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Zywa Jun 15
The sun goes down and

comes up again, endlessly --


I lived, as a child.
Collection "From Sacred Scriptures [1]"
Zywa Apr 25
My mind has remained empty
no voice, no inspirations
nothing divine, just
what was already there
what I have found

I peeled, viewed
the persistent thoughts
with which I was raised
the many lies that bind me
to a false image of who I am

of us and the others
as strangers of each other
who I should fear and keep away
with their customs, interesting
perhaps, but uncomfortable

Empty, I let the scents
flow through me
I can't hold them
only experience them, I live
what lives
Book "The lies that bind -- Rethinking identity" (2018, Kwame Anthony Appiah)

Collection "Metamorphic body"
Hakiim Dec 2021
There came a time when I realized the river flowed outwards
The west became Sahara and east Bombay.
The golden chops grinned in greed.
My lips were full in windy cold winter,
and you became hoarding supply-less supply.
Draginja Knezi Oct 2021
falling
falling
falling
streaming song of rain
drop the ups
up
the downs
drown the sounds



the rocks are the clocks


stream the dream


(I could write the drops in but I thought you'd like to hear them yourself)
Strying Sep 2021
a wave of air
a stream of fire
a world ablaze
a person enranged
a life encaged
and eyes
and a smile
and everything
and you.
exhausted, but felt like writing something :)
goodnight everyone <3
end Sep 2021
he can't change his clothes
he can't see green
he doesn't like to hear himself singing
but they make me laugh
when they cry, i cry
i didn't go to class
but i watched them live
and they helped me live
they helped me to survive
who else could they be

they're my
dream team
eyes green
shirt blue
red face
know you won't hear
this song my dear
you don't know me
but you're my
dream team

he wears a smile
his goggles are on
he ties up his head band
i'm so far gone
when they laugh, i die
i watched them tonight
told them my struggles
spoke about my fights
they said they were there for me
my dream team

he was taken
he's not found
he took a nap on the ground
it may sound insane
block boys make my day
but who else could have saved me
no one but my dream team
this is about the mcyt dream team 🤡
Mark Wanless Jul 2021
young man in the stream
was then there now wild conflict
did the best he could

does the best he can
Sharon Talbot Apr 2021
Poems flow in a stream
That winds through me
As I guide them,
Through meandering, uneven
Places in my life,
Or once in a while,
The smooth runs
Where fishing seems easy.
And I collect the pretty stones
That come to rest,
Water-washed, shining,
Along the river’s bank.
And often, there is a pool,
Green-blue, with clear water
And trout shadows, swift
And still, making a brief home,
Suspended above the sand.
Those are the ones I choose,
The surface touched only
By tree-filtered sunbeams
And beckoning on summer days.
It seems sometimes to me
That poets travel backward
Up to the source of beauty,
Where the water is still pure,
After struggling up through
Rapids and waterfalls,
Or wading through swamps
Down where the stream ends
And a wide river opens up.
Giant rivers can be majestic
But they often bury the gems
Brought down from the
From mountain caves and highlands
Swallowing them to swirl,
Mixed-up with the jewels
Of other poets’ streams.
And from remembrance
We gather our dreams.
Does sorrow fill the traveler
Who reaches the dark places
Where springs emerge
From some place we cannot see?
Tran Thuy Anh Feb 2021
My country meanders like a stream
Guided by impartial terrain
In search of open sea

My country reaches like a vine
For a source of warm light
Having survived winter

My country thirsts like a lily
Laid over a burning pyre
White petals wrinkling into ash

My country crumbles like a sandcastle
Fastened by childlike fantasy
Oblivious to the nearing tide
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