#operation
love carves its name into your heart
and at times its very very painful.
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 8:10 AM UTC
There once was a spokesman who swore,
“It isn’t a war we’re in for
It’s a mission precise,
With a timeline and price,
And objectives we carefully score.”
When bombs start to rattle the night,
They’ll say, “It’s a limited fight.
Not a war, understand
Just a firm helping hand
With some jets demonstrating our might.”
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 7:19 PM UTC
What Abhinandan left incomplete,
Vyomika rendered it complete.
And she wasn't alone this time.
She flew with Colonel Sofiya Qureshi.
Together they bombed terror camps.
Eliminating terrorists and leaders.
Operation Sindoor runs deeply.
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 3:21 AM UTC
Have you ever thought
that a poet's pen
performs
"open heart "surgery
every time
it writes?
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 3:44 AM UTC
Here I am again
Cracked and broken
Heart ripped open
By the claws on the ends of my fingers
They are never coated in blood
A tidy sort of chaos
A mess-less, gutless dissection
Hollow space resides within
Emptied of everything
Shall we count the scars
Or will that bore you
To hear of the surgeries that came before
The operations and treatments
Self directed and self prescribed
By a med school dropout
Disgusting derelict defect
Split neatly into near halves
Tethered by a final pathetic stitch
That I am longing to rip
Free
Sep 28, 2021
Sep 28, 2021 at 9:40 PM UTC
Holidays are usually exciting.
But for people who are depressed,
Holidays can be exhausting. Excruciating.
They can be so stressed
Trying to wear a happy face,
They might have a hard time
Eating anything on their plate.
So, if you feel this way,
I have a challenge for you.
It's called operation happier holidays.
Instead of protecting them,
Tell your loved ones if you're not okay.
They may be upset, confused, or even angry at first.
But almost everyone secretly wishes
For their loved ones to be happy and healthy. So do it for them.
But do it for yourself too.
Because you deserve to be happy.
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 6:48 PM UTC
Just Smile
by Michael R. Burch
We’d like to think some angel smiling down
will watch him as his arm bleeds in the yard,
ripped off by dogs, will guide his tipsy steps,
his doddering progress through the scarlet house
to tell his mommy “boo-boo!,” only two.
We’d like to think his reconstructed face
will be as good as new, will often smile,
that baseball’s just as fun with just one arm,
that God is always Just, that girls will smile,
not frown down at his thousand livid scars,
that Life is always Just, that Love is Just.
We just don’t want to hear that he will shave
at six, to raze the leg hairs from his cheeks,
that lips aren’t easily fashioned, that his smile’s
lopsided, oafish, snaggle-toothed, that each
new operation costs a billion tears,
when tears are out of fashion.
O, beseech
some poet with more skill with words than tears
to find some happy ending, to believe
that God is Just, that Love is Just, that these
are Parables we live, Life’s Mysteries . . .
Or look inside his courage, as he ties
his shoelaces one-handed, as he throws
no-hitters on the first-place team, and goes
on dates, looks in the mirror undeceived
and smiling says, “It’s me I see. Just me.”
He smiles, if life is Just, or lacking cures,
Your pity is the worst cut he endures.
But hack him down and still he’ll always rise,
lifting his smile to the sun or the star-filled skies.
Published by Lucid Rhythms, The Eclectic Muse and Victorian Violet Press, then nominated by the latter for the Pushcart Prize
Keywords/Tags: Angels, baseball, ****** reconstruction, surgery, operation, God, scars, tears, courage, mirror, smile, date, dating, dog, attack, dogs, happy ending
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 3:24 AM UTC
Nothing compares to a love like this. I didn’t even know this could exist.
You touch me and there’s automatic peace. You carry me to bed when I fall asleep.
You tuck me in to keep me warm,
Or let me wear your coat even though you can’t feel your arms.
You tell me daily how much you love me,
And it’s what you’re always demonstrating.
You listen to me read novels and poetry.
And (almost) never interrupt me.
I hope that I do enough for you
To show you that I love you, too.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 11:54 AM UTC
I was a rich tycoon who was obsessed with greed.
I wanted more and more money even though it was something I didn't need.
Something happened to me and I'd like to explain how but I can't.
My personality completely changed after I had a heart transplant.
Instead of wanting to make more money, I'm giving money to the poor.
Things completely changed after my operation, I'm nothing like I was before.
I own four apartment buildings and I was a slumlord.
The tenants hated me, I wasn't a man who they adored.
The apartments weren't fit to live in but I had all of them repaired.
In the past, I didn't give a **** about my tenants but now I care.
I learned that my new heart came from a man who was only twenty years old.
Before he died of cancer, he was the salt of the earth with a heart of gold.
He gave money to charities and always put his needs before the needs of others.
When I got his heart, I also got his personality and I think of all men as brothers.
I don't know how this happened but there is one thing that I do understand.
I've become a very good person because I received the heart of a good man.
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC
Where was I before my Birth
Who brought me? In this life
Some say My Parents
Gave me my Life
I think they only Ate
The Forbidden Apple
They just performed their basic Karma
And received me as a gifted Product
I was shipped without any User Manual
And without any Standard Operating Procedure
My parents worked round the clock
Gone through all the other manuals
At last they applied their mind
And prepared their own Manual
They also defined their own
Standard Operating Procedure
And I was handled and serviced
As per their Manual and SOP
Now I think, I am grown up now
But the question still remains as it was
Are we all only Products?
If Yes, Who Manufactured Us?
Where are the Original User Manuals?
Where are the Technical Manuals?
Where is the Standard Operating Procedure?
Why I was shipped to this mother Earth?
Some of my friends suggested a simple answer
'God made us and You too. But you are moron'
This answer posed other questions to me
Who made God? God Made God?
Or the Humans made God for their own purpose?
Where are the temples of God made by Insects?
Suppose If God made us? Why he is so greedy?
Like the capitalists of proprietary companies
Why we are a strict proprietary Products?
Even proprietary products are supplied with Manuals
If God can't make us Open Source, At least he should
Supply the Manuals, Supply the Standard Operating Procedure
Or He is also too much selfish like each one of us
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:46 AM UTC
The equation between us
If ever were coercioned to exist
It shall be shared with a binary operation
That says 'not equals to'
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 9:08 AM UTC
All this having spanned
since a borning
is the activity of Sleeper Agent
This Agent has grown Impy
of this lively drumming of clingings
It is recognised and marked as ;
distraction
an entertainment
an irreverent viewing
A clearer work must commence
an underlying detached being
Operations within the drama life
are now operations in a training ground
All these efforts are toward Project Awake
and projected life is now secondary
though useful.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 5:09 PM UTC
The head fuckery of societies rules.
The indoctrination in our schools
has led to the homeless on our streets while politicians count their seats.
The privileged few, too rich to mention
fail to reveal their true intention.
The NHS setup to break by psychopaths all on the take.
Big business stripped of all its gold,
no pension funds left for the old.
Big pharma, they don't miss a trick,
they're making you & I feel sick.
They push the pills that ring the tills
even though they know it kills.
With the best advice and greatest will
our kids are on **** & fentanyl.
While we're divided black & white,
we'd never stand up to their might
So take your neighbour, hold their hand and together we'll reclaim our land.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
Dreams are not the stuff of poets
We can do better, should not chase them
Dreams are the stuff of lost souls
and though some of them can write
I do not know why we reward it
with forgetful immortality, when the Gods
they have abandoned dreamers
to the desert of the real
my spine does not know of dreams
my tail lashing even in its rest
this whip-crack vertebrae does not forget
and the Gods can get ******
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 9:42 PM UTC
Waiting on the list
To get cut open
And have your insides stirred up
There are dozens of names on the list every day
And behind every name, there are
Double or triple or even multiple hearts
Suspended
So please keep in mind that
There's nothing more precious than your body.
Trust me, you don't want your name to be on that list.
It's a waiting list on which you could be either
Waiting for salvation, or
Waiting to set your foot on that glorious "Stairway to Heaven"
Which you don't really want to climb
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 8:27 AM UTC
When Did The Shyness Come To Town?
Was it After
Or Before...
Taken Up in An Airplane
They Said
Some Sort of Space Craft
What I didn't tell them
Was that I had Become One of Them
Except for My Feet
When It Meant Leaving My Family
The Family of Man
I couldn't Do It
And Fought To Save The Soul that
Left Me During The Dark Ages
And The One
That Blew Away
During Nagisakii
Yes, I fought
Every Screaming Word that Came out
Sounded Like A Foreign Language
Nobody Did Come
They Heard The Screaming
The Shredding
In their Own Way
That was the End
Of the Second
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC
how does one get a wink of sleep
when at 11 am tomorrow morning
i'll be sporting the latest hospital gown
being picked apart like a game of operation
while i'm high off who knows what they put in
those **** needles that knock you straight
to counting multi colored sheep
i used to be curious, full of questions
always wandering what more i could
possibly soak in like a sponge,
knowledge is power they said.
it's probably killed 7 of my 9 lives,
turned teammates into mazes, lovers
into strangers, pandora's box laughs
in my face every **** time.
(so i'll be careful with these last two lives)
quite frankly i'd like to wave my white
flag with knowledge- my bones are
too weak to fight you any further
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
Thursday night is game night but Hasbro
has never had this one right. Operation is not
a game for ages four and up–maybe four,
multiplied by four, add four, and up.
Surgical mask on, Cavity Sam prepped,
and tweezers waiting to the right of the operating table:
I like to start with the Adam's apple–
carve away any trace of my origins
and they will never figure out who I am
because, like my mother used to say to me,
who is Eve without a blameless man.
Then I move on to the butterflies in the stomach
flittering and fluttering for a home that feels far more familiar
but they cannot be caught, only drowned.
Naturally, the broken heart follows
but the problem with pulling that out is
the never-ending-silence,
white-noise-science, black-hole-giant,
You know, the absence that predates writer's block–
writer's cramp, sliding a pencil up your wrist like it's the
(best kept) secret IV of an author.
Is that the price of filling up your bread basket,
going to bed full on recognition and reward
and maybe even a Pulitzer Prize?
Be careful not to trip up on your own ego
or you just might end up with a wrenched ankle
and water on the knee.
I still have to deal with the wishbone,
the split-in-two-gravestone,
the only-one-of-us-is-leaving-here-happy zone.
And finally, I have the spare ribs
but I just might leave those there
because we see what happened when God
bothered to remove those the last time.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC