#ghazal - Hello Poetry

By: The Drifter From Heaven And inside the void are ancient weathered carved stones, Where my soul is leathered like this stone. A raven flies above, its wings give a shadow of a lost love, My heart felt shattered, buried in that stone.

0

Mar 31

Mar 31, 2026 at 4:55 PM UTC

The-Drifter-From-Heaven

The Hollowed Stone

By: The Drifter From Heaven And inside the void are ancient weathered carved stones, Where my soul is leathered like this stone. A raven flies above, its wings give a shadow of a lost love, My heart felt shattered, buried in that stone.

5

I failed to act, I was so still, and now, I lost him. The empty nights, I wonder why and how, I lost him. A gentle soul, so dear, with no ill thoughts, Unlike me, he loved with faith, yet now, I lost him. Naive and young, he never saw his fault; But instead of guide, he was just killed, so now I lost him. He was to be; and he was me as well. I longed to fade; he to live, yet somehow, I lost him. He hated me, yet he let me breathe, My revenge died; I stand alone to vow I lost him. I wear his name and move like he lives, But days hurts, each day I learn how I lost him.

0

Feb 19

Feb 19, 2026 at 3:53 PM UTC

Rynical

The winter I lost him

I failed to act, I was so still, and now, I lost him. The empty nights, I wonder why and how, I lost him. A gentle soul, so dear, with no ill thoughts, Unlike me, he loved with faith, yet now, I lost him. Naive and young, he never saw his fault; But instead of guide, he was just killed, so now I lost him. He was to be; and he was me as well. I longed to fade; he to live, yet somehow, I lost him. He hated me, yet he let me breathe, My revenge died; I stand alone to vow I lost him. I wear his name and move like he lives, But days hurts, each day I learn how I lost him.

12

Tonight from all but you, beloved, I depart, And turn my worthless heart to gold through love's pure art. To taste your breath, the elixir passion gives, I cast myself into the fire where my spirit lives. Though harp and lute's enchanting melodies entrance my soul, Your words—like stars cracked open—make me whole. You spoke of rain, of thorny paths, of shoes too tight— Through sleepless nights I sing laments and keep your sorrow bright. While friends grow drunk on ruby wine in revelry, I'm drunk on you alone, and beg one glance of mercy. Should you speak of union in the morning light, Before each noble soul, I'll stand—your warmth in sight. I count your laughter hidden in each fleeting line, Each smile you give transforms my sorrows, makes them shine. For every grain of love your gentle hands impart, Like straw to amber drawn, I'm pulled to where you are. That morning breeze may bring me news of how you fare, I practice arts of charm with every morning air. So known I am along the paths your footsteps grace, The moon herself bows down before your shining face. Though ruby wine now shimmers in the server's cup, For love of you, I keep my piety and spirit up. Since to your face, O graceful cypress, my heart clings, I turn from both worlds for love's transforming wings. Though once I sought you night and day through wind and rain, Now in my heart's own realm, I rule my own domain.

0

Dec 19, 2025

Dec 19, 2025 at 7:49 AM UTC

Sga23571113

The Alchemist of Love

Tonight from all but you, beloved, I depart, And turn my worthless heart to gold through love's pure art. To taste your breath, the elixir passion gives, I cast myself into the fire where my spirit lives. Though harp and lute's enchanting melodies entrance my soul, Your words—like stars cracked open—make me whole. You spoke of rain, of thorny paths, of shoes too tight— Through sleepless nights I sing laments and keep your sorrow bright. While friends grow drunk on ruby wine in revelry, I'm drunk on you alone, and beg one glance of mercy. Should you speak of union in the morning light, Before each noble soul, I'll stand—your warmth in sight. I count your laughter hidden in each fleeting line, Each smile you give transforms my sorrows, makes them shine. For every grain of love your gentle hands impart, Like straw to amber drawn, I'm pulled to where you are. That morning breeze may bring me news of how you fare, I practice arts of charm with every morning air. So known I am along the paths your footsteps grace, The moon herself bows down before your shining face. Though ruby wine now shimmers in the server's cup, For love of you, I keep my piety and spirit up. Since to your face, O graceful cypress, my heart clings, I turn from both worlds for love's transforming wings. Though once I sought you night and day through wind and rain, Now in my heart's own realm, I rule my own domain.

26

My father says his favorite color is green but I see him more in orange, much like the grief that followed him all his life like rust. I tell him I like the way he thinks and that money may be green but he has given it up so often like fallen leaves colored as rust. He likes to feel like he is on top of the world as the mountains dance in the distance and he focuses on something much different, on us– his children his favorite motivation in a world that plagued him with the idea of childhood sticking on the soul like a deep rust. For a man who laughs so much we lose our anger in the joy of his smile despite the trials of his life there is conviction which has bled onto our hands like finger paint in primary school we miss the fall time where the weather no longer plagues us and our hands are caked in a muddy clay rust. His heart weighs heavy from the poverty and prison and people no longer with him as his youth was not something that held lightly on his spirit like the can from his fourteenth birthday that was his gift, a necessity of months stored nourishment; a gift should not be coated in rust but heavily it stuck on whatever followed him. And he grew up narrowly through juvenile detention bars and hands that were scarred with hopeless bruises that would over the years fade into slight markings stained with the memories of pain and a hue of rust. His daughters faces engraved on his arms of two decades because he loved us more than he felt the blaze that raged behind him; always trying to pull him back into an old way of life, reminding him that blood may bleed red but it fades often to an orange rust. My father told me recently that his name in the papers of 09 meant nothing compared to the years he fought to keep us through. When I think of my father my heart warms with the thought of his sacrifice and the scent of cinnamon, a sweet powdered rust. There is something to find in the bitterness, there is hope to find in what is lost, my father reminds me that nothing is over until you have given up your hand to what is behind you without a second thought of what could follow you into the dusk as the sky fades to a pulsing rust. There are nails in the coffin of his best friend and brother that over the years get crushed against the weight of his heart as it drags across the ground to share a drink with him at the cemetery, the bourdon is rust. The stain between his pointer and middle finger on his right hand is shaped like anxiety and soothes the stiffness in his shoulders the thickness of my pen as I write pinches the same spot, marking a generational birthmark of trauma, it unearths itself as a pale rust. I can never thank my father but with love, I don’t know what else can reach him. I mourn for him, of every age, of scared child without a home, without a proper teacher and education becomes fast money young adult becomes doting father of dedication and thoughtfulness and forgiveness, pristine yet hugged by rust. My first name means nothing to me, it’s a ghost of who my mother wanted me to be. My father blessed me with the simple goal of making the family name my own. To be somebody. To him I am still five years old, looking up to find him looking ahead at what’s to come, unbothered by the rust that he ensured I would be blind to.

0

Oct 21, 2025

Oct 21, 2025 at 2:07 PM UTC

xdaisy

Father Daughter Ghazal

My father says his favorite color is green but I see him more in orange, much like the grief that followed him all his life like rust. I tell him I like the way he thinks and that money may be green but he has given it up so often like fallen leaves colored as rust. He likes to feel like he is on top of the world as the mountains dance in the distance and he focuses on something much different, on us– his children his favorite motivation in a world that plagued him with the idea of childhood sticking on the soul like a deep rust. For a man who laughs so much we lose our anger in the joy of his smile despite the trials of his life there is conviction which has bled onto our hands like finger paint in primary school we miss the fall time where the weather no longer plagues us and our hands are caked in a muddy clay rust. His heart weighs heavy from the poverty and prison and people no longer with him as his youth was not something that held lightly on his spirit like the can from his fourteenth birthday that was his gift, a necessity of months stored nourishment; a gift should not be coated in rust but heavily it stuck on whatever followed him. And he grew up narrowly through juvenile detention bars and hands that were scarred with hopeless bruises that would over the years fade into slight markings stained with the memories of pain and a hue of rust. His daughters faces engraved on his arms of two decades because he loved us more than he felt the blaze that raged behind him; always trying to pull him back into an old way of life, reminding him that blood may bleed red but it fades often to an orange rust. My father told me recently that his name in the papers of 09 meant nothing compared to the years he fought to keep us through. When I think of my father my heart warms with the thought of his sacrifice and the scent of cinnamon, a sweet powdered rust. There is something to find in the bitterness, there is hope to find in what is lost, my father reminds me that nothing is over until you have given up your hand to what is behind you without a second thought of what could follow you into the dusk as the sky fades to a pulsing rust. There are nails in the coffin of his best friend and brother that over the years get crushed against the weight of his heart as it drags across the ground to share a drink with him at the cemetery, the bourdon is rust. The stain between his pointer and middle finger on his right hand is shaped like anxiety and soothes the stiffness in his shoulders the thickness of my pen as I write pinches the same spot, marking a generational birthmark of trauma, it unearths itself as a pale rust. I can never thank my father but with love, I don’t know what else can reach him. I mourn for him, of every age, of scared child without a home, without a proper teacher and education becomes fast money young adult becomes doting father of dedication and thoughtfulness and forgiveness, pristine yet hugged by rust. My first name means nothing to me, it’s a ghost of who my mother wanted me to be. My father blessed me with the simple goal of making the family name my own. To be somebody. To him I am still five years old, looking up to find him looking ahead at what’s to come, unbothered by the rust that he ensured I would be blind to.

24

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.

0

Aug 9, 2025

Aug 9, 2025 at 1:23 PM UTC

jamil-hussain

The Chase of the Day

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.

14

I was etched like a trace in a dream’s tale untold, No echo stirred within silence’s hold. My solitude whispered secrets I’d never known, Not the mirror — madness had truths of its own. I carved every moment upon my skin, Yet time kept bleeding from deep within. I’m a spectacle, yes, but each hue feels dry — What bloom can deserts in blossom imply? When I write a name, my tongue turns frost, Words try to soothe, but something’s lost. Even wounds stay mute, though the cry is wet, What did we gain when our fall was set? If the quill should tear, it becomes the script, Each gesture hides a sentence, crypt. Morning arrives like a shadow slipping past — Seems I’m the one who’s hidden at last.

0

Aug 6, 2025

Aug 6, 2025 at 3:00 AM UTC

Mubashir

Echoes of a Forgotten Trace

I was etched like a trace in a dream’s tale untold, No echo stirred within silence’s hold. My solitude whispered secrets I’d never known, Not the mirror — madness had truths of its own. I carved every moment upon my skin, Yet time kept bleeding from deep within. I’m a spectacle, yes, but each hue feels dry — What bloom can deserts in blossom imply? When I write a name, my tongue turns frost, Words try to soothe, but something’s lost. Even wounds stay mute, though the cry is wet, What did we gain when our fall was set? If the quill should tear, it becomes the script, Each gesture hides a sentence, crypt. Morning arrives like a shadow slipping past — Seems I’m the one who’s hidden at last.

16

Here I am. A deer in headlights, feeling stinging unease. Just a moment of confusion, right? Lingering unease. My body’s stiff, the realisation bringing unease. The remorse splayed out across his face. Hands-wringing, unease. A line I didn’t think to draw. Static pinging, unease. Must leave. Lost in a maze of thoughts. His scent clinging, unease. Should have been more assertive, Lou. My ears ringing, unease. But I made myself small, a mouse with quivering unease.

0

Jun 17, 2025

Jun 17, 2025 at 12:32 PM UTC

glimpse_into_my_mind

Unease

Here I am. A deer in headlights, feeling stinging unease. Just a moment of confusion, right? Lingering unease. My body’s stiff, the realisation bringing unease. The remorse splayed out across his face. Hands-wringing, unease. A line I didn’t think to draw. Static pinging, unease. Must leave. Lost in a maze of thoughts. His scent clinging, unease. Should have been more assertive, Lou. My ears ringing, unease. But I made myself small, a mouse with quivering unease.

8

Zulf-e-Zainia iOS si, raat andheri jaisi ** Kyun jaaye woh door itna, zulm kyun dhati ** Faizi ka dil tujh pe fida, Zainia ke rang mein, Par teri berukhi se dil beqarar banta ** Teri adaon ka jadoo, iOS ke noor sa hai, Kyun na yeh dil tujh pe qurban sada hota ** Zainia, ek nazar se dil ko sukoon de de ab, Faizi ka ishq tujh pe kyun yun saza banta ** Faizi ke qalam se yeh ghazal likhi gayi hai, Ke Zainia ke ishq mein dil beqarar rahta ** © Faizi, 2025. All rights reserved.

0

May 22, 2025

May 22, 2025 at 8:56 AM UTC

faiziXz

Ishq e zainia

Zulf-e-Zainia iOS si, raat andheri jaisi ** Kyun jaaye woh door itna, zulm kyun dhati ** Faizi ka dil tujh pe fida, Zainia ke rang mein, Par teri berukhi se dil beqarar banta ** Teri adaon ka jadoo, iOS ke noor sa hai, Kyun na yeh dil tujh pe qurban sada hota ** Zainia, ek nazar se dil ko sukoon de de ab, Faizi ka ishq tujh pe kyun yun saza banta ** Faizi ke qalam se yeh ghazal likhi gayi hai, Ke Zainia ke ishq mein dil beqarar rahta ** © Faizi, 2025. All rights reserved.

11

Gotta love all those pretty boys, with their shiny guitars Their shrieking and wailing and crying guitars Their Gibsons and Fenders and ESPs Their downtuned and modded electric guitars Pressed close to their bodies, skin drenched with sweat Those battered and scratched up electric guitars Caressed by long fingers with rings and tattoos Vibrating strings. Sweat, oil and woo. Guitars know their masters. But they demand love. Some sleep by their owners, precious guitars. A struggle of muscle against tension and steel Rock hard, lithe bodies with electric guitars

0

Apr 8, 2025

Apr 8, 2025 at 12:45 AM UTC

scarlet-mccall

Hard Rock Ghazal (After Patricia Smith)

Gotta love all those pretty boys, with their shiny guitars Their shrieking and wailing and crying guitars Their Gibsons and Fenders and ESPs Their downtuned and modded electric guitars Pressed close to their bodies, skin drenched with sweat Those battered and scratched up electric guitars Caressed by long fingers with rings and tattoos Vibrating strings. Sweat, oil and woo. Guitars know their masters. But they demand love. Some sleep by their owners, precious guitars. A struggle of muscle against tension and steel Rock hard, lithe bodies with electric guitars

12

The snows retreat, our longing begins crafting dreams, hope. Like autumn’s hush, at our feet slip silken seams, hope. The daily grind lives, yet in your arms I’m home, hope. We long to sip again where skin’s moonlit gleams, hope. Short days? We’ll stitch the dark with moans—no guilt, no worries, hope. Your pulse, my compass—we’ll sail this thaw like a stream, hope. No holidays—we’ll burn the hours in sweat’s hot baths, hope. Your nails carve rivers where my shivers melt to cream, hope. No sun? We’ll braid our shadows into one fevered trance, hope. Your tongue maps constellations where my hips scream, hope. Resolutions faded, we invent new desires, hope. Savoring new rhythms, our lips capture sunlit beams, hope. Secret places—your mouth, a vineyard, overgrown, free, hope. We’ll bloom where the soil forgets frost, where wild things seem, hope. Luna & Sol—no storm can quench what our skins believe, hope. In Gaia’s soothing haven, we chase our wildest schemes, hope.

0

Feb 16, 2025

Feb 16, 2025 at 1:56 PM UTC

GaiasSoothingHaven

Dreams Of Unrobing In Winter's Shadow

The snows retreat, our longing begins crafting dreams, hope. Like autumn’s hush, at our feet slip silken seams, hope. The daily grind lives, yet in your arms I’m home, hope. We long to sip again where skin’s moonlit gleams, hope. Short days? We’ll stitch the dark with moans—no guilt, no worries, hope. Your pulse, my compass—we’ll sail this thaw like a stream, hope. No holidays—we’ll burn the hours in sweat’s hot baths, hope. Your nails carve rivers where my shivers melt to cream, hope. No sun? We’ll braid our shadows into one fevered trance, hope. Your tongue maps constellations where my hips scream, hope. Resolutions faded, we invent new desires, hope. Savoring new rhythms, our lips capture sunlit beams, hope. Secret places—your mouth, a vineyard, overgrown, free, hope. We’ll bloom where the soil forgets frost, where wild things seem, hope. Luna & Sol—no storm can quench what our skins believe, hope. In Gaia’s soothing haven, we chase our wildest schemes, hope.

16

Our lost love, a candle, my window sill, light Her vision, the sun, warms loneliness, chill, light Silhouetted, her petals glisten and unfurl at dawn Between her thighs, a swirl of stars, distill, light Her taste, a sultry sunset dripping with honey, Starlight dancing on my tongue, instill, light Skin on skin, our silent duet whispers song Worlds collide, holding starlight's breath, still, light Fingers probe constellations on moist skin A waltz of stars, where pulsing hearts fulfill, light Our bodies, rivers of passion, surge as one Starlight ripples spill our love's vast ocean, fill, light In Gaia's Soothing Haven, starlight weaves our fate Cosmic rivers of passion eternally will, light

0

Jan 27, 2025

Jan 27, 2025 at 5:42 PM UTC

GaiasSoothingHaven

Starlight’s Silent Tides Upon The Ripples Of Us

Our lost love, a candle, my window sill, light Her vision, the sun, warms loneliness, chill, light Silhouetted, her petals glisten and unfurl at dawn Between her thighs, a swirl of stars, distill, light Her taste, a sultry sunset dripping with honey, Starlight dancing on my tongue, instill, light Skin on skin, our silent duet whispers song Worlds collide, holding starlight's breath, still, light Fingers probe constellations on moist skin A waltz of stars, where pulsing hearts fulfill, light Our bodies, rivers of passion, surge as one Starlight ripples spill our love's vast ocean, fill, light In Gaia's Soothing Haven, starlight weaves our fate Cosmic rivers of passion eternally will, light

14

In slumber's garden, her blossom never sunlight caressing, My heart, a violin without strings, my soul forever regretting, caesura A whispered secret, meant for her hearing, now always hiding, A lyric written without melody, my words forever faltering, caesura Her sun-kissed strands, fingers trembling, face never revealing, A piano's keys untouched, longing forever resounding, caesura Her unshed tears, a sea, my arms empty, never comforting, A hall deserted, it's quiet forever, sighing, caesura Our bodies, scattered notes upon a score, never quite touching, My songs, her deaf stars, never heard, forever yearning, caesura Gaia's Soothing Haven, on life's edge, forever wondering Our lost love, like petals, on life's threshold forever blooming, caesura

0

Jan 16, 2025

Jan 16, 2025 at 6:56 AM UTC

GaiasSoothingHaven

Her Skin's Unspoken Borders

In slumber's garden, her blossom never sunlight caressing, My heart, a violin without strings, my soul forever regretting, caesura A whispered secret, meant for her hearing, now always hiding, A lyric written without melody, my words forever faltering, caesura Her sun-kissed strands, fingers trembling, face never revealing, A piano's keys untouched, longing forever resounding, caesura Her unshed tears, a sea, my arms empty, never comforting, A hall deserted, it's quiet forever, sighing, caesura Our bodies, scattered notes upon a score, never quite touching, My songs, her deaf stars, never heard, forever yearning, caesura Gaia's Soothing Haven, on life's edge, forever wondering Our lost love, like petals, on life's threshold forever blooming, caesura

12

Her touch, a crescendo, our bodies harmonizing, sound journey. Heartstrings vibrating in tune, passion bringing, sound journey. Empty concert hall, without her, echoes in the void. Mind's dulcimer weaves memories, drifting, sound journey. Like two violins our bodies now begin a sweet duet. Our passion a crescendo forever building, sound journey Fingers tracing landscapes of desire, soft curves exploring. Our breath, a soft flute, seeks the hidden embers burning, sound journey Her body a living instrument, vibrations of pure sound. Powerless, I must follow the maestro's commanding, sound journey Like a master perfumer, our love's fragrance ages gracefully. Chords of vintage cello bowing passion, resonating, sound journey Her lips, a harp's lush glissando, heartbeats suspended. A honeyed kiss, notes lingering; in silence orchestrating, sound journey On celestial strings; notes drift in the cosmos; starlight whispers. Our souls forever stardust on windstrings, meditating, sound journey. In Gaia's Soothing Haven, our hearts forever on love’s journey. Notes of desire linger softly, sonnets drift on our sighs.

0

Jan 14, 2025

Jan 14, 2025 at 5:59 PM UTC

GaiasSoothingHaven

A Sound Journey Of Lovers

Her touch, a crescendo, our bodies harmonizing, sound journey. Heartstrings vibrating in tune, passion bringing, sound journey. Empty concert hall, without her, echoes in the void. Mind's dulcimer weaves memories, drifting, sound journey. Like two violins our bodies now begin a sweet duet. Our passion a crescendo forever building, sound journey Fingers tracing landscapes of desire, soft curves exploring. Our breath, a soft flute, seeks the hidden embers burning, sound journey Her body a living instrument, vibrations of pure sound. Powerless, I must follow the maestro's commanding, sound journey Like a master perfumer, our love's fragrance ages gracefully. Chords of vintage cello bowing passion, resonating, sound journey Her lips, a harp's lush glissando, heartbeats suspended. A honeyed kiss, notes lingering; in silence orchestrating, sound journey On celestial strings; notes drift in the cosmos; starlight whispers. Our souls forever stardust on windstrings, meditating, sound journey. In Gaia's Soothing Haven, our hearts forever on love’s journey. Notes of desire linger softly, sonnets drift on our sighs.

18

The secret taste, my own hand is completing, ice cream. A private joy, the moaning, the fleeting, ice cream. My unplayed sonnet craves for a maestro's crescendo. A freezer’s siren song, I’m powerless, beckoning, ice cream My desires, untamed garden, unexplored, ignored, A frozen bliss, in pleasure's heat, I'm needing, ice cream. Remorseful echoes haunt my yearnings, an abandoned hall, Useless empty calories to be worked off, sinning, ice cream. A painter’s brush, my hands splatter ecstasy, uncontained, Flavor's colors, in pleasure's heat, dripping, ice cream. Wisp of my scent, a memory of vanilla and sea salt, Sugar cone explodes, no napkin, fingers sticking, ice cream Imagined lover, I cup myself, between fingers, a slow pull, Creamy soft serve cup, caramel drizzled, spooning, ice cream Flavors of passion, spices of desire, I’m taste-testing, Wandering endless isles, reading labels, discovering ice cream. In pre-dawn mist, my sighs rise soft to kiss the sky, Candy sprinkles scattered on hot fudge; uplifting ice cream. Beneath the stars, my haven whispers, Gaia’s soothing grace, In every touch, I find my truth, my love embracing, ice cream.

0

Jan 10, 2025

Jan 10, 2025 at 7:07 PM UTC

GaiasSoothingHaven

The Ice Cream Sutra

The secret taste, my own hand is completing, ice cream. A private joy, the moaning, the fleeting, ice cream. My unplayed sonnet craves for a maestro's crescendo. A freezer’s siren song, I’m powerless, beckoning, ice cream My desires, untamed garden, unexplored, ignored, A frozen bliss, in pleasure's heat, I'm needing, ice cream. Remorseful echoes haunt my yearnings, an abandoned hall, Useless empty calories to be worked off, sinning, ice cream. A painter’s brush, my hands splatter ecstasy, uncontained, Flavor's colors, in pleasure's heat, dripping, ice cream. Wisp of my scent, a memory of vanilla and sea salt, Sugar cone explodes, no napkin, fingers sticking, ice cream Imagined lover, I cup myself, between fingers, a slow pull, Creamy soft serve cup, caramel drizzled, spooning, ice cream Flavors of passion, spices of desire, I’m taste-testing, Wandering endless isles, reading labels, discovering ice cream. In pre-dawn mist, my sighs rise soft to kiss the sky, Candy sprinkles scattered on hot fudge; uplifting ice cream. Beneath the stars, my haven whispers, Gaia’s soothing grace, In every touch, I find my truth, my love embracing, ice cream.

20

If you leave who will prove that my cry existed? Tell me what was I like before I existed. Once by my ear, having passed through my brain I can barely remember your sigh existed. She tried to replace cake with another’s bread although we all knew no supply existed. I reached my goal anonymously They had no knowledge my try existed. Bursting with implosions and marble-seamed spikes you, Annie, were thus, before “goodbye” existed.

0

Oct 18, 2022

Oct 18, 2022 at 6:09 PM UTC

motency

Ghazal 4 - "Existed"

If you leave who will prove that my cry existed? Tell me what was I like before I existed. Once by my ear, having passed through my brain I can barely remember your sigh existed. She tried to replace cake with another’s bread although we all knew no supply existed. I reached my goal anonymously They had no knowledge my try existed. Bursting with implosions and marble-seamed spikes you, Annie, were thus, before “goodbye” existed.

10

Just because you’re feeling sick of it, does not mean that I am sick of it. Are we not quite good at faking? We ought to record a flick of it. Make sure you show it to Mom; you know that she’ll get a kick of it. …And Babel’s tower collapses; It’s lucky we still have a brick of it. The present is almost invisible whilst one is in stood in the thick of it. F***, how are you still so pretty? I don’t understand the trick of it. And hours of effort are lost now; all that it took was one click of it. Doorways are metaphorical, she said, as she made short work with a pick of it. Just because I am now sick of it does not mean you must be sick of it.

0

Oct 18, 2022

Oct 18, 2022 at 6:07 PM UTC

motency

Ghazal 2 - "Of it"

Just because you’re feeling sick of it, does not mean that I am sick of it. Are we not quite good at faking? We ought to record a flick of it. Make sure you show it to Mom; you know that she’ll get a kick of it. …And Babel’s tower collapses; It’s lucky we still have a brick of it. The present is almost invisible whilst one is in stood in the thick of it. F***, how are you still so pretty? I don’t understand the trick of it. And hours of effort are lost now; all that it took was one click of it. Doorways are metaphorical, she said, as she made short work with a pick of it. Just because I am now sick of it does not mean you must be sick of it.

18

Once more, I must write about you, as all of my thoughts are about you. You said we’d be late, and we were! I never had reason to doubt you. These false-framed friends of the system theatric, purport to flout you. Fingers in everyone’s purses ensure none shall actually rout you. Without trying, I collect mythos. None have the power to doubt you. …(Your) wrist was chill to my touch, as the void won battles throughout you. Annie, why bother with others knowing none shall write about you?

0

Oct 18, 2022

Oct 18, 2022 at 6:06 PM UTC

motency

Ghazal 1 - "You"

Once more, I must write about you, as all of my thoughts are about you. You said we’d be late, and we were! I never had reason to doubt you. These false-framed friends of the system theatric, purport to flout you. Fingers in everyone’s purses ensure none shall actually rout you. Without trying, I collect mythos. None have the power to doubt you. …(Your) wrist was chill to my touch, as the void won battles throughout you. Annie, why bother with others knowing none shall write about you?

14

We are the People of the Heart, the kings, Without the crown, the throne and golden rings. The morning-bird may call its mate at dawn, I hear something different when it sings. The world mourned the summer, but I have felt The rest of falls, the madness of springs. Tomorrow is still far away from us, Today's today, let us see what it brings. From north to west, from east to west each time, O world, you pulled me with your locks as strings. Imprisoned in the garden of illusions, I picked the flower-leaves and made my wings. I am Mahi, the poet who saw meanings, Since times immemorial, in many things.

0

Jun 27, 2022

Jun 27, 2022 at 12:15 PM UTC

gihon

Ghazal

We are the People of the Heart, the kings, Without the crown, the throne and golden rings. The morning-bird may call its mate at dawn, I hear something different when it sings. The world mourned the summer, but I have felt The rest of falls, the madness of springs. Tomorrow is still far away from us, Today's today, let us see what it brings. From north to west, from east to west each time, O world, you pulled me with your locks as strings. Imprisoned in the garden of illusions, I picked the flower-leaves and made my wings. I am Mahi, the poet who saw meanings, Since times immemorial, in many things.

14

I know a scared God (I've seen a scared God) A living-way-up-there God Slumped outside our orbit of violence We're wishing you just cared God Upside while I'm downtown screaming: YOU KNOW THIS ISN'T FAIR GOD You're hiding up in nitrous heavens A help-only-if-you-dare God As our sins slip into the water supply You've given us nothing to bathe in God These California fires; these 2 a.m. stabbings All this suffering isn't rare God With nothing else to live up to I guess we have to wear god.

0

Feb 22, 2021

Feb 22, 2021 at 11:46 AM UTC

parker-vance

God's ghazal

I know a scared God (I've seen a scared God) A living-way-up-there God Slumped outside our orbit of violence We're wishing you just cared God Upside while I'm downtown screaming: YOU KNOW THIS ISN'T FAIR GOD You're hiding up in nitrous heavens A help-only-if-you-dare God As our sins slip into the water supply You've given us nothing to bathe in God These California fires; these 2 a.m. stabbings All this suffering isn't rare God With nothing else to live up to I guess we have to wear god.

15

My body aches - beating my brain, I yearn for rest. The work needs done. I cannot sleep until I rest. That sleep - that nodding off that interrupts the song while silence plays; a long fermata on a rest. Awake and you’ll be deaf to what you’ve missed, but open your ears and you’ll appreciate the rest. I wish we could be present while we slept, so we never had to miss a single click of rest, until the very end. When the players play their loudest even if they’re resting, a long eternal rest. For the music doesn’t start until you’ve given pause— to the contents of your mind. Let yourself rest, and listen to the universe and its crashing chords; echoing in that quietness, speaking through that rest. And as I ache, I, Tyler, look towards playing that final performance – one that’s sure to give me rest.

0

Dec 20, 2020

Dec 20, 2020 at 2:36 AM UTC

tyler-stoner

Requiem

My body aches - beating my brain, I yearn for rest. The work needs done. I cannot sleep until I rest. That sleep - that nodding off that interrupts the song while silence plays; a long fermata on a rest. Awake and you’ll be deaf to what you’ve missed, but open your ears and you’ll appreciate the rest. I wish we could be present while we slept, so we never had to miss a single click of rest, until the very end. When the players play their loudest even if they’re resting, a long eternal rest. For the music doesn’t start until you’ve given pause— to the contents of your mind. Let yourself rest, and listen to the universe and its crashing chords; echoing in that quietness, speaking through that rest. And as I ache, I, Tyler, look towards playing that final performance – one that’s sure to give me rest.

16

all it took was a single look- he fell for her. angel eyes in clear blue skies, he only thought of her. the sun created her dancing raven locks, capturing life- tempting him to reach towards her. the moon would rise, singing solitary melodies, and in his inner strife, he only wished for her. the stars could taint the lonely night but their brilliance couldn't stain his love for her. chrysanthemums reflected in her sancy diamond lies, and for her sustenance, he picked bouquets for her. her beauty shone like carved, clear stone, and his heart was enveloped in a cold embrace from her. and as he fell, a willing victim to the abyss, he smiled, as if all his breath was hers.

0

Oct 8, 2020

Oct 8, 2020 at 12:22 AM UTC

Aeromenii

and he fell into her abyss.

all it took was a single look- he fell for her. angel eyes in clear blue skies, he only thought of her. the sun created her dancing raven locks, capturing life- tempting him to reach towards her. the moon would rise, singing solitary melodies, and in his inner strife, he only wished for her. the stars could taint the lonely night but their brilliance couldn't stain his love for her. chrysanthemums reflected in her sancy diamond lies, and for her sustenance, he picked bouquets for her. her beauty shone like carved, clear stone, and his heart was enveloped in a cold embrace from her. and as he fell, a willing victim to the abyss, he smiled, as if all his breath was hers.

14