frame, I twist and turn.
Surrounded by darkness - sunlight lacks
Through peaceful ears, an alarm clock burns.

Feeling like someone once deceased,
I ****** myself from my tranquil sleep...

Stumbling to the kitchen, eyes half open,
I prepare my meal in a weary daze.
I will not dread today - I'm hoping,
As I race through traffic in my malaise.

Drinking in my last few moments,
I do what I must, but never condone it...

My interior seething from stress filled meetings,
These rules defeating - my lifeblood fleeting,
A blunt insanity from this calamity,
Through censored profanity, I scream "barbarity!"

Beneath the boots of automatic overlords,
We're trapped together - anxious and bored...

Our heads hang, our eyes bleed
Their talking styles belie their greed.
Our mouths move - connection we seek,
But we find our language strange and oblique.

Back home, on my couch, lethargic and pale,
Hypnotized by TV, my dreams turning stale…

A once free spirit, now a mindless drone -
My sense of identity is what they dethrone.
I assure myself, my soul will endure,
Friday at five, I’m told is the cure.

But, revolution’s muscle beats in my chest!
So, a simple existence, I imagine, my best.

This is my strife - I hate this way of life!
Words can’t explain the disdain in my veins.
So, I have no choice, but to use my voice,
To tell you all to your face, there’s no time to waste!

Everyday, I pickup my pen and face the end -
To light the fire, that from ashes, we’ll ascend...
© Outside Words
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