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lib Feb 12
beneath the pale stars
your strong arms holding me tight
the clock strikes midnight
carriage returns to pumpkin
dress of silk and gold to rags
another tanka poem
Savio Fonseca Jul 2023
The finest of Spirits, that touched My Lips.
Was never that intoxicating.
Neither did their sweetness Eclipse,
the Magic your Kisses kept Creating.
No Melody I heard, was played that Fine.
To be Music to both My Ears.
Nor have Notes had those sadful Words.
The Way your Voice, bring out My Tears.
The finest Silk that touched My Skin,
was never that Tender, Smooth or Light.
They never wrapped Me with Finesse.
As your Arms do for Me every Night.
The World offered Me Diamonds and Gold
and Gifts as Pure as the Morning Dew.
But none of them caught My Eyes,
as My Eyes were set on U.
Hamna Nov 2021
๐˜š๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ญ๐˜บ-
๐˜“๐˜ช๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ข ๐˜ด๐˜ธ๐˜ข๐˜บ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ค๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜ง๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ฌ ๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ฌ.
๐˜ ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต, ๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ด, ๐˜ด๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ด, ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด ๐˜ด๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ฅ๐˜ฐ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ฉ ๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ฑ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ด.
๐˜›๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ด๐˜ข๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ถ๐˜ฏ๐˜ง๐˜ข๐˜ฅ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฐ๐˜ต๐˜บ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ:
๐˜š๐˜ถ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฑ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ, ๐˜ด๐˜ถ๐˜ฃ๐˜ซ๐˜ถ๐˜จ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ, ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ธ๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ.
๐˜–๐˜ณ-
๐˜œ๐˜จ๐˜ญ๐˜บ, ๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ฎ๐˜ช๐˜ฅ, ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ด๐˜ฉ๐˜บ.
๐˜‰๐˜ถ๐˜ต-
๐˜๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ณ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜ฅ๐˜ด ๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ค๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ณ:
๐˜š๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ข ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ถ๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ง๐˜ถ๐˜ญ ๐˜ค๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ข๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ฆ.
๐˜๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ธ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜น๐˜ต๐˜ถ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ.
๐˜๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ค๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜บ ๐˜ด๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฑ๐˜ด ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฑ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ด ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ท๐˜ช๐˜ท๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ช๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ด ๐˜ฆ๐˜บ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด.
๐˜‰๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ถ๐˜ต๐˜บ ๐˜ง๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ธ๐˜ด ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ด ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ต.
๐˜‰๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด๐˜ด ๐˜ค๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ด ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ง๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต.
๐™Ž๐™๐™š ๐™ž๐™จ ๐™– ๐™—๐™š๐™–๐™ช๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™›๐™ช๐™ก ๐™˜๐™ก๐™ค๐™–๐™ ๐™š๐™™ ๐™จ๐™ž๐™ก๐™๐™ค๐™ช๐™š๐™ฉ๐™ฉ๐™š.
๐™Ž๐™๐™š ๐™ž๐™จ ๐™– '๐™ฅ๐™๐™š๐™ฃ๐™ค๐™ข๐™š๐™ฃ๐™–๐™ก ๐™ฌ๐™ค๐™ข๐™–๐™ฃ'.
Just because we are hiding behind our veils or are covered from head to toe does NOT mean we are old-fashioned. In case you need this, one of the definitions of beauty is the HEART, okay? Neither are we intimidated nor forced upon. Just simply beautiful cloaked silhouettes, beautiful phenomenal women. :)
Wrote this for the youngwriters.co.uk (poetry prompt "Empowered")
Payton Hayes Mar 2021
Steel at my back
a welcome intrusion,
confirming my own suspicions, permitting my desires
โ€”sharpening them, even.
Fuel to the flames.

Silken petals drip
sweet, honeyed molasses dew
nocturnal flower blossoming
โ€”firelighting below Dianaโ€™s gaze.
Spindle to depression, kindle and spark,
we set the world ablaze.

Caught like a butterfly in the spiderโ€™s web,
trapped, held mindlessly, mercilessly betwixt
pleasure and pain โ€”saccharine release promised only
from the combining of silk and steel, catching fire
and melting into one.
This poem was written in 2020.
Payton Hayes Feb 2021
Was it longing in is sad, blue eyes, or was it lust?
Maybe it was a beautiful combination of the two.
She always left him wanting more.
So he gave up the sunlight for her.
He promised to spend the rest of his daysย ย in darkness, between silk sheets and, hushed tones.
He never asked anything of her.
Seeing her body covered in nothing but moonlight was more than
his soul could ever dream of.
This poem was written in 2016.
Payton Hayes Feb 2021
Between silken sheets we let all of the golden clocks fall over the edge of our world.
There, we kissed and kissed until we could measure time only by the rise and fall of our broken breaths and knew no other taste
than the light in each others bones.
This poem was written in 2016.
Jaxey Feb 2021
her voice
bent me
backwards
over the
bedsheets
every
syllable
spinning silk
into sea
as she drew
the breath
from my ears
and a symphony
from my lips
she turned my
twin bed
into titanic
along with me
and as I was
drowning
she was speaking
poetry
i will never forget
N Sep 2020
If the sky turns pink
when the spring breeze
touches her silky skin

If the filed of lavender sighs
when it yearns for her scent

If the sunflowers
worship her raven hair
like the sun

If the moon weeps with
longing over her absenceย ย 

If a thorny flower
hurts liker her
Lane O Aug 2020
white jasmine petals
like the finest silk so pure
nature's sweet perfume
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