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Brett Jun 2
Moist morning dew, I river bathe aloof
Rushing water filters out my youth
Wilted skin sheds, falls to fish as food
Old parts always have their use
Cleansing waters and reflective banks
Currents carry away yesterday
Older now, baptized anew
Daivik May 26
यह नदियां यूँ ही बहती रहेंगी
लाशो को गवाह बनाकर
उस दर्द का जो "वे" इनकार करते रहे
Eloisa May 15
In my solitary hours,
haunted by the silence
of this silvery river,
with trees scattered on its banks
I heard soft whispers
from every leaf.
A soft and peculiar chant,
mumbling sorrows and despair to
my melancholic soul.
My swift glimpse on the silent, still water revealed
a stranger,
A girl though left lucid yet
drowned and lost.
Silenced by the heavy
ripples of grief,
Dim thoughts began to steal
the river’s song.
Now I’m slipping into the water depths,
In the midst of these soundless murmurs,
all alone.
RQ May 15
be a river and let everything flow
then be a waterfall as it flows down and crash
when it crashes into a lake you can begin anew
a lake is your new beginning
if it does not work out be a river again
be a stream and flow into the ocean
be free in the open upon the horizon
Mel May 13
History likes to repeat itself
But sometimes it likes to change
The curve in the river
Will start going straight
And the walls on the castle
Are now crumbling down

But then a new river is formed
And a new wall is built
And history starts all over again

Maybe it does repeat itself
05 - 13 - 2021
I'm trying to get into the habit of writing more and writing more on themes but I've been stuck between work and school :-(
This ground was thirsty
by god thirsty
been cracking and cursing for months
with only the vaguest hunch of a possible deluge

so these rains were drunk in abandonment
and the angry soil has yielded
soft underfoot, a sole cwtch
to be savoured, felt

the stream, so feeble last week
has remembered its fatness,
wetness, strength
recalling a bearing
thoughts are borne once again
with vigour to the constant sea
As I gazed at the starry night sky,
The stars whispered:
We are your horoscope, and your fortune tellers!
We bring your loved ones together, so you share and bask in our beauty.  
We shine so bright to illuminate and guide you through even your darkest of nights!

The moon whispered:
I am your loyal companion, and your secret keeper.
I provide you with light; I am the symbol of transition and progression!
I am the master of infinite beauty that inspires you with creativity and poetry!

The sun whispered:
Every day when I rise, I heal your old wounds.
With my shining face, I shower you with joy and smiles.  
I provide you a life full of hope, growth, and empowerment.
I am your eternal song of rebirth, inspiration, and a new promise for a better day!  

The earth whispered:
I have made myself a home for you and decorated it with trees, flowers, and rivers.
Do you remember when you had taken your first baby steps?
You stumbled and fell; I lifted you up with my gentle heart,
And provided you with everything that I have, to watch you grow and blossom.
When you are ready to depart, I promise to hold you like a baby in my gentle arms,
And bury your fragile body, along with your precious secrets, deep inside my heart.
I will embrace your soul with infinite love since I am your mother nature!

Hussein Dekmak
Edit 2
"DRUNK IN LOVE."

Gradually I'm getting possessed, obsessed by thy love--craft, emotionally flew his heart reaching out to her's. He's intoxicated drunk in love.
Lost in the
lovesome thought of her's. His
heart is detained  underneath
the water of
her soul.
So we're
sensitively
soul mates.
We met as 2 rivers confluences.
Indescribe-able
what these mean.
#C9_fm
The field was all he'd known
admiring the flowers
the butterflies
the snakes
they poisoned the field
the snakes.

The river is all he knows
Listening to the hum
of the river's flow
the trash
it polluted the river
the trash.

The field is all he needs
longing for the rich harvest
Of knowledge
the snakes
do not scare him
the snakes.

The river is the one in pain
the fish mourn
their home is dying
the river
it must be cleansed
my river.
The boy of the field and river.
Skimming and scanning
the grammar of the riverbank’s
brown leaf, new shoot syntax
a bold type wren,
like the old bouncing ball of singalongs,
led my eye to read the waterline
and yet I still couldn’t discern
if smiles or tears were written
while the branch tips still scribed
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