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You have a mother;
She doesn’t know
That I’ve given you a paper
That you have yet to throw.
In other words,
Your mom’s a ***.
Ahahah this vine is stuck in my head.
Alexiss Aug 14
Here I am once more,
Trying to grasp what I can’t comprehend.
You speak to me in strange tongues.
Lesbian? I thought you were American.
I can't think of a poem to post today so here's a vine compilation because we're emo here.

https://youtu.be/AfaPJZ0n66k
A "poem" every day
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lvrt6lAwR-M&list=LLPHDelQBnYlP6XKa23lSJ8w&index=2&t=0s

Good Evening
A "poem" every day.
It’s a hazel daze
Your eyes so close to mine
As we stretch and groan
On this lazy Sunday morn
Delusional smiles crease our faces
Kisses planted on foreheads
Soft and tender
Like a thornless rose
Intertwined like vines
Crawling up a terrace
In this moment
I wish to stay
In the arms of my love
Where I know I am safe
My love keeps me sane ❤️
Badshah Khan Feb 11
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 49

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

I ain’t an adept drinker,
When I see deep in your gleaming eyes.
I instantly become an adept drinker,
Oh My Dear Love!

I don’t gulp or pile the unique wine,
When I glimpse your moisty lips,
I miraculously found a vine cellar;
All by myself’ in your lips,
Oh My Dear Love!

Generously allow Me’
To unanimously ratify,
As an adept drinker,
Oh My Dear Love!

Therefore willingly I can soak.
In your eyes myself, As;
A confirmed drunkard,
Oh My Dear Love!

Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem

Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
Savannah Jan 15
Slow grasp growing,
Reaching for your radiance.
Once ardently awake,
My long forgotten limbs rest.

Wishing for vibrant verdant.
Instead of brown winter bramble.
Barren is the reluctant grape vine,
that awaits spring showers.
My hesitance had ruined it all.
I can't remember the way you felt against my skin.
Vexren4000 Jan 3
Somewhere down the dividing line,
Souls get separated in due time,
Even when growing together on the vine,
It withered and died in winter's time,
A place not so special,
No different from another,
But special in it's own way,
Because it was our place to stay.

©BAS
Caloris Nov 2018
Veiling streaks on hill and yard
o shroud the yearn of coldest heart.
Low fog does densely cloud in shame
that you and I could feel the same.

Igniting hope within the grey
shall raise the shooting eye
Onward the light; be bold yet humble!
this might be more than mere a stumble.

New radiant warmth beneath the canopy
gives promise of the sweetest progeny.
Velvet hands to touch and feel,
let this desire be our seal!

Early storm comes as monsoon
as if the branches were to prune.
Ends you and me too soon.
This poem is an analogy of vineyards and love.
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