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I belong
To the roses blooming with elegance,
The birds song yearning for love,
The spring singing the song of life,
The dawn declaring a new beginning,
The moon shining on lovers’ footsteps.

I Belong
To the cry of the suffering souls,
The dish that feeds the hungry stomaches,
The sacred justice that was crucified,
The whispers of my mother’s prayer.

I Belong,
To the kind words that sooth other’s pains,
The random acts of kindness,
The hearts that are full of compassion,
The idea that plant seeds for positive change,

I Belong,
To the hope of all of humanity,
The inventor of all of the infinite beauty,
The beautiful song of all of creation,
The God of the whole universe.

Hussein Dekmak
Omarcito Jun 14
‘twas the Hour of The Raven,
Scolding at the Seven Seas,
Humidity can’t be seen
As the sun whirled
Its final twirl.

A flock of pigeons stand by Midnight’s Trolley Trail.

I am my own eye,
Staring at taught veils
'tween cotton gaits.

The clouds are no more,
Spirits remained encaged in rose sepultures,

A transformation so chaotic, they cackle at their false fear.

STEADY. ready,
For what to behold.

I have left Universe to relay ,
As the subtle sun one did in its day.

I am left
To react.

React to what?
React to wee?            React,
to relationships,        React,
to their degree of nobility,
So fruitful, so radical in concept indeed.

Of all these perspectives
I am one.
One paper, one tree cut for endless possibilities.

The treasure remains underneath,
Where I weep
In the deep,
In the deep.

There is nothing to find,
And that made all the difference.

'twas the Hour of The Raven,
Scolding at the Seven Seas.
Openness is vulnerability and vulnerability is beautiful. That's why we love roses.

Though. Many of us are afraid of getting pricked by thorns in places that already hurt. So instead of simply trying to hold on to the rose, many admire it from a distance.
Until the chance of actually holding & keeping it dies.

Did they forgot that rose petals have healing properties too?
𝙶𝙽𝙶 May 20
   𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖉 "𝕴 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖉𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖘."
Just a quickie I wrote.

He tries to do everything,
just for her to look his way...
She looks away.

© snoW
Both had roses red,
One enjoyed the beautiful flower bed,
Unaware of the thorns, he didn't dread.
The other was scared,
of the thorns he did dread.
Scared, what if he bled?
So much on the thorns focused did he,
That one day the roses died and he could only see,
Lamenting, "I couldn't enjoy their beauty!".
The other was content with the roses, he admired them everyday,
till one day, they withered away,
Alas he got to know of the thorns one day.
He smiled at how he didn't know this,
And came to realize,
That sometimes ignorance is bliss,
and it's folly to be wise.
Last two lines were coined by Thomas Gray in his "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College"
Shofi Ahmed Mar 26
The rose is at the tip of the fingers
the thorn is down the abyss what now
is a golden sun in a dew
hanging on its petal balmy hue!

The nightingale did jump on it  
first thing in the morn
but one seems to know the rose
since the dawning of the dawn!
Sophie Mar 23
I am a flower
growing in the way of a footpath,
from a crack in the pavement,
dog ***, human feet shuffling,
bicycle tire spinning

I am a sunflower, glowing
in the morning light.
through sparkling mist,
which sits beside me, feeding
me sweet nothings and soft

I am a wild rose,
my thorns are sharp, my
petals are delicate.
My roots reaching,
so deep into the earth,
yet the water has evaporated,
even in those depths, my roots are
my hips are drying out.

I am a flower in the middle of a footpath,
I have been trampled and I have
been peed on and biked over.
I am trying to stand up again.
I am trying to stand up again.
Inspired by my habitat restoration work in crowded areas. Watching plants survive being trampled and peed on gives me hope and yet makes me feel so hopeless. How can we expect a flower to bloom after being so abused? It is how I feel about my own life. I have been "abused" many times by others, by life itself. "I am trying to stand up again"
𝑎 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒
𝑎𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑢𝑝 , 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑟
𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠𝑡..
Behind the prettiest smile , there is a worst story to tell..
Kassan Jahmal Mar 16
By the attraction of scent; my nose has been called,
Falling into the sweetest embrace,
Called into it's descent.
Conspicuous; truly is the word making up her face,
And beauty; heavy as the anchor of emotions she brings,
All that's seen, is her bare honesty,
Open to my eyes, as all of her is exposed.
I picked her as with a touch bitter sweet,
Quickly cut by her thorns.

As I recently learnt, of all her very worth,
All truly rooted to ground,
And down to Earth.

Red, as the cherry blossom of blushing cheeks,
Green, as the valleys watered by Heaven's tears,
Brown, in the grounds as smooth as my skin,
My favourite flower, is a Rose.
I want to tell you about the night cold
and my cigarette lit on my right hand
and a poem that describes everything
I see the day I pass,
and the sad song
and dim light on my eyes
and your eyes will see me from the screen on your phone
and that melody of a night owl
and the moon
and the wind
and the last breath your fragrance clothes on my jacket
and your lips hanging out my rose
I gave you.
Indonesia, 16th March 2022
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
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