Winter brings the bitter chill,
I shiver standing in the cold;
We warm ourselves near the fire,
We bring a tree into our home.  

A blizzard wraps the wood around us, 
A glistening blanket - snowy white;
Our forest is so silent now;
Stars shine like diamonds in the night.  

In spring, the birds join in a choir,
Hundreds of songs in harmony, 
I look around and hear them sing;
Flowers bloom so gloriously.

I smell the scent of fragrant rain;
Showers drench the fertile ground.
I see the trees begin to leaf,
Rustling rain comes pouring down.

In summer the sun radiates,
Filling the forest with all that's green.
Oak and pine fill my nose,
I walk beside the crystal stream.

The grass it grows higher, higher,
I feel it soft between my toes;
From time to time a storm arrives,
Clapping thunder, wind that blows.

Autumn brings a change in palette;
Squirrels hide their treasured 'corns;
The taste of nutmeg - pumpkin pie,
Jack-o'-lanterns at our doors.

Mouths are filled with apple cider;
Leaves piled upon the ground;
Children jump into them laughing, 
Hidden in orange, maroon, and brown.

A thousand faces of the forest.
Winter; spring; summer; fall - 
And yet the face of my beloved
Is more beautiful than them all.

But what of warm winter,
where the grass hasn't a chance
to whiter and die,
like the rest of us,
where a single meadow wildflower,
grows with wavering courage beneath
the thin, fretting frost.

Not yet cold enough
for it to finally go along,
with the birds and my father,
yet suffering so that the chill,
Oh, that frightful chill,
penetrates the very cells that
allow it to carry on.

And what of the wayward wanderer
Treading without direction,
with spirit breaking and
eyes heavy with knowing,
mind numb as their fingers,
lumbering (and) without knowing,
crushing its perseverance.

We live in a world of wrong typhoon forecast,
Where expectations are better than reality,
Of unfinished sentences,
In a world of that's-what-they-saids

We live in a world of black and white,
Of day and night, of sun and moon.
That someone will come with a paintbrush
and splatter the screaming colors into your world
That you are no longer living in that world
but in someone else's world.

so sad is it to hear
the wailing of the car radio
because what's sad is not their tears
but the ironic pain of which they don't know

you can write about love and happiness
those are life's simple pleasures
but the the depth I have from this emptiness
can not possibly be measured

you think you've felt pain
when the tide in your eyes come in
you think you're insane
because society played you again

I've got some news for you
I won't try to put this nicely
the pain you thought you know
is a piece of this mess that is unsightly

I won't tell you that I'm better
when genetically I'm broken
but I hope that when you read this letter
you won't try to leave it open

I've shown you my crazy
a number of times
my thought are a mess and often hazy
but I'll be out of them in no time

I know
it’s like getting hit at 120
waking up a week later
with fractured ribs,
a cut in my skull,
a feeling of uselessness in my limbs,
and a chronic mental trauma
meanwhile
all you got are
****** bruises
caused by the airbag that at least
saved you despite that,
a dent in the quarter panel,
minor damage to the bumpers
and it’s all ******* covered
by an insurance company
the headlines will be filled with something
like reckless imprudence
resulting to physical injuries
but you won’t need your lawyers anymore
because I promise you I will take the blame
anyway

Submerged
in slumbering marshes of youth
soot riddled, benign mole
mermaids and Jupiter bathed in the
water of her soul
shape shifting contradictions
crumbs of a whole

Strewn
in the irony of thorned garlands
on eggshell whims, jettisoning off cliffs
She plunged headfirst
seeking his gnawed bristle lips
lattice tresses curving
along his finger tips

Scrambling
she held a chisel in one hand
the other groping a Jade shard
fledging yearnings
to make hay in the barnyard
As surly incense sticks turned to ashes
on a wedding card


Serendipity
experienced by intertwining fibers
of a coarse, unruly yarn
parables murmured to her torso
he laid  sprawled in the barn
plucking leaves off petioles
in her threadbare farm

I

Waiting for my clock to break an arm
I wonder why there are two moons
In the sky on the mirror above the ground
I stroll upon in the dark dark night
But who would listen to my footsteps
That contradict their own resonation
For I always walk
In sanity

II

How do we talk
And how do we walk?
Like innocence drowned in chalk
Or just abhorrence painted black?
Why does the mirror shatter?
It is because of beauty,
or a heart blackdusted, like this—
like   this
like   this
like   this
like   this
like   this
like
         this
like
         this
like
         this
like
         this
like  this
        dislike

III

Following your eyes and their dauntless form
I beat the tears out of the moon
In the bog where we used to mourn
For deceased children whose hearts shone bright
But who would weep along to us
Whose sirens live alone in contradiction
For we always talk
In sanity

~~~
When the wooden door leads a little,
To a force is put
In the erst of the body fleece wells,  
Sweet sweating as the dew is deposited

The clamor of the known birds,
Uttering,
Be filled,
North wind changes direction,
Comes through my southern window

When harmonic air,
Passed over the yellow paddy fields,
Farmers perches hope's aroma
Into the hearts  

At the mid of the noon,
Cowboys keep exhaustion on flute
Swelling of the new message,
Leaves
Flowers
Fruits

After a Long waiting,
Pied crested Cuckoo singing
Mating songs
The peacock repeatedly whispering peahen

My beloved,
Your one "April" desires
bought us,
Cuddly child as the light purple rose

And they say you
Sing your song of arrival
O' April O' come!
Once Again!

Show Your Cyclone form
Engross your soul
Bring the rain,
Chill the Nature
Add to birth New Child for the unscathed time
~~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

When I was little, I stuck scissors into the electrical outlet
something I never would have had the urge to do if my parents hadn't told me it was dangerous
I was a rocket pop, always standing too close to the edge,
always carrying a matchbook in my pocket

I'm not the only one who flirts with death
Death is the quarterback, death is the prettiest ******* the cheerleading team
Death is popular at parties
And when someone seems so out of my reach like that, I tend to romanticize them

So I fantasized about pills that shone like pearls
I envisioned ribs sticking out from my skeletal frame, finally frail enough to ****** the object of my desires
I thought about razor blades scattered like flower petals on the bathroom floor
Etching memento moris into my skin
I dreamed of fenders and pavement rushing up to meet my lips for one last kiss

God, I had the biggest crush on death
But so did everyone else
And I saw them falling further in love as if they were tumbling from a skyscraper
This is not a love poem, this is a goodbye
Because I have instead become infatuated with beautiful things
I am a creator, so I must stop destroying myself

Dear death
I don't want to be just another girl who doesn't look when she crosses the street, hoping to meet you on the other side
I will be okay on my own, and I'll keep the scissors locked up in the craft cabinet

If a song can have power over you
Enough to control the rhythm of your heart
What may one say of the composer?
Who when immersed in the art
Commands the spirits to closure
Is he real enough to feel
The power when awake?
Is he deceptive enough to conceal
The grip of a bygone state?
Revel in the magic till it lasts
Even if for a while at any rate!