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Though no stick
In the forest
Is perfectly
Straight

But are
Broken
And bent,
And deteriorate

A Man
Comes around
Who loves
To create

And He takes
The crooked
And draws
Something straight

.
"God can draw a straight line with a crooked stick" - Martin Luther
M Solav Jan 1
If you walk, you slip
If you stop, you stall
If you touch, you stick
If you drop, you fall

In the eternal,
In the eternal now.
Written in September 2020.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
Khoi Dec 2020
In falls moonlight
when down and out strikes
nocturnal
candles
burn
saving a world
from
bad
turns
through
storm and blizzard
are
few good spirits
and
friends
who support good ends.
Thank you HAROLD
Did you know the moon is responsible for the conditions that allows life
on earth
True friends keeps these conditions
alive
for their friends
to
survive
Spriha Kant Sep 2020
Sadly , most of the kibitzers are the houseflies sticking randomly to anyone unlike a few who genuinely drown in the worries of others.
annh Jun 2020
Stick girl embering,
Lollipop meandering,
Molten toffee trail.

'We discovered that one of the strongest links among us was questions about the morality
of what we do: when do
you press the shutter release
and when do you cease
being a photographer?'
- Greg Marinovich, The Bang-Bang Club: Snapshots from a Hidden War
kiran goswami May 2020
They tell me to stick to my roots
because roots lead up to shoots.
They tell me to stick to my origin
unaware of how it acts as a prison,
My roots are Draupadi's hair that was twisted and lugged,
my roots are Panchali's saree that was tugged.
My roots are Sita's wrist Ravana wrested,
my roots are where Ahalya's chastity rested.
My roots are parasites that eat up its own herb and ****,
my roots are rat snakes that eat up its own tissue and meat.
My roots are flames of fire that created and watered the plant of Sati,
my roots are pools of blood and long ropes that drowned and hanged LaxmiBai and Moolmati.
My roots are the dish misogyny flavoured with patriarchy,
my roots are naked streams of Ganga washing off their lynching and anarchy.
My roots are all the poison Shiva drank during the churning of the sea,
my roots are Dhritrashtra's aspirations and ambiguity.
My roots are its own herbivore,
my roots are the lava that burns its own floor.
And my roots are my flesh and bone,
so I am stitched to my roots altogether, all alone.
So as I cut my own roots, my roots chop me,
hence I stick to my roots while my roots remain free.
Elsie Greek Apr 2020
Stick to whatever,
She told me.
Get it wrong, right
Or do not.
Flee to your scarier
Shelter,
One that is easy
To spot.
Drink wines
From glasses
Of doubt,
Worship your
Local canons.
Stretch them
Within and without,
Stan the unpardoned
Of lords.

Having it all
Given to you,
Acting completely
Exposed,
Trophies in pain
Excruciate you:
None of them **** you,
Suppose.
Poet X Oct 2019
it’s my fault really
I gave you the sticks
Taught you how to throw the stones
and you broke me .
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