#deeppoetry
They left me hanging
like an apostrophe
not quite belonging
to the sentence anymore,
yet still attached
to what abandoned me.
I remained there quietly,
a small curved ache
between what was said
and what was meant.
Because absence
is rarely clean.
It leaves fingerprints
on ordinary things:
half-finished conversations,
chairs facing empty rooms,
songs that continue playing
after the feeling has ended.
And perhaps that is the cruelty
of being left behind
not the leaving itself,
but the slow realization
that life continues grammatically
without you.
People still laugh.
Morning still arrives.
The world keeps arranging itself
into complete sentences
while you linger
like misplaced punctuation,
waiting to matter again.
I used to think closure
would sound dramatic
doors slamming,
voices breaking,
final words worthy of remembrance.
Instead,
it sounded like silence
becoming comfortable.
Like messages unanswered
long enough
to become history.
They left me hanging
like an apostrophe,
suspended between attachment
and disappearance.
Too present to forget,
too forgotten to keep.
And maybe that is what grief truly is:
a language continuing forward
while one part of it
remains stranded
between letters
that no longer reach for each other.
24/05/26
Ghana 🇬🇭
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 8:03 AM UTC
The city sleeps carelessly
behind locked doors
because one man
has agreed to carry the dark.
He walks beneath failing lights,
a flashlight in his hand
small enough to understand
that some dangers cannot be outrun,
only endured.
At midnight,
even silence develops a heartbeat.
Every shadow becomes an unanswered question.
Every sudden noise
teaches his chest
the difference between caution
and fear.
Yet he continues
a man whose weariness
has learned to stand upright,
guarding structures
that will never bear his name,
protecting lives
that will never know his face.
By morning,
the city will button its shirt,
pour its coffee,
and walk past him
without a second thought
never pausing to consider
that exhaustion, too can wear a uniform
and still show up.
And still,
he will return the next night.
And the night after.
Standing faithfully
in the space between strangers
and whatever waits in the dark.
The city sleeps peacefully
because he does not.
But when fear finally finds him
when the shadows stop being metaphors
and the silence stops being still
who watches
the security guard
at night?
24/05/26
Ghana 🇬🇭
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 11:42 PM UTC
My rhymes have shattered into jagged deep,
The soul is placed inside a calloused crust,
Both dreams and raw desires went like feed,
Within the deep throat of pride was cast.
Bright images of moments surface now,
Invading consciousness these shreds of rhymes,
They are full of feelings bright — and so?
The sculpture was made from digested these.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 6:48 PM UTC
You were not allowed crayons a child,
In fact you never made a single drawing.
You never knew to draw the sky pink,
Never being innocent enough to imagine the grass blue.
There was only one reality,
One you should not understand.
A child should not understand a world. without fairy tales,
And I am sorry your grass was never blue.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 9:59 PM UTC
One day,
I felt it start to rain inside despite clear skies.
A constant noise,
A chill a child cannot understand.
It made me fear monsters at night,
And ruined the dusty picture books.
And it never stopped pouring.
A rainstorm in childhood,
A hurricane in adulthood,
And a lifetime of begging the rain to run dry.
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 6:25 PM UTC
When death greets me after my final act,
He will offer a warm smile,
And lead me by the hand.
He will bury me under the old oak tree,
The moon my final view.
I will be buried beneath the autumn leaves,
The leaves a lullaby under the stars.
No regrets,
No guilt in ending the play too soon.
My life was cold,
But the leaves offer warmth I’ve never known.
And when Death buries me beneath those autumn leaves,
I will be granted the rest I deserve
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 5:11 PM UTC
It is Sunday Dinner,
And you are loved.
Father is coming home soon,
Mother promises to let you help in the kitchen.
Your drawings are hang on the fridge,
And a childhood movie is playing on the old TV.
You are 7 years old,
You are loved.
But you don't remember being 7,
You don't remember Sunday Dinner,
Do you?
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 2:33 PM UTC
Gravity Isn’t an Action!!!!!
You said,!!
“Don’t mistake my actions.”
So I stopped watching what you do
and began studying what you are.
You are the moon—quiet, distant, exact.
No noise. No effort.You don’t chase,
you don’t explain.You simply exist.
And I am the sea—made of motion.
Not because I want to move,
but because something in me
cannot remain still ,when you are above me.
You think tides are reactions.They are not.
They are consequences of gravity.Gravity is not intention.It does not ask permission.
It does not mean to pull—it just does.
You never touched me.Not once.
Yet every night my levels change because you are there.
High tide is not drama.Low tide is not distance.Both are honest responses
to the same presence.
You remain calm,circular, complete.
I remain confused—rising, falling,
breaking against shores -that were never meant to hold this much water.
Sometimes I overflow.Sometimes I retreat.
Sometimes I harm the shore,
sometimes I erode myself.
But tell me—
how do you blame water
for behaving like water!!!!!???
You say,
“It’s just the way I am.”Exactly.
And that is the strongest force here.
Because existence creates impact without effort.
The moon does not chase the sea,
yet the sea rearranges itself
every day around her position.Is it my mistake
that my chemistry reacts to your mass?
Is it your fault
that you were born luminous?
And maybe that is what science
would call gravity—an invisible force,
constant and true,
shaping worlds without meaning to,
just as you shape me
without effort or awareness.
Poetry will call it love.
I don’t know which word hurts less.
You want clarity, but I give poetry instead.
Clarity is negligible truth to poetry.
You are literal,I am metaphor
All I know is—you are simple,and I am not.
You are calm,and I am deep.You are constant,and I am learning
how to survive your constancy.
Maybe the sea learns stillness,
not to stop wanting the moon,
but to hold that wanting without breaking itself.So don’t be afraid.
I am not mistaking your actions—I am staying with what your presence awakens in me.I am understanding your existence,
and how it continues to move me.
I don’t know what to call it.
Maybe it’s you living inside me,or maybe it’s me finally finding myself in you.
All I know is—
like the tides that rise each night,
there is a lifting in me
caused by an invisible force.
I cannot see it,but I can sense it!!!!
Work from :
-To Her Who Already Knows !
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 10:01 AM UTC
When clouds chase my thoughts through the corridors of day,
My soul seeks its truth in the sun’s burning ray.
They murmur of realms where the veils are undone,
Where shadows are born from a brighter display.
Each drop is a flame in a robe of disguise,
That falls from the sky like a tear in delay.
I searched for still air, but the winds would not cease—
The tempest instructs in its own sovereign way.
The Self must arise where the silence is loud,
Where gold is not found but revealed through decay.
So let them pursue me, these clouds trimmed in fire,
Their chase is a summons I dare not betray.
O’ seeker, who wanders beneath the sun’s eye,
The blaze is your trial—be forged, not afraid.
Aug 9, 2025
Aug 9, 2025 at 1:23 PM UTC
I was made to be on top by God,
But I became a tool that only nods.
I see myself — I know I’m better,
But I can’t control it… and that’s what’s bitter.
I want to live as my true self,
But became someone who hides from himself.
I knew I needed a pause, a break,
But they yelled, “Stop? For God's sake?”
So I paused… and quietly broke.
Now I can’t hit back — I’m sinking slow.
In a lake of silence, deep and wide,
I watch the real me — float outside.
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 2:16 AM UTC
May I splinter away from myself
break into whole units
and
live in each with perfection!
This ME
made whole by
combining countless fragments
could not live in any one part
with complete ease.
May I show a true model
of deconstruction to Derrida
by taking off parts that make up my being!
So that I would see
one man fallen off me
shambling down the street,
and continue to speak in assemblies
with full ignorance of the subject,
continue to review the news of the world
by stuffing them in his brain
and go yapping in the crowds
fully content in the perfection of
his inferior sphere.
The other one
brooding over the ledger books
and the personal files
of the employees.
May the next one always keep reading,
the other looking after children
and still another swimming
in love all his life.
May the other fragment – the ‘me’ whom I don’t like
remain shut somewhere in the room.
May one other splinter engage
in inner decoration of the house
and meet the hunger of needs.
If he cannot do so
may he fragment himself further
into contractors
supplying vegetables, miscellanies,
clothes, and fuels
and sorting out other mess.
May one other part
forgetting that he is my splinter
continue to clap on each stupid action
of his boss, shaking head, and
remain busy in his little puppet moves.
May the other take responsibility of
television, radio and newspapers.
May the other still stay repeating the news of
the relatives and acquaintances
fulfilling formalities of well-being
embroiling in the phatic-
where? what? how?
participating in all of ‘sixteen rituals’
and birthdays.
May the other one continue to repeat
the non-news of his immobility
and continue to go to places
where people gather,
and go doing something like that.
May I hold an assembly
of the proportional representation
of all my selves.
may I go out with the poet
by leaving all the others
in their chaotic meaningless arguments.
May my poet remain a poet
in its perfection
unattached to my domesticity
full of scarcities;
may he remain separate
from a job-savvy me
who has sold his self-respect.
may my poet disengage itself
from my being
swayed by my brain.
May I discard the outer cover of time
from the layers of poetry
by immersing the poet in its entirety
within me, and
dismantle geography’s barriers.
may I break the windows of consciousness,
break further the dilapidations of waking moments
and emerge into the bright world of dream.
May life remain enamored of its own charm
may the river of love always flow from its own lap
may my pain remain drunk singing its own love songs
and the dead body of agony remain asleep
resting its head on a pillow of flowers.
May I free myself from the labyrinth of knowledge
run away from the jungle of thoughts
and jump from the hill of illusion
into the mind’s speedy currents.
by stepping on this joint of time.
may I pack all inventions in burlaps
and hide them in corners of Einstein’s’ brains.
May I free myself from the ever-pressing chest
and enter the garden of imagination
by leisurely hiding brain on hill summits.
May I take off clothes covering shame at the border
leaving them hanging on dry trees of arrogance
and run by wearing the rays of the sun.
May I create plain fields by collecting clouds
and bedeck them with arching rainbows.
Playing ball of wind
reaching the other end of The Road Not Taken
may I call in Robert Frost by holding hands
and request Ginsberg to recite Howl
facing the world.
May I bet with Devkota sitting contentedly
by receiving his lord’s blessings
that you are a poet who has written epics
and win a bagful of stars.
May I exchange T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland
with the future of this earth like a lunatic’s dreams
and make one season of poetry farming
by tilling with the pen of desire.
Oh, this ME
made with so many fragments
could not make any achievements!
May I then splinter away
from myself
and live only with the poet.
०००००
Jun 4, 2025
Jun 4, 2025 at 10:33 PM UTC
I stand upon the cliff’s last breath,
Where tides arise and thunder spills.
Scavengers circle, watching, waiting—
Yet life still lingers in my bones.
The clouds above, like silent judges,
Could break and drown my fleeting hope.
Beneath, the ocean coils and beckons,
A fathomless abyss of sorrow.
The silver moon, a gleaming specter,
Summons waves to pull me under.
I teeter on the fragile edge,
One slip, one plunge into the deep.
Lightning snarls—a voice of warning,
A jolt to burn or leave me scarred.
If not with fire, then silent shadows
Will haunt me long beyond this night.
I saw the algae, once alive,
Now ghosts adrift upon the tide.
The trees I passed stood tall together,
Yet whispered falsehoods to the wind.
Serpents coil around their roots,
Whispering promises of power.
Many fall to hollow hunger,
Chasing echoes, craving ruin.
But air is shared, though lungs may differ,
And souls define, not flesh alone.
Roots can mend, bear fruits of wonder—
Change, though feared, is never lost.
If you listen, let it guide you.
Nature bends but bids us rise.
Though the storm may rage relentless,
Yet even storms must bow to light.
Mar 29, 2025
Mar 29, 2025 at 4:27 AM UTC
@Jess,
"The greatest one I bear now,
making me die a little each day,
is that I let you go, not knowing,
leaving was a decision you'd regret."
You, with your raw, poignant words,
captured the agony of unspoken goodbyes,
painting the ache of regret like a timeless portrait.
In your verse, I hear the soul's deepest cry,
yet in your strength, there’s also light.
@Anais Vionet,
"I am the wind, the desert breeze,
the ocean spray and rustling leaves."
You, like the wind, slip through every thought,
a breath of freedom captured in verse,
unstoppable, untamed. Your lines dance
like whispers of the sea,
speaking of transformation, beauty, and loss.
@Shane Michael Stoops,
"46 years,
What do you get,
Your way past old,
Your pants don’t seem to fit"
You embrace the passage of time,
showing us the strength in weariness,
the humor in change. Your words,
like a hearty laugh, echo through life's stages,
reminding us that every line of life is worth reading.
@CJ Sutherland,
"eye now know
the how, when, where and the-why,
my Eyes compose this elegy
memories of past and present... blending into memories of future happenstance."
Your poetry is a mosaic of time,
where past, present, and future coexist,
and each word is a step toward discovery.
Your mind is both a mirror and a window,
reflecting and shaping the world.
@Shane Michael Stoops (again),
"We danced in the rain,
Laughing away so much pain."
Your words hold an unspoken promise,
the joy of dancing in the face of sorrow.
In your poems, there is an invitation to release,
to shed our fears and allow laughter to heal.
You teach us that pain and joy can coexist.
@Jess (again),
"I hardly understand the ticking of the clock,
trying hard to go through each day."
The ticking of your verse carries the weight
of endless hours and endless thoughts.
In your words, I hear the struggle of time
and the ache of waiting for solace.
But there's grace in your journey—
and your courage leaves a lasting mark.
@Anais Vionet (again),
"What is chosen is believed,
though the choices are presented—
I choose among the sacrificial burnt offerings."
You have a way of breaking down complexity
with a single line, weaving the eternal truth
into a delicate, yet unapologetically bold choice.
Your words cut to the heart,
unraveling mysteries with elegance and resolve.
Mar 3, 2025
Mar 3, 2025 at 11:28 AM UTC
Call it women’s intuition—
but she knows the power of silence,
how to bend you to her will,
whether she’s calm or not.
Eventually, you’ll crack,
if given enough time.
Trying to figure out what’s wrong,
following her from room to room,
asking question after question—
whether you’re crazy now
or crazy later,
it’s soon to happen.
Oddly enough,
the various cigarette and liquor companies
profit from her silence—
the way, even at your best,
it still finds a way to get your attention.
Even if you manage to block her out,
bringing it up at another time is just an argument.
It’s best to take a minute and get yourself together.
no matter what you do.
You can’t trust the way she stares,
you can’t trust the way she laughs.
It’s all a trap.
You won’t realize it until it’s too late.
Through her messiness,
through her beauty,
through her chaos,
She just wants to see how you’ll react,
if you’ll reach for her,
even when she’s right in front of you
Jan 16, 2025
Jan 16, 2025 at 10:41 PM UTC
You're beside me,
And everything is fine.
It doesn't really matter
What we do outside of this.
I ask what you want to watch,
Scrolling through my DVDs.
You smile and point,
Even if it's something I don't want
To watch. I watch because it's an extension
Of you.
Knowing me, I'll pick something
Stupid that'll make us laugh.
When the screen flickers,
You light up.
We laugh and we talk,
Catching everything that makes
It interesting.
Most of the time,
I only laugh because you're laughing.
You really don't know how beautiful
Your smile is.
Even when the movie is over,
The taste of your lips
Makes it worthwhile.
Just this, being with you.
It's not about the movie at all.
The DVD may spin,
The world may swirl around,
But beside you, time stands still.
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 12:49 PM UTC
My gaze ascends from the ground,
My vision, clouded by unshed tears,
My heart, a tempest of fervor,
As I behold her.
Her beauty
withers my self-assurance
and strips me of joy.
My thoughts
throb and seethe with envy;
Her smile, so resplendent
and enchanting
It bears an ominous weight.
Her poise
feels unjustly bestowed upon me,
Her flawlessness,
exquisite.
Yet her gaze remains frigid
and abyssal,
Revealing an existence
that is bleak
and devoid of affection.
Nov 7, 2024
Nov 7, 2024 at 3:16 PM UTC
Agonizing over you is what I’m best at.
The memories of us scream through my mind
during the times I should be sleeping.
You’re all I can think about,
even though I’d rather forget you.
You’re all I want,
even though I know you’ll never want me..
Again.
I wish I could forget you.
But, instead I’m ablaze
in the memory of us.
While you simply wander through the streets of life,
I seem to be streaking.
Every street consumed by fire,
I miss your heat.
Your warmth.
but decay and destruction are all I know now.
Who knew that it would be your love
that would burn me alive?
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 8:15 AM UTC
To love is to fall
Fall like shooting stars
To love is to forget
Forget the pain I will regret
To love is to remember
Remember my souls request
To love is a poisonous game
A game I simply love to play
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 4:23 PM UTC
I was a piece more or less,
Unfit in the puzzle of society,
Framed and judged,
Broken and scraped,
Torn to the base.
I stood to be the thinker,
With thoughts as the mate,
As the wife is too a husband,
I kept courting with anxiety,
Maybe sometimes with fear,
Or with shame that world-acclaimed,
As the flaws of being me.
I stood there many times,
Neither to be oriented,
Nor to be included,
Just to be accepted with love,
As a poison is to nectar,
I was the toxin to them
I was discarded and treated,
To purify the viciousness,
An be a part of the deprived fellowship.
I can't stand anymore there,
With the crime of resistance,
To not oblige with the rules,
As a cage is to the bird,
Statutes were the prison,
To my solivagant soul .
Shredded with the conclusions
I was qualified as an outcast,
Neither a human,
Nor a living being
All it was a prolonged-term
As a slave is to the master,
I was chained to the phrase.
To be always smashed,
Under the debts of acceptance.
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 3:43 AM UTC
A dead soul matters the most,
as there's no one else that
can force you preserve and cherish memories better and truthfuly.
You hesitate to erase them.
Even if you lack the visuals,
you'd create some mirage joining the
missed and uncovered notes.
You'd tell stories from the
almost unexisting backyard of your mind and with all the more excitement,
which probably you never shared,
when they were still breathing.
Those you plan on to create,
have the spark of undefined.
You might surpass undefined,
that'd be the extent of your love.
If dead man looks back,
he'd be proud and smiling,
You think alike those irrational dreamers.
Don't you ?
You talked about existentialism and vagueness in things like how
intransient life and death embrace closely,
with warmth and shivering pain.
Times when you had cease to exist
you'd not think about them
and they may not recall you anymore.
Perhaps everything beyond life is irrational, sliding the thoughts in your
subconscious carefully,
not with a hint of expressing the urge of exploring.
The taboo between you and them
why not in life you seek the same comfort
of randomness,
you wish but you fail to organise the terms
And patterns.
Just now I think what a corpse would feel when it reads my Art, probably
The dead man Smiles back and says
"I may fade with time,
my flesh may blend with soil
but I keep on living with those who know my story ".
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 2:08 PM UTC
time
that sadistic *******
always making things end too soon
times spares no one
and all things forgotten will eventually end in his kingdom of ash
singing the sorrows of sinners and saints, both alike, both subject to time
time is of a great friend of death
for, without time, death would merely be a nightmare
told to children, to frighten or to soothe, who knows?
time and death
are life's bitterest enemies, yet also her greatest saviors
for, without death and time, life would not be precious
life would simply be a given
an obligated right, with no end nor expiration
yet every second of life, that smiling sinner, is to be cherished
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 11:47 PM UTC
When I was 15, the world ended.
And it wasn't as spectacular as I thought it was going to be.
I had always imagined the sky tearing open and flames of fury would rain down upon us all,
But instead, it was my heart that was torn in half, and the fire only rained down on me.
It took 45 seconds for me to destroy everything that I knew,
and create an entirely different world,
Not only for me, but also for the people that knew me.
I was born again, bore the sin, more than anything horrible I ever felt, I was torn in ten.
Had I put a knife to my throat? Or fell in love?
What's the origin?
And nobody could ever understand it better than the horror itself that closed me in.
But she destroyed the bin,
With me in it and I was never ever sure again.
Like paper shredding under fluorescent tubes, my skin was thin.
Let demons in and they took shelter and then horrid soreness manifested within.
The eyes of the Lord looking down upon the men and women,
And all he could see was that my darkness had surfaced again.
I swore to Him I'd never resort to that sin,
But more than expected I was short of the win,
And lost myself with hopelessness,
My unfortunate friend.
Scorching torture forced me to pretend,
Over and over I retorted the fib with a grin;
Smiled as the lore spread like venom in skin.
The door to the end was open.
Therefore I went in,
And premonitions filled my core,
So I was forced to give in.
Over the course of a decade, the source of discourse caused me to see a red shade of anger.
For what felt like 4 million days I endured the rage,
Simple and plain I was psychotic, in danger,
ignoring the ways
To force myself to have a smile on my face.
It remains insane to me how the blade, when it penetrated,
Gave my skin goosebumps,
The doctor made me feel humiliated.
Sickness in my brain wants to put me in my grave,
OD was the second time I attempted the same.
But the fact of the matter is
The facts are a shame.
And the way that I felt this day,
Brought hope of finding a way,
To rid my head of the voices that haunt me,
Spewing disdain.
Third time's a charm I suppose,
Or at least that's what they say.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 11:27 AM UTC
Trace these lines with your fingers and close your eyes,
and feel this map that'll lead you to treasures deeply hidden inside.
A challenging trek but nevertheless, valleys are worth the journeys through, and mountains are worth the climb
to find me patiently waiting here at the seat of my soul, I'll know that you've traveled far and wide.
If you make it here I know you've been sent by the heavenly divine
spirit that resides inside of you, and inside of I.
Remember the soul contract we signed at the beginning of time,
and lets move these constellations out the way until we feel our stars align.
Yeah, we're still living our lives but just know that I'll be waiting, until you find me here inside.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC
i believe i get left wherever i go
little bits and pieces of me
are scattered all over the world
a segment of my heart in the ocean
became one with the water and with the sand
so now whenever the big blue body engulfs me
i feel found again
some pieces of me floated away in the breeze
of my favorite forest
so now when i am barefoot in the dirt
sprawled on the grass
i feel connected to myself again
nature is a place you can always go
its okay if your soul whispers into the gravel
because you can always retrace your steps
and be found there again
but what about places you cannot return to?
places that are not places
but people
lost lovers, lost trust
how am i supposed to find myself again
when you've buried my most crucial piece
within yourself?
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 9:58 PM UTC
Daydreaming
of better things
of lovely things
of saddening things
Daydreaming
of Him who I wondered
ever really loved me
or did it mean no more
Daydreaming
of the life that was not mine
the life I left behind
the life I could not find
Daydreaming
of something I do not deserve
yet yearn for
with no reserve
Daydreaming
of things so harsh and deep
the ocean swallows me whole
and into quicksand I seep
Daydreaming
of the life I thought I desired
of the life I was inspired
but never became reality
Daydreaming
of better things
that became worser things
That became dangerous things
Daydreaming
Of things I don't understand
Yet yearn for
What nonsense, I am.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC