Pdub 4d

the leaves are rustling outside of my bedroom window, kissed half with sweet sunlight, and half with death.

the branches, broad, and bows dancing, twinkle the leaves; entrancing.

the roots are deep, steadfast, and true.
unlike the man I thought I knew.

I kissed the Ocean and she said she was the Sea
During the season of allergies I sneeze with no intention of apologizing
I don't put things behind me
the construction workers outside don't care if I'm sleeping
they keep cutting down trees and I keep weeping because
I. Can't. Sleep.
Big Oil like that doesn't like me
says the green in my blood is a lie
I say I keep my ties and preserve
unlike you monkeys getting what you don't deserve

I know I'm not winning but I know I have the cause and effect of sea breeze
You don't notice me but I'm there I am so there
And when I pick up and show you my hurricane you're scared
but I promise you I'm just letting you know I'm there
Asking you to tell me you care

I woke up very poetic this morning. This is kinda how it works for me.
Rohan Nath May 18

I think I see the mighty hills of Darjeeling.
What magnificence, it is that they bring!
Bold as a King, so high its peak.
Where the oaks grow densely and so do teak.

I think I hear a whistling of Toy Train,
Elevating the twisted track, so slow they gain.
As small as an ant climbing up the King’s feet,
Singing and moving while sounding so sweet.

I think I observe a little streak of falling tear,
Fall from the eyes of Darjeeling, the valiant emperor.
I looked amazingly at the hills of Darjeeling.
All hail Darjeeling! Our benevolent King!

Aizen Knaik May 17

I have sought many of the past lives,
Witnessed ages of the Earth’s passerby;
From when I was a little sapling,
Until vines and twigs turned wrinkling-
I am a linden tree and this is the story,
I’d tell in the form of poetry.

Many and many a year ago,
When mountains ceaselessly echo
And the birds chirped harmoniously,
Zephyr mutters silence and serenity;
Clouds clover sky in gleaming azure,
Meadow teeming with verdant grandeur.

The sound of the raging sea wave
Reverberates through the mighty cave;
Sun-kissed sand wallow all day,
Pristine and bright as the sun’s ray;
In the boggy soil I stand firm,
Watching the pendulous vine squirm.

Butterflies fluttering in great splendor,
Hovering and sipping nectars galore;
Screeching seagulls can be heard-
From a distant they form herd;
A group of mackerel rapidly swim,
Dwelling into the never-ending stream.

Those were the days when green
is all there is to be seen;
Before the rise of the civilization,
When humans value appreciation.

Blazing red lights swallowed,
Then ashes and dust followed;
Streams and riverbanks silently cry,
As fishes and clams gradually die;
Birds started singing in sorrow-
The broken melody of tomorrow.

This is the story that I’d be telling-
To my children and their sapling;
I am a linden tree, blessed and forsaken,
Whose memories and land they’ve taken.

This poem wouldn't be made possible without tears, dedication and pure heart. Just read through.
Arcassin B May 9

By Arcassin Burnham

...And still today I'm sitting in my own personal
Hell awaiting your touch blazed in a firey mist of
Bullshit of my list of mistakes that I've dealt with
Cause life's what I made it out to be, turning the
Other cheek to every situation that follows me,
Reflecting the doubts and opinions that creep with
I see beauty in every direction and corner that forms
A sense of freedom for all of us to share running
Through the trees,


The witches brew running all over your skin,
Mixing up the potion just to settle world's end,
I wish we could have made it a lot better then,
We're at ground zero and there's really no defense.


The ancient one
sits alone
in silence
Though ages pass
age old bark; strong
to outlast the graying mountains
to outlive the bearded turtle

The archaic author
Time's story etched in wood
before pen
before pencil
before feather and slab
Your body will tell the tale of a
thousand years' journey. hence

Scholar of sage
When all have gone
come and pass
and the hands of time have ticked their last
You will remain, here to stay
All alone, a memento
Of a thousand years' triumph

Jake M May 8

The next time you wander through
the Forest,
give attention to
what makes it live.

From towering oak trunk to timid
wisps of grasses,
blows through.

Though rampant branches jut
in chaotic cacophony,
wind calms the fray:
harmonic, swaying, symphony.

To refer to Wind by her name
seems almost unfitting.
Product of the sun itself,
impossible to be un-felt,

Wind pervades.
She's a comforting breeze on a calm day,
who soothes whatever goes wrong,
forever on the mind when she's gone.

Perhaps Wind could be better called
by a name that captures all
her beautiful, ceaseless soul,
twisting through life.

My Love,
they should call the wind


a poem written for my first love
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