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Daivik Nov 2020
It was an exceedingly hot and sultry summer day in the bylanes of Kabul. Lt.Sameer Sharma had missed the chance of catching the prodigal engineer turned terrorist Abdul at the marketplace.But now he had an ace in his deck,the enigmatic Dr.Rizwan, a doctor by day and spy by night.

Here they were near a warehouse at a nondescript military base.Any second now,a glimpse of the adversary could be caught.

"Over there",shouted Rizwan,pointing his gun towards the massive box.As deftly as a cat ,Sameer slowly moved towards the box.It was a cat.

Another voice was heard in the floor above.It was Abdul.

He ran.

They ran.

It could all have been over in a minute.Years of espionage and intelligence work boiled downed to one chase.

They chased. A chance . The only chance.Four shots were fired.

They saw the corpse.They were jubilant."Finally" cried......


"Finally",cried Musa as he shared a smoke with Rizwan.

There laid the body of Lt.Sameer in a pool of blood.

Betrayal had never been more stylish.
                                                        ­                                                           The End.
Not a poem but a short story
GRAVE27 Oct 2020
Black
Is all I see
Nothing
Is what I'll be

Highs
Money
Lows
Is she?

I am nothing
Invisible
Invincible
I love the sound of loneliness

Don't bring me gifts
I am not a Holmes
They're not my home
Every steps come
As i do
Uninvited

I am not blind
I can see
What's this dividends?
What am I?
The number below one
Hex Oct 2020
It's gnawing at his bones,
and clawing at his spine,
he knows he's not alone,
but now is not the time.

The woman behind sings,
broken voice bringing life like spring,
enlivening his actions,
but stressing her malefaction.

He'd been running for years,
or at least, that's how it felt.
Despite his eyes' red tears,
and skin starting to welt,
his drive had never reared,
but soon, to enervation, he knelt.

He fell into the leaves,
pain stung like blades unsheathed,
now too faint to run,
he peered up to the sun.

Then, the blue turned black,
he heard a familiar chime,
he knew, his lover was back.
She heaved her axe one time...

He still lies in the leaves,
no more cries or screams,
he speaks only silence now,
in a place that won't be found.
For an October project to write one project every day.
10/3 Theme: Fatigue
Swati Tyagi Oct 2020
You came in my life as a stranger
Curly, hair, dimple on cheeks,
Smoky eyes for attracting me
With your story which had some
Pain to speak.

Everything was in your favour
You nailed in my heart by saving my life
From danger as a braver
Hanging out with you was my pleasure
You was the one who came in my life
With fun like a treasure.

Your gift for me was so sweet
The novel you gave twist my life
"You was sleeping since 10 years"
The words of dora make me surprise
I ran to find your memorize.

You was standing in front of me
But the tone of your voice was strange
You are not the one whom i love,
Your appearance was change .

"I killed you in the novel , you are my character Miss lovell, you are not alive "
The words of that stranger makes my heartbeat shrive.
Hope you loved it💕
Johnson Oyeniran Sep 2020
When Yeshua painted the sky with night,
I sat alone
Upon my bed,
Paddling through digital realms of intel,
To quench my thirst for a forbidden thrill
Established beneath our encoded
Wonder,
Unguarded yet dubious,
Fit only, for encrypted
Knights.

Shivering at the slanted hourglass,
My expedition was Suddenly
Ambushed by fear,
Who unshackled
Voices of concern
To swirl my mind to the
Path of reconsideration
One last time.

But i persisted,
For stubbornness rushed to still me and
Massage away my fears;
Drowning my sense of reason,
Into a sea of deceit.

Many sites i beheld,
Holding an abundance of
Taboo data, burned
Exclusively,
On my mind.

A goal which came to be,
Is thus fulfilled, and now
Crossed off my
List of do's.
Adam Black Aug 2020
My fingers grace the keys......
left, right, left.....right....

Which one was it, again?
left, right, left.....right....

I just want to go in
left, right, left.....right....

left, right, left.....right....
the door now ajar, air thin

the door way casts its grim shadow on the floor,

And just like that, one becomes two
my shadow torn
away he goes
to sleep, once more
Left, right; his feet go on
left, right, left.....right....
Tempest Castrof Aug 2020
O traveller, when will you return to the origin of your being?
Reality is what you are and a reverie is what you have been.

Your similitude is to the moon with its varying phases,
ever luminous but with lasting traces.

It is the origin from where you started and it is where you will ever arrive,
though it is a thing mysterious but you have never failed to strive.

So I ask O traveller, have you earned for what you strived?
Be content O stranger, for to the origin I have arrived.
Tempest Castrof Aug 2020
The matchstick is kindled and I dwindle at the thought of meeting my end,
as nothing is permanent and has  to be sent.
Nothing was yours as it was lent.

Life is nothing but an enjoyment of delusion
seldom have you heard this been told,
so intensely think and do not be so bold
to amuse everything that is being told.

You do not see but it is a heavy load,
so be more kind than you are cold.
For everything has to wither and grow old,
surely seldom have you heard this been told
Johnson Oyeniran Jul 2020
-The Dream

Pressed upon her throat
Was her inevitable fate, seconds away
From seizing
Her last moments she dreamt
Would be in the wings of tranquil.

Mercy departed from his soul,
Empathy ran dry from his eyes,
His mouth discharged a foul
Lust for blood,
Forming a wave of legions
Stumbling over one another to
Taste fresh meat.

Skinned of his morality, stripped of love,
He took on the ways of Asakku
And cloaked himself with sin to grieve his companion;
The great shield of faith once
Guarding his conscious,
But now weeps for his shepard
on the ground of rejection
For bound they are not.

Within the knotted brown
Sack dangling by his waist side
Lies her severed head,
Swirling in a pit of maggots
Counting her days
Till his will is made known.
Sagnik Datta Jun 2020
Tick and tick
as the clock lingers
I stare at the candle,
the candle that incinerates
to bestow me with light,
the light that I gave up on,
at the first breaths of this night.

The granite
beneath my feet
sidles and erodes
with every passing second.
and I peer at the ceiling
yearning for somebody
to provide
one helping hand.

Never have I
longed for sleep
as of this night,
for its been months
I crave for it's sight.
But then I see him,
right before my eyes
as if he were the only moon
of a million skies.

Like a blooming lily
in a puddle of abyss,
He sleeps right before me
wrapped by a quilt of peace.
I so envy him
with every bit of my might,
for I lack what he holds
despite how hard I fight.

And to perplex me
and to add to my fears,
a voice inside me groans
while yelling
"How can you sleep,
when you haven't woken up
in years?"

Now he stands
the only one
who knows how to sleep,
so I keep asking him
but to add to my miseries,
corpses do not speak.

So I keep staring at him,
while this one question
gulps me down as a whole,
"Why does a body sometimes die
leaving behind it's soul?"

-thewordplayer
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