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Nina Sep 23
you gave me bite marks
Bites on my body
That no one else sees
That consists of pain
And also pleasure
You're the same like those marks
Both gives off
A temporary feelings
And eventually
It fades
Thomas C Sep 14
Heel to sole.
Closer and warmer.
Tongue against palate.
Tongue against teeth.
Air slips in between lips...
word for word.
Mumbling and muttering…
Hands are shaken.
Heads are nodding.
Backs are bending.
Sole to heel.
Distant and cold.
fray narte Aug 29
There's something about falling in love with shooting stars and REM dreams and library books and strangers in the train, whose eyes meet yours for a split second. There's something about falling in love with petrichors that last for half an hour, with the songs you hear without knowing the title, with paper boats under the rain and CDs with scratches, with that person you spent a 5 am with in a desolate park, talking about life and sadness and life — what even is the difference, without ever knowing their name.

There's a nameless feeling, probably something between resigned and bittersweet, about falling in love with temporary things. Maybe it's knowing that I've lost some things forever. It's knowing that I should always learn to let go — knowing that they won't ever come back.

And so won't you. Darling, at least, losing them didn't hurt.
Petrie Aug 17

Ok before,

Better with.

But I don't know that I'll ever be Ok after...

So much put into such a temporary thing.

And now I'm left to think about what was,

And to fail repeatedly at trying to heal

I don't think I will ever be Ok... again.
Äŧül Aug 17
The caste-based discrimination,
Warranted by caste-based reservation,
In the Indian nation;

It brings people on the roads so often,
Their feelings refuse to soften,
With blood of men, roads soon glisten;

Few wanting newer reservation,
Some wanting more reservation,
None thinking about deservation;

They all cry reservation aloud,
Getting alms, they feel proud,
Disaster is hidden in a shroud;

Politicians cash in on the issue,
If you're needy, they won't miss you,
Arrange your own teary tissue;

The caste politics they're playing,
Truly careless they're behaving,
Threats they're manufacturing;

Caste-based reservation is like a fire,
These crutches will take none higher,
Remember, remember this lone flyer.
The world needs to worry about the Indian caste-based reservation system, which instead of banishing the misinterpreted Varṇ Vyavastha, further making the caste lines more pronounced.

Read my novel that critiques the Indian system.

My novel is a love story of how a young man protects his fiance and fights with death once again on the flight to Hamburg as (currently only fictional) terrorists attempt to hijack it.

In the novel, "7 Seconds: A Typical Guy, Atypical Life" by Atul Kaushal, 7 July 2017 is the date that Akshant Kautilya takes the flight from New Delhi to Hamburg and is engaged in a struggle against the hijackers who demand repealing of the Indian caste-based reservation system.

If you prefer reading the hard-copy version then you can now read my novel in its hard-copy version apart from its eBook version.

My HP Poem #1760
©Atul Kaushal
Anastasia Aug 16
I want
To breathe
To understand
What's wrong with me
I feel like this is temporary
But I know it's permanent
The loneliness
I keep going
but I don't want to
dunno why im so depressed
L Jul 30
Night will be day
Day will be night
Time will change
Dreams will cry
Hopes will past
Life will cease
Everything is temporary
All will be taken
There is a hole that exists within me,
no pain,
just a sunken hollow.
A constant emptiness
and a feeling of terrible,
terrifying loneliness.

My heart latches onto people,
sometimes even to the ones
who may not know my name.

I can create or feel
love and comfort from them.
I embed them into the figment
of my imagination,
for they are always there to stay.

But once their souls
leave my reality,
the figment starts to fade.

Once the feelings are no longer there
my heart,
my mind
become a sunken empty hole
waiting to be filled once more.

But people,
feelings are so temporary.
For the only fill was self love,
self acceptance,
and connection with god.
We don’t put a label on it
Because we don’t want to fit
And commit.

We keep it fun and chill;
Nothing serious
No consequences
No future
Nothing romantic
Trying to keep it platonic.

Doesn’t it sound ironic?
Because I am frantic
About you, boy.

Trying to be ice cold
Pretending we are something,
when we’re nothing.
I am losing my mind.

You play these games
Trying to make me insecure
About all these other girls.

So I play along
Because it’s love,
Maybe not long lasting
But real.

But we’re just spiraling
No end; not infinite
I guess I can not pretend
For I don’t want to be this type of girl.

I want to us to burn;
Our hearts to yearn
Our souls to learn.

I want attachment,
Security and stability.
I want it to be long lasting
And not a temporary fling
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