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Shofi Ahmed Oct 16
Queen Fathima the Queen of Heaven
she tones her rose-red colour
and lent nature a cool spark.
Boom, that fires up big bang!  
So she shades her hue
puts on her black niqab
so in her shadow nature can flower.
Now the full-blown scientia nature
is beyond every hand’s touch
eyes on for her Queen everywhere!
l b d Oct 9
127
it was lost
to the glowing spark

with a sigh
the serene morgue
set the smiling tissue aside
and summoned the slime
Hammra Sistur Aug 30
.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
life
it’s daughter love
and all the
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀waters
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀stars
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀earths­
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
is
like a
bowl of flint⠀⠀ it has been like this
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀still
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀quiet
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀­⠀⠀⠀⠀haunched
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
waiting on nimble fingers
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀
I yearn for the girl I used to be.

The girl who used to care about her studies.
The girl who used to write poetry.
The girl who used to sing confidently.
The girl who used to paint vividly.
The girl who used to love freely.
The girl who used to care deeply.

I do not care about my studies (as much).
I do not write poetry (as much).
I do not sing confidently (as much).
I do not paint vividly (as much).
I do not love freely (as much).
I do not care deeply (as much).

The intensity has passed on,
to younger generations,
to newer beings,
to fresh souls,
with more to live for,
with more to care for,
and with more to prepare for,
than I.

For I am old,
and I will continue to do the things I love,
but not with the passion,
but not with the love,
but not with the care,
but not with the confidence,
but not with the freedom,
that I once had.

f.m.s.
Is this what aging feels like?
Mia Aug 5
That spark
I remember feeling so alive
So happy
Innocent
Bliss
We didn’t care about anything else except the moment
We weren’t worried about what people thought
We were true to ourselves
But that’s the best part
We didn’t know it then
But we know it now
pale Jul 28
sometimes it just needs a tiny spark,
to set a whole mind back on fire.
LRF May 30
When all that's left
of the blaze
is smouldering charcoal,
remember that these remnants
too
have their own beauty;
the waves of their glow
ripple
across and back
fanned by heat's charge
and smoke leaks
from the underside
of splintered
blackened
logs, puffing.

Crouch closer
and warm your hands
on the toasty coals,
purify your thoughts
in the billowing smoke,
and wait until
you understand
that your spark is not dead,
it is resting in the peace
of glowing embers
until the world again
feeds it
fuels it
ignites its spectacular dancing flame.
May 2020
marianne May 20
It starts a low rumble
sends its deepest ohm
from molten ore    up up
through ice and whirl and water
sleeping soil

more quickly now, spark and stir
jumps root to coil
smells the sky, aches for reach and measure
the other side

scorched, the soft inside of skin
touched by primal flame    up up it shoots
past fear and lists and blinking lights
nerve to neuron
fire to pen

called forth each day
by stillness
named each day, and nurtured
this first fig, this hot flash
eternal is
me
Adhara Sygnus May 19
And everytime,
I see those
sparkling dark eyes,
I fall in love
a little more than before,
yet another time
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