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Tonight, I saw you at the corner of the road,
standing, with falling shoulders and lowered head,
not lonely, rather alone with yourself,
the best company I would say,
even if it appears contrary to you at the moment

Though, your shoulders are falling,
they are gracefully carrying the excruciating pain of your heart,
those stiff muscles are holding you straight,
yes, your head is lowered down,
yet, what a marvelous posture of your body
I adore you,
your presence, existence is a source of emulation for many,
they are admiring their standing woman-man, their stoikiy muzhik,
as standing their itself is an act of courage,
that you are holding on

I don’t know what ransacked you,
must have been terrible,
but not strong enough to break your resilience,
the terseness of your being,

I adore you
Tonight, when you go back home,
don’t just reach and lay on the couch,
go in front of that mirror,
the one that you have not seen for long
let your intimate self undress you,
praise your beautiful body,
doesn’t matter whether it has gained weight or lost,
if gained, admire those layers of new flesh,
they are eager to burn themselves up for you, just for you,
if lost, praise those beautiful bones,
which are highlighting the flow of universe inside the canvas of your body,
see yourself, raise your head,
give respect to your resilient shoulders,
to your eyes which drained themselves dry to make you feel better,
see the grace and light they have when they daringly carry your vulnerability with style,
they deserve a smile,
while smiling, respect your mind, you awareness,
which is not acting as your master anymore,

when was the last time you caressed your
beautiful eyes, hair, face,
when was the last time you caressed your
breast, chest, all below,

Don’t sleep tonight,
your cupboard is waiting for your touch,
you have kept on contacting them,
but for tonight, for one last moment,
one last act of courage,
that gods themselves are not expecting from you,
shut their mouth,
defeat death, for tonight,

touch your books, shoes, clothes, diary, pen,
that beautiful lamp in the corner,
your bed that has not been made up,
touch your work, they long for your love,
and they, all of them have waited for this very moment,
just one last deed,
affirmatively whisper…

A 1d
I wish plants could speak
They’d tell me of  horrid things they’d seen
Above them and next to them
Left and right
They’d speak of the rain that came after drought
And the joy they would have at that
They’d tell me about the loss when a flower got picked
and the fuss of it if anyone cared enough to get it fixed
for a new plant in its place
a new life replacing the old
a decade of silver instead of gold
With new existential questions (some are very bold)
would the sky get angry then and start raining coal?
for how dare a simple plant question the mighty clouds?
and have a voice to speak and make sounds?
while it is inferior, sickle, stuck in the same old grounds,
as it’s quiet predecessors

I wish plants could speak
they’d be full of wisdom I’d reckon
They’d be melancholy
they’d seldom speak
and sometimes,
Of hope a beacon

you’d think they might know the most of this earth
as their roots are intertwined with it
I’d say It unravels it’s secrets to them
For it knows for sure
That plants never speak.
wrote this without re reading it. Sorry if it’s *******
vern 7d
do not be foolish again
I whisper to the beating sound in my chest
pressed against my lungs once again
it tells me you've lost your breath
do not fall let yourself get trapped in the same chaos
its a repetitive motion you know too well
do not let your self fall for another and fall back from another
you do not know love
you never knew love
the obsessions you hold to  
the fantasies you build
let them all go at once
save yourself
do not be foolish again
my love life is tragic but in a funny rom com sort of way where the character should probably just focus on herself
When my foolishness
Turned into wisdom
I was in love

Even the sunset
By the evening
Held my flaws

There was certainly no way
I could have left
Without a burning heart
The mind
Is fertile

Any age
One can learn
Genre: Minimalist
Theme: Enroll
Karijinbba Oct 12
Pandemic poets disconnection!
I guess the SARSCOV-12-19
pandemic stunned
poets writing poetry
for passion, fun, courage
heart and brains.

Only scribblers remain
and wannabe writers
those forgetting to dream
are too busy in the nightmare
of their own survival paradigm
pandemic, or gone? as in RIP?.
I am feeling disconnected
in this think tank cubicle
called Hello Poetry
and all I can do is disconnect
from all private collectors
and their collections if possible.

for lack of tangible re- connections
with one another!
lack of one on one meeting.

Such misery and pain to poets
desiring to remain annonymous!
Arrogance neglect selfishness
and blatant thievery seems rampart.

Few of poetic true story poems
are fastly procured.
Supposedly by teen ager profiles
who will believe this!
It cannot last beyond pandemic
demoralizing fear monger
system re-start times!
can it?
My Purhepecha
The Maya mystic civilization
wisdom didn't end with their
Mayan calendar ancient
predictions cycle's
ending on year 2012,
It rather has re-started
somehow 2019 SarsCov-02
wasn't the Maya dream restart!.

I remain bound to my Mayan
civilization re-connection's
and to those who remember me
and not to deceptive originating
lab made nano covert virus culprit.

Instead, in my true light, I observe
how evildoers trash me to kin
who are supposed to love me
therefore, must disbelieve it all
but won't or can't.

So how about you?
By: karijinbba
Copy Rights apply.
Alone no more.
Thanks for reading:
moderators poetry lovers.
please be well.
Lanech Oct 12
My feet were planted on the mountains of Garsherbrum.
My arm as wide as the Amazon,
I wore a linen called purple,
Surely I became a God to my people.
I'll keep releasing it in parts. Don't miss this series as you can.
Dr Om Prakash Oct 11
The raven is black
Milk of course is white,
He is wrong but she is
Almost  always right !

Yet  she / he who
Firmly holds sway,
Sees our world as
Shades of ......Grey / Gray !
Diobimma Oct 9
Grandma insists the nation
Is without an eye so I'm wondering
Who leads her

She says we have all
We need for the big picture
but can't simply

A proof that you're blind
is clearly the fact that
You can see

All of this pleasure
Surely by sunrise, we will be poor
The thief comes At midnight
Crouching at our door

While our ears listen to Sweet delight
Our eyes bask in fluorescent lights
Our ears have music playing loud
We boast when we walk proud
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