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Shofi Ahmed Jun 4
Numerically perfect,
a flower is polished science indeed,
with petals that whisper the secrets
of the golden ratio's creed.

But a rose curving out
on the lethal thorns is indeed
no math, no logic!
Dig out my chest a grave,  
Bury my heart a garden,  
**** out my wickedness,  
In the hopes of love to grow.  
To those falling in love;  
Falling out of it more,  
Rising out of that grave,    
    — Aren’t you a beautiful rose?
Two roses of red
And one of blue
Neither are prettier than you

A strong shoulder to rest your head
For you I could never deny
There is no question for why

Two roses of blue
And one of red
Just to remind you; love’s not dead
A charred smell of hickory nuts fills the air
I take a step out to clear my head
As I begin to walk, I can’t help but dare
Dare myself to make it through this winter dread

My steps become less and less
For the snow has reached my knees
Yet I continue on, but I must confess
I did stop for a break by the trees

I whistle a tune, as I watch the moon stop hiding
The air is colder and white specks fall on my clothes
But I find it all ever so delighting
For there’s no better place to find a winter’s rose

As I make my way back, I see a light
It shines through the window
I enter with a rose of white
To see her smile, as pretty as a rainbow
My Dear Poet Apr 30
She said,
“My name is a flower, you see”

I said “Lily…it must be?”
She said, “no, no, no!…

...a Lily…is soooo,
not as beautiful
as me”

She replies
bashfully and wise
I’m just as much beauty to the eyes
as I am to the nose.”

“Oh!…you must be Rose”
She laughed
and cried more ‘no’s’

“It sounds a little crazy
I know and maybe…
but you must be a Daisy??”

she giggled all the more
“who knows?”
and winked
“.. if only baby”

I put my thinking aside
I tell no lie,
while I, still in my head

she sighed

”My names not ‘white’ or ‘plain’
‘Self raising’ “
, she said
”…is my name”.
Shofi Ahmed Apr 25
Red, red rose—  
not for sure  
from this ancient Earth.  
Yet it seems so close  
to the eyes, to the heart;  
then there's the thorn—  
you can't touch!

Not sure what  
the nightingale sang,  
yet a heady fragrance  
seems to whisper:  
"Heart, eyes, hands—  
whatever you feel, say freely;  
mine are yours,  
I wish you could see!"
Shofi Ahmed Apr 25
The same rose, still ablaze scorching red,  
A ****** from realms yet untread,  
That unfolds upon the ancient, earthen bed—  
But heed the thorn; this way one cannot tread.

Every morning the nightingale sings her song,  
Leaps into melody, ere the day grows long.  
Down the moon’s open eye, once strong,  
To unlock the door, one must belong.

In the quietude, beneath the moon’s aged grace,  
Maybe lies a key forged in shadow,
The sun slides down, lights a candle at a silent pace.  
Who claims this boon, who dares to embrace,  
Must know the rose’s fire, the nightingale’s chase.
f Apr 24
bearing the world upon your shoulders
crippling to grasp and smothering to your soul
is this world even worth it
when there is so much darkness
atlas telamon, enduring atlas
the fates born and fostered by you
past, present, and future are
within your arms
the weight is magnificent
the torments and sins of this world displayed so glaringly to you
the pains of humanity are your pains
dread of uncertainty haunt your mind
regrets are
yearning for past love in present time with the future a fog, but known too well
as history repeats itself over and over and over
right before your very eyes
you see a glimpse of light
fleeting moments of light in this world do occur
but this
this light is strong, it is powerful, but as imposing as
dandelion tufts in a field of grass
like nothing you’ve ever seen before
it takes your breath away
this light is welcoming, like a laugh, but
dare you look?
dare you entertain something more?
you let yourself gaze and behold
a familiar beauty
distant memories and uncoordinated thoughts rush in
the screams of this world
the moans of your own soul
and you realize there is no darkness without light and no light without darkness
it never was and never will be
for all the magnificence this world has to offer
this light was the most beautiful you’ve ever seen
and you look
you really look
for more than a millennia you’ve shouldered the world
the inhabitant’s sins growing to become almost unbearable
the horrors manifested in such barbaric ways
in fact in many ways, you saw the earth was simply
a manifestation of your own inner self
you had become something different in carrying the weight of this world upon your shoulders
or were you always this way?
you are almost blinded with the light
and you falter
you shrug
you feel your shoulders lower, ever so slightly
this small shift in your stance causes the entire earth to quake
earth’s oceans thrown into a multitude of hurricanes
glaciers fall and cause cataclysms of avalanches
earth is no longer recognizable
and yet your soul remains intact
thunderstorms and lightning light up the heavens
dark clouds resemble thick smoke
a battle of the gods
giant gusts of wind rush over entire bodies of earth in the time it takes to whisper your name
violent tornados whisk the contents of the landscapes away
turning shards of ice into lethal weapons
and jungles into something akin to what was once the oceans
deserts into blenders where sand is more like billions of bullets
and swamps into sinkholes the size of continents
and through this all, happening in only a matter of moments, you worry you’ll blink
and the light will dim, or vanish entirely
what if the light was a dream?
but if felt like the realest thing you’d ever known
so unabashedly existing, almost in spite
darkness made this light stronger
this light gave darkness its origin
and as the flames of this world flood your peripheral vision
the light in your pupils
you inhale
and you blink
as your eyes open, you sigh out huge relief
the light is still there
and in breathing, your shrug becomes full
the world inferno crashes from your shoulders
the poles of the earth leaving your grasp
plummeting into the cosmos of eternity
embraced into the arms of another orbit unknown to you
out of your vision and off of your shoulders
your soul remains intact
and with great effort, and patience, you place your hands upon your knees
and you stand
to see the light in its full glory is to know that this world never meant anything at all
and you inch forward
for the first time since almost even you could remember, you’re not stagnant
and as you get closer, you marvel at how the light shines the exact same, not darker
not even brighter
you had wondered if you would see the light more clearly once you were closer
but no
this light existed in spite of you, in spite of the heavens, or hell, or the conception of this world
and your arms reach out, trembling
your breath shuddering
your skin is on fire, and covered from head to toe in goosebumps, you feel the winds of time breathe on your neck
suddenly the light envelops you
your eyes well into tears and your body quakes from your sobs
as did the earth
silly earth
no truer joy could you imagine
no stronger ecstasy could one feel
your body relaxes, and you breathe in sync with this light
you vow never to leave the safety of this light
if you had to carry this on your shoulders forevermore, you would
and you would not falter
and you would not shrug
your eyes already covenanted to never look away from the light, but to marvel together at the universe
in harmony, you move as one
your breaths and laughter creating a symphony of sound and light
a rose nebula
amongst many, yours and the lights story would be a sacred teaching, passed through the ages of humanity
written in stone
carved into the rocks of our planet
told through ritualistic dances by shamans
shouted before the battles of vikings
transcribed by the poets of all time
made into lullabies for the offspring to come
your very own song of solomon
eventually this story, your story, would turn into fable and myth
the earth so far removed from your presence
galaxies away
no matter who believed your story, or thought of it as a simple bedtime fable
it was always told as
the epoch genesis of love

4 - 24 - 2024
Shofi Ahmed Apr 24
The same rose, still red hot,  
the ****** from the other world,  
wide open on the ancient Earth—  
mind the thorn, though;  
this way, the door is closed!

Every morn, the nightingale  
hops onto singing before the sun pops.  
In the shadow of the visited moon,  
keying in the door must be someone's boon!
thyreez-thy Apr 23
Fragile, It shines in the night
A reflective surface, redirecting the light
Thorns so sharp they cut into bone
Appearing so beautifully, Yet being alone

Few admire it, others just pass it by
Even nature chooses to say goodbye
Unnatural yet it settles in
Never withers and always gleams

Standing out like a sore thumb
Its beauty unnoticed by some
Does its thorns hurt just as much
Or does it slide off by one's touch?

Is it appreciated by the wild life
or treated as another object
Does it shine off the moon in the night
Or does it stay stagnant?

A Glass rose, artificial yet endearing
A imitation of nature, and a homage to whats real
A lesson on true love, and knowing lies from truth
A beginning, an ideal,  and a cool Glass Rose
A draft from 2023 that I decided to add on to and "Complete".
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