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FC Azaele May 10


There's crumpled papers, ripped apart
teared to shreds
lying scattered on the floor

I've been here all day
trying to fold and fold
paper, over and over by itself
My hands are starting to get sore

Floating paper mache's
near the water, too been there all day.
Paper crane, where are you going?
don't leave me here in this disarray

Paper icicles, piercing as it might.
Paper...
all paper
the village, the people, the cars
So lovely.

A land of peace.
Dare be no fright

I loom over the sight
I shaped this all! Might i be pleased

oh this feels so right

A paper village
I created, oh what a sight! -
Paper faces, wearing a mask
on a parade

villagers
don't leave me now
not ever
as you go on and celebrate today
your lands will only grow bigger

All will be okay.

So long you don't wash away,
nor flee the village
i'd shaped
in the center of this disarray

FC Azaele May 7
Keep the dark at bay,
there's creatures that reaps the village after day
The children are scared,
the town folks are speaking,
scattered around the village floors
Far away, the sound of cries can be heard
and mother's trying to sooth their nasty squealing
but still they failed as the littles are struck-out despaired
The farmer's aren't having it easy too
as they're trying to sort out their herd
Some animals obey, but still more cause up a disarray
Sweet sun, gone too soon as it falls into night
It's heat, the village ask for it in a far cry
Protect us! Angels of night and day!
Soon, the ground shivers as dark night befalls
creatures, hunting the village at ***** bay
Zywa Dec 2020
Between the farmlands

there is a low walled green field –


with the peasant graves.
Letter 507 (June 9th, 1885, Vincent van Gogh)

Collection "Home sea"
Allesha Eman Nov 2020
She glides past vendors of fried food as her bare feet skid across the muddy gravel. The pain of the gliding thread left behind with her shoes. A toothy grin and a joyous laugh switch phases like a sound wave as her eyes follow the kite carrying all her dreams.
Eola Nov 2020
There was a village
Called Ludnica in maps
Quite old and vintage
The population reached 100 at max

It was known far and wide
For it's weird rules
Everyone had to abide
And dress like white ghouls

Half of them were blacksmiths
Working day and night
Others had to submit
And were to be polite

Every once in a while
Another black sheep would appear
Some even hostile
Not understanding why they were there

Then the blacksmiths' work would restart
They chipped away the metal chains
Reshaped the mind part by part
Untill the sickness didn't remain

"Where was this Ludnica?"
You might ask
But don't search for it
Because it will find you at last
This might be easy to guess
But I still wonder if this text makes sense
prabhat pandey Aug 2020
Village life, now not the same
Where the relationship is, it's not sweet
Where there is soil but no fragrance
Where there is a pond, but no water
Where mangoes are showered, but do not smell fragrant
Village life, now not the same
Here people are done
People got hungry for happiness
Villages are now transformed into cities
The villages are now dazzled
In the blessings of the elderly
Which was a feeling of affection
In western culture, somewhere gone extinct
Feeling of celebrating together
Burned in a furnace like separation time
Village life, now not the same
Where does man have time to meet man
Humanity and brotherhood lost in urbanization
The intoxication of modernism engulfed everyone
Love that was deceit, it became a show
Every person escapes for money
The house of faith is now a ruin
Village life, now not the same......
This poem of mine throws light on the changes that are taking place in rural life over time. Somewhere it is a matter of contemplation…
Kashish Aug 2020
A distant village, far from here
Where people reside with love and care
Untouched by the worldly mayhem
Nothing there is illusory or sham
A corner of heaven it is. My heart lies in peace
It's the only place where loads of endorphins release
Maria Mitea Jul 2020
...
Without saying a word Hamlet confronts
a new world of ignorance and defense,
that makes him contemplate the sense
of life and death ones again while shelving at
Value Village “Madness, deceive and revenge,
this is going on for too long,
there is nothing to live for …”
...
The monolog of “to be or not to be”
continues in my pocket …
as I pay four dollars at the cashier,
Hamlet rescued from obscurity
feels happy and safe for-once
...
Value Village it is a second hand store in Canada. Selling clothes and books, different things people don’t need anymore ...
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