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Empress Asa Jan 2020
This wound is different..
This wound isn't the same as the past..
Wounds that are invisible but feel real..
I don't like this pain to be repeated..
A knife that stabbed in the back..
I'm tired with of all this drama..
Different wounds but have the same pain..
Different weapons but injuring the same place..

With all of the kindness, madness, happiness, sadness, rudeness, and every feeling of taste..
The weapons hurt without feeling..
Day by day the pain is still exist..
I don't know what kind of medicine can handle this...
The medicine is you
kathryntheperson Oct 2019
My mind holds the key to
your heart.
But it's also a weapon.
Alaa Oct 2019
A greater cause,
means a better life.
Or atleast so they voice.
But how do you fight for what is right;
when all you dispose of is knife?

I ask myself who is my greatest enemy?
Is it me, myslef, or I?
Mybe all I need is a remedy.
To make all the wrong rectify.

I know that all of what I am capabe of holding is a weapon.
But how do you use such a thing when you can't tell the difference between your foe and your allies?
All I see are demons who seem to have come from the heart of heaven.
But afetr all, isn't that everybodies homeland. Even the devil knows all of its alleys.

But mybe weapons as deadly as they can be,
are the more or less something like you and me.
Mybe they weren't found for the unique cause of killing.
Pedro Reyes made weapon in art fullfilling.

What was war's greatest tool.
Has now become harmony's moor.
What was used in fights caused by sheer unreason.
Has now brought all people even.

All those cries,
all those tries.
And I still can't realize:
what on earth can possibly be my cause.
Pedro Reyes is a mexican artist who's most famous for making musical instruments out of weapons
Simon Oct 2019
Probability isn’t the luck it deserves for wanting desperately to be noticed by any appeals. Generating new focuses never thought possible. If so… Who is the recipient? Who is the lawmaker? Who being the justice department? Goods to making essential markers on productive velocities. Justification is outweighed by department alone. Growing ever scarcer without benefiting attitudes in place. Conjecturing solvent pleasures across many fields. Fields of accessory dependents ensuring a collective term is agreeable. Except, what if probability is outweighed not by something further from its own attitude? What if it can’t benefit itself? In question, becoming misshaped, mispronounced, or misinterpreted. Depending on who’s right, or who’s wrong shouldn’t matter until claims are assured. Propagating across the many fields of accessory dependents. Dependents outweighing the logic one is misshaped by. Demonstrating probabilities mispronouncing sense of terms for oneself. Wrapping up in a crumbled conjecture. Propagating a newer field of already surveyed products. Truth is in the stream that propagates those fields. Accessory moments dependent on gaining tension through the rise of the recipient. That’s the only way probability will ever learn. Hence why it shuts down if it ever involved itself. Itself without its own recipient. Its own justice department. Lawmaker without any dependent ideas would ever appeal to its own logical making, if it’s never dependent on itself. Only flashing the accessory dependent on other influences. Influences going way down the line of certainties without pleasure. Urges relapse. Furthering its own clustered rut! One without mistakes diverging deeper into uncertainties. Taking risks isn’t noticeable. When probability taking risks enough to (blush) down the line of certainties without an aim involved. Scattering their rut from within. But how does it involve probability? It doesn’t. Probability is the representation of how one constant judge itself for pleasure. When pleasurable actions are dependent with a blank impression never sought out. To focused on probability. When probability isn’t fruitful by its own design either. Only way it works. Never looking back in itself. A reflection of tempted attitudes fluttering in a swift, but rigid wind. Wind never tempted by its own sway. If one is to admit what they aren’t even aware of changing. Another shutdown happens! Justifications for probabilities own reckoning depends on other solvents. Solvents who don’t even understand the probabilities of there own life makings. Able to learn what is dependent onto others. Never within themselves directing their starry performance. What happens when things are finally noticeable within probabilities that will exceed probable actions of the force that dictates fates majority complexes? Complexes without variety. Varieties misshaped by mishappenings of trust. Which includes a basic awareness of some factor never hesitating to judge within the core of being itself. A view fate designs in its weapon of probability very well. What is fate up to…? Never can guess when probability shuts down all appliances out of contact with no one but itself left in the dark. Probability is. Everything has just become disowned. Fate exchanging glances with itself for one last second, before rapping up this little diverse expression. Pinpointing its weapon of probability without knowing why that is? Hinting at fate not being the only recipient to follow in its weapons obstructed desires.
Probability without luck is forever undetermined. Having faith in itself, will redeem the actuality of actions placed without words. Luck? Faith? Lots of hints one hasn't fully realized.
Shiv Pratap Pal Oct 2019
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This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "कविता" published in  bharat-darshan  ( Sep. -Oct., 2018 )
Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2nRwOB9
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Poetry is the outflow of someone's heart
For someone, it's only black fever
For some, it's only a form of business
For someone, this is only seasonal fever

It's just an entertainment for someone
For someone it's like a toothpaste
A good instrument use to giggle
Listening it makes their teeth brighter

To show off the that stunning brightness
They spread crooked and mysterious smiles
Show of their shining-sparkling teeth
Then they lash out their greedy tongue

Poetry is an old newspaper for someone
It’s a mound of waste and unusable junk items
Poetry is just an advertisement for someone
Only an excellent medium to sell their goods

Poem is dark black alphabets for some
Only equivalent to a big fat black buffalo
From which it is impossible to get milk
But it's easy to get hurt by it's horns

Poem is a deep sympathy for some
For some its acute pain of the heart
Aroused from the core of their heart
It's someone's love for someone else

Poem is overflowing care for someone
It is swirling cloudy dust over someone
Poem is just a time-pass for someone
For someone it is complete nonsense

Poetry is effrontery in someone's pride
For someone it's amnesty for all
For some it's Saafi by Hamdard^
Which purifies and cleans the blood well

Poetry is a meditation for someone
For someone it’s a form of worship
Poetry is name of someone's beloved daughter^^
Poem is the name of someone's beautiful wife^^

Poem is means of livelihood for someone
It happen to be the basis of his life
For someone it is simply a big loan
Which is much difficult to repay in time

Poem is a tribute to the heroes
It a wreath to the brave martyrs
It's a collection of songs for musicians
It's prayer of devotees with folded hands

Sometimes poetry makes us happy
Sometimes it causes us to weep
It often caresses readers with love
Sometimes it even consoles them

Poetry sometimes make us laugh
Sometimes it forces to think
At times it reveals the flaws beneath
By removing the outer cover shell

Poetry sometimes surprises us too much
Sometimes misleads to pseudo-intellectualism
Sometimes it poses a challenge before us
Sometimes it emerges as a song from the soul

Sometimes it portrays the beauty of actress
It tends to dissolves sweet juice in the ears
And sometimes it pours molten lead in it
In such situation it pushes back all courtesy

Sometimes it transforms rulers into heroes
And sometimes it makes a politicians zero
Sometimes it becomes the words of panegyrist
Then it behaves like a butter ball for them

Poetry sometimes honours someone
Sometimes it even trick so many of us
Poetry even makes fun of somebody
Sometimes it entertains someone's heart

By the way, poetry is a blunt weapon
But it's has a different hitting power
Which is the real inner power of poet
It's also his covering blanket and strength

Only poetry gives him the required courage
It completely protects his existence
It always teaches him the lesson to -
Keep on fighting against the gunpowder

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^ Saafi - A Unani Medicine made by a company named Hamdard, used to clean or purify the blood

^^ Name of .....  - Kavita (translation of the word Poem in hindi) is a common name given to females in India.
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My thoughts on what a Poetry is......
Nigdaw Aug 2019
A whisper
Caressing, touching
More than any flesh could touch.

A web, spun
Of the finest silk
Beautiful, but easily broken.

A gem
Shining bright, if only
It could be brought into the light.

A weapon
Atomic words
Mushrooming to cover a bright day

Then, fallout.
دema flutter Jun 2019
steps to mend
a broken heart:

1. take a good look at your heart,
assess the damage
2. pick up every piece, dust off the pain
3. call a cab, rent a storage room for the unrequited memories
4. let the clock twirl its magic a couple times
5. undress what hurts, damp what you escape from facing
6. hold the weapon that fractured you and bathe in its every fraction
7. collect every fragment left in you, there is strength in unity
8. remember that self love is the only way to win this battle
9. crash in your favourite sheets, put your heart to sleep
10. take your shot at life, assess all of the possibilities
nick armbrister Jun 2019
The bag contained something that was dangerous
What was in the bag?
Was it a time bomb?
Was it a cocked pistol?
Was it a spiked baseball bat?
Was it an unstable mortar shell?
Was it a leaking bottle of acid?
Was it a nerve gas dispenser?
Was it a small stabbing sword?
Was it a brass knuckle duster?
Was it a karate instruction book?
Was it a piece of Plutonium?
No it was a small puppy with sharp teeth!
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