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Shambhavi Mar 30
I was walking through the desolate woods.
I saw two paths.
One was quiet, with fewer footprints,
The other filled with souls tearing each other apart.

Everyone told me to go for the deadly path,
But I chose the silent way.
Even though it was difficult,
Love and truth still lit my stay.
Path of God might seems to be the most difficult path but it is the most beautiful path ever.
Sam S Mar 28
Growth is an ache, not a gentle stretch,
a breaking open, not a quiet bloom.
It is shedding skin that clings too tight,
the sting of air on what was once concealed.

You tell yourself to swallow it down,
to press the weight of feeling into silence,
as if strength is the absence of pain,
as if numbness is wisdom.

But the dam cracks.
A flood will always find its way,
rushing through the spaces you ignored,
drowning the quiet you mistook for peace.

You cannot rise while buried alive.
You must sit in the mess of yourself,
let the grief, the rage, the joy, the longing
unfold their lessons in your hands.

For to feel is to know,
and to know is to grow—
not in comfort, not in ease,
but in truth
Ahmed Gamel Mar 28
Who is right—us or them?
None stand pure, all condemn.
Same mistakes, the same old tricks,
a world that bends to the strongest sticks.

They want what they want—flawless, bright,
a hollow dream wrapped up in light.
A lie that grips, that shapes the mind,
none escape, none unwind.

Broken thoughts, blind beliefs,
like flies drawn close to tainted grief.
They circle, they feed, they take their share,
but none ask why, none even dare.

All fear when new thoughts rise,
the steps of change beneath closed eyes.
A world still wears the same old gloves,
different hands, but still it shoves.

Never bow to a stick, break free,
step ahead, seek, question, see.
Rise before they bring decay,
before they mold minds into clay.

No stick will feed the hungry mind,
no chains can hold the ones who find—
the truth, the cracks, the space between,
where freedom waits, unheard, unseen.
"Sticks and Fish" explores the conflict between control and freedom, questioning societal norms that demand submission. It reflects on the flawed nature of both the world and the people within it, highlighting the struggle between blind obedience and the hunger for deeper understanding. The poem challenges authority, urging minds to break free from imposed limitations and seek their own truths.
Sean Crewson Mar 28
Hidden was I.
Hide I would.
Hidden I am.
Hiding away.
Hiding myself.
Have a been
Hidden.?Have I
Done the hiding?
Did I hide the
Hidden truth?
Helping to seek;
Not wanting to
Be Found. Both
Knowing and my
Knowing not.
Have I forgotten?
Did I take it
From the Temple?
Dipping in and out,
Hiding myself
Far from myself.
Am I not Self?
JAMIL HUSSAIN Mar 26
In my heart, the tears do call,
Each drop that falls, the heavens' thrall.
A whisper soft, a silent cry,
As if the soul would dare to fly.

In my gaze, the storm is stirred,
A spark of truth, a flash, a word.
It bends the soul, ignites the night,
And leads it through the realm of light.

In shadows deep, their secrets weave,
The night, a veil that dawns deceive.
Yet truth remains, though veiled, unseen,
In every hue, in what has been.

It’s not in notes that rise and fall,
But in the silence, beyond them all.
Where stillness breathes, the soul takes seat,
In beats unspoken, soft, complete.

In twilight’s glow, desires fade,
A fleeting flame, now softly laid.
Yet in its ashes, pure and true,
The soul's own fire is born anew
Ashes and Flames 26/03/2025 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
JAMIL HUSSAIN Mar 26
In every sacred corner of thy hall,
The Cup-bearer waits, to heed thy call.
For in the chalice of eternal grace,
The thirst of souls finds its resting place.

A single drop within these yearning eyes,
Carries the truth that never fades or dies.
Within thy glance, both gentle and wise,
I see the realms where spirit and form rise.

The sacred cup, which bids the soul to soar,
Holds wisdom deep, from life's eternal core.
Thy glance, like dawn, dispels the night’s dark veil,
And calls the heart to its destined trail.

O’ Cup-bearer, whose touch awakens the mind,
In every sip, the universe we find.
The world, in drunken dreams, takes fleeting flight,
Yet all it seeks is the hidden light.

For in thy gaze, the soul's true purpose gleams,
Beyond the shadowed world of fleeting dreams.
O’ seeker, drink, and let thy heart expand,
For in this cup lies the eternal land.
The Elixir of Eternity 26/03/2025 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
Ahmed Gamel Mar 25
Don’t look at the sky, deceiving skies,
The world will end, you may gonna fry.
Get ready—don’t cry,
God is the trust in the darkest minds,
Don’t get too close, or God will cry.

Things crumble, crying skies,
Land sheeps, all so dry.
When no god, no man shall ever die,
All eternity—a whisper of flies.
God sees when sight has,
If God sees, why for a change
Do we pray without a lie?
No man shall live for a lie.

In God we trust, but us, we lie.
Why create God in a world full of eyes?
All can see, and none can die,
Unless you see none is there to actually cry.
Yet all are there when all lie,
Of a being falling from the sky,
Teaching us of past tribes,
How they lived and others shall die.
For them we save, and us, we try,
Can lie to death but still can’t die.

None can sleep after they try
To know God and find the lie.
That all was God—and still we die.
On land we stay, no heaven, no cry,
None shall lie when lands dry.
Souls forgotten still live in lies,
To others bring evil in the trial,
To get wins to the same lie,
And it ends in one scene—
All say, "Why don’t we say one little lie?"

Again, God lies to the ones who die,
They still cry, and they can also lie.

May God see—and choose to die.
"A moment of revelation, a whisper from the void. Written in the dark, in a trance of thought and fear. Read it—if you dare to question."
Sanama Mar 25
Our bonds were strong, yet different in their ways,
Each path you walked, I followed, lost in haze,
Like a fool who loves what can’t be held or won,
Chasing what was never meant to come.

On a rainy day, I knew what would unfold—
Rejection, cold, a truth I couldn't hold,
Yet in that sorrow, the tears found their grace,
Joining the rain, as it fell on my face.

Vox silens, I whisper in the mist, it was just
A silent voice, a truth that can’t be kissed.
Like the hills of old, with tales untold,
My heart lies buried in the damp, the cold.
A quiet pain of unrequited love, I used a bit of Latin in my poem and a metaphor. I won't say much for finding it on your own is the best way to understand.
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