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I stand in a puddle of water
Liquid pooled around my ankles
Dripping from my eyes so slow I didn’t notice them at first
But when they become apparent, foreign fingers brushed them away
And I’d disregard the wetness to pull back the hands

Who do these hands belong to?

The puddle becomes a pool
I stand in the shallow end and wiggle my toes
My fingers have grown pruney from where my fingers dip in the water
Blisters have settled on my soles and children splash at my face
Droplets trail to my collarbone and I blink away water or tears and wonder
Ears listening to unrecognizable laughter

Whose children are these?

The water sits level at my mouth
I should feel weightless but my clothes drag me down
The pool has become a lake and I stand in it shivering
Perched on my toes there is a precarious balance for air
The tears don’t stop and keeps the water rising
My sobs echo across the surface
Murky figures wave at me from the shore and smile like they know me

Who am I?

They say a river never forgets
That it knows its way back to the ocean
But my river swirls around my head and drips from my ears
From my eyes
The lake forms a lock of memories that can be touched
But never held

A lake is where memories go to be forgotten

So I drown in a Lethe that pours from my eyes, from my mind
And I sink to forget and be forgotten
Bit personal, won't lie

Permission to use with credit
Sudipta Maity Jan 23
I was in fallin in love
when she was the river.
Dancing with the sun,
in her every small ripples -
I shaw her joy.
I shaw her joy,
by how she reflects the ray
with her liquid crystal face and figure.
Singing with the birds,
her every splash was a chorus.
I dreamed her in that way.
I dreamed,
when she mirror the violets
of the flowers.
Painted with colours,
she was the live canvus
of this universe.
do my words cause you discomfort
if so

ask yourself

if you would rather have
     the tender stream of the rivers
                    or
     the murderous waves of the oceans

                            but it doesn't really matter

                                                    in my poetry
                                                    you're all the forces of nature

                                                     - katrina ******
instagram: @wordsbykatrina
twitter: @_wordsbykatrina
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Matthew Jan 22
People are rivers.
Rivers that go on.
on to tomorrow.
Tomorrow into dawn.

The way we want to change
change the river's flow
flow through the sky
sky that is never low

Endlessly going in one direction.
direction that can not be easily changed.
changed never by only asking.
asking for a difference in what has been arranged.

We can build a dam.
Dam that changes goals.
Goals are never just.
Just watch out for holes
The way I perceive this poem, people are rivers.  You can't ask someone or a river to change by just asking them.  You have to build a dam, but dams might have holes.
Hadiy Syakir Jan 20
countless
tempestuous moments
a prognosis of the
stupendous temperament
a desire to believe
a desire to achieve
and I have never
looked away,
from the shallowest river
that I have sunk my foot into.
Rowan Deysel Jan 17
With nothing in mind, on the soft green ground
While gazing around inside of a dream
Squinting of Sun, inhaling of sounds
Relaxed, next to a running river's gleam
Serene and sedated, the rustling of leafs
A lease - eternal, an ease inside
A polished, pure and perplexing peace
I slowly sway into the swallowing sky

Sounds of the gush and the wingless glide
Divided between blue and beautiful bright
A meeting of mountains and stars magnified
Below - a haze. Above - the great light
The delight of the earth, protruding and proud
Shrouded silhouettes and gorges that glow
Maps of the sky, echoers of sound
Transport me down to the wet below

Floating on top of the swirling blue salt.
Exalted beyond the liquid haze.
The deepest doors of this massive vault.
A conversation with the warping waves.
A daze of darkness in this alien waste.
Embraced in unknown - pulling me down.
A captive buoyancy with calm erased.
The essence of life, in which I will drown.

Finally, walls, blank and opaque.
The ache of vast indifferent time.
With a failed past comes a future vague.
Measured only by it's dangling decline.
Maligned touches of world-less colour.
The collar of emptiness. The forever nothing.
Blacked out details unnecessarily smothered.
A ruined illusion of caring for something.
Drunk Penguins
Manan sheel Jan 17
These thick waves of this river,
This fading sun, a little above it,
This unique universe,
These eyes which carry universes,

All these are works of art,
created for us,
so that we can see glimpses
of our home, in them,
in certain moments,
and reach it,
when worthy.


© Manan sheel.
Shofi Ahmed Jan 15
Delivering the magic
at the tip of the Moon.
The silken blue half-light
beaming in full!

Ah, let there be a gap
between the one peeled halve
and the unleashing other half.  
The vanished sun will bridge it
far from the unseen pyramydon
shining upon a crescent moon!

It doesn’t have to be in a mo
leave some rooms.
Let it flow to chockablock
over the running brook.

Heading to the up and down ocean
Let the rivers flow in all diversions.
By the way, shorting it to half would do
my half full glass is half full.
Manan sheel Jan 13
Life is a river.
Music is its flow.

Sometimes swimming,
Sometimes drowning,
I enjoy its melodies.

This life river takes turns,
Scenes change on both its banks,
Sometimes they are colorful and bright,
Sometimes they are gloomy and grey.

But I will trust it and flow with it,
enjoying all its scenes,
for I know in my heart, that,
all of it is just a play,
just a play,

And this harmony,
this melody,
is what is true...

© Manan sheel.
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