#responses
a fog of uncertainty
or mist of opportunity
discouragement of the fearful
passion of the pathfinders
boredom of the erudite
opportunity of the ready
despair of the overcome
pride of the calm conqueror
crumbling of the thoughtless
savvy of the thinker
rebellion of restless seas
wisdom of the calmer waters
coarseness of the unmodified rocks
refinement of a rare diamond sage
repeating dirge of the pessimists
excitement of the optimists
shock of the confronted
pragmatism of the realists
dissatisfaction of the takers
fulfillment's flame in the givers
empty shell of the ever selfish
and balm of those who
to the bewildered
smile kindness
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 12:30 PM UTC
I wondered what words I could use to solicit a response from you –
then, that’s when it hits me.
You do not respond to words,
you respond to the colors of the sea, of the sky, of the sand.
You respond to black and white photos and smiles that don’t exactly look happy. You respond to songs that makes sense of a moment – of a time that meant something more than the ticking of a clock. You respond to the reverie during the ungodly hours of the night, the messages that try to hide themselves in the shadows. You respond to the questions that do not ask what you do but how you do things and you respond to the why’s without being asked because you think it’s important to say it – the why.
And because I did not know these things well when I needed too,
I kept on waiting for this most solicited response only to be answered by unsolicited silences.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
my first thought when i look at you
is
oh my gosh, he’s so beautiful
my first thought when you look at me
is
oh my gosh, he doesn’t get to experience that same thought
and instantly i’m filled with both guilt and pure sympathy
because how dare i not be enough for him
and
how dare he not be able to have someone that is enough for him
(looking in her eyes)
he gazed upon the inner galaxy, that sets within her. wdym
What does he do? does he kiss her? tell her she’s beautiful?
by then she says “I love you” and you say it too.
Words, Actions, Art, or Poetry..
can’t express the feelings given, and the feelings received.
she’s the world, the beginning of the family tree in which you’ll protect and care for.
just like how you cared for her in the very beginning...yet again,
your mind has thoughts like these constantly, all because of a simple glance in her eyes.
the galaxy that makes you who you are, but most importantly what you want to be.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
I decided recently to try to put my mind back together and isn't working the pieces of my mind are a maze that I don't know the answer to so keep on turning left turning left and turning left hoping that I don't end up in the same spot that I did when I started.
We all have things we don’t talk about anymore things that we left in the past far behind us things that we don’t like to think about.
I’ve forgotten all my memories not exactly where they used to be and I just don’t want to talk about them anymore we all have things we don’t talk about anymore.
You want to ask me if I’m lost well of course and lost… everybody’s lost sometimes. It’s never our fault but we choose to see it that way and so I’ve been looking through other people’s eyes to see if they can see what I’m supposed to be. If they know who I used to be.
Not the kind of identity crisis that you like to have that is the kind you keep around because it’s the only thing you can call home. I’ve been searching for pieces of my life through other people because maybe they remember something about me that I don’t I am lost… of course and lost. Repeating words, and phrase so I don’t forget them like the rest of my memory.
I’m not trying to steal anything that belongs to you I’m just trying to look for myself and if you have the key to that then I might as well chase you down as long as I can live.
Or maybe I just want your life because I can’t find mine because I’ve been looking through different people and not finding the me I used to want to be I am lost. So please don’t make me out to be the bad guy I am not trying to steal what used to be yours, I’m only trying to take back what’s mine.
I’ve stayed up countless nights and I still can’t find myself and maybe music is the only key out of that but I haven’t heard much lately. I haven’t slept in a few days and nobody’s been able to stop me there are things we do not talk about anymore. There are people that we do not talk to anymore. Our songs we don’t sing anymore because we don’t remember what they used to mean to us there are songs I have left so many years ago.
I don’t recognize myself in the mirror so maybe I can recognize myself in the reflection of a window of somebody else. I’ve heard a voice singing in my own ears and I wonder if it’s my own voice telling me to wake up. Staying up late at night thinking about all this is a habit that I thought I forgot years ago and yet it still comes back and I’m lost again in this maze of my own memory turning left turning left open to get to the end.
So yes I am lost but if you’re willing to catch me maybe this maze isn’t as dangerous as it used to be.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 10:47 PM UTC
Standing alone to face all allegations
I am victim of vicious deliberations
In the darkness I can't see destination
This is how I celebrate my incarnation
Love has taken all my life and death
In state its difficult to take the breath
My life is at stake and what life hath
Do I see truth or nothing else but myth
Pain has sapped all my ability,intellect
I am no more if you ask stance in fact
I have no choice just to select or elect
I am in trance my love being in the pact
My Lord is savior under circumstances
Only He can give many more chances
So I hoot care whatever the instances
How can I lose in the positive responses
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
Just go, you clearly don't know what you want from me
Just leave, no words or thoughts like it's so ******* easy
Just now I thought something could finally happen
Just stupid old me for giving in after a bottle of Kracken..
Now I can't, I don't know who you are
Now I want and miss how you could take me so far
Now I just feel empty and so ******* alone
Now I sit and wonder why you couldn't just pick up your phone..
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
what is more gentle,
than this pillow of the light?
a life narrowing,
in a bright feather dance
that sweeps across the sea
or covers our faces in shadows.
where do you go when you leave me?
now I am nocturnal,
a bliss bandit,
cooing at stars
one thousand miles high.
shaking like a tea kettle,
I am the black *** black,
shaking,
shivering.
Swallowing pieces of your light,
in the back-room jungle where I sew,
tears to the bottoms of my eyes,
where no one ever goes.
I know days,
hours,
one minute
where I gambled time
and stood behind you
with my fingers
on your shoulders
and my mouth on your neck.
What it takes to be apart,
split in half,
shucked from birth;
it takes every thing I
ever owned,
every note I ever sang,
each breath that I will make-
some thought I stand up on,
my knees quivering below me.
five kinds of drugs
just to see straight, to hold
my hands steady or
sleep at night.
your lavender flavor
is still in me.
you in me.
one.
two.
soaking in this forgotten city,
Earth's heroes drifting away.
I could never eat again, or
cast a spell, or touch the same.
while burning I may never
stand
on these same two feet again.
four years,
a photograph.
one voice,
softening into my skin,
that I never may forget.
that this beard is of
an old man, should I never
count again
blessings or songs.
I dive into the flame
and study this journey backwards.
so I should never forget,
everything so serious
as this
as you, in me.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
Black Rook In Rainy Weather
On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident
To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.
Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent
Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent
By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant
Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant
A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content
Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.
The Response
Even while flashbulbs go out, every now and then, we all must gather our arms and legs in a heap of human kindling, to rap tap tap on the downstairs neighbors door- for a set of candles, perhaps a chance to go completely insane for one terse moment when the hyperbole of vowels just don't matter anymore.
And speaking of the sordid state of griseous gull-like creatures. Ravenous ravens gnawing outside the window of the kitchen table. How boring life can become, for at the moment, when we are not biting our nails, playing dress up, or playing doctor- all tied up. Or maybe even burying our heads in the looks of rooks or with our noses brimming over with the tops of books.
The tea we have set in the study awaits us, as we all have to drink our tea some time.
Just don't leave the lights on baby. Who needs lamps at full lux at high noon any who? You, Mrs. Sylvia Plath Hughes? Maybe you ought to buy a book of stamps- at the nearest Hobby Lobby, pack a paper bag with an apple and a 'sammich', and list formally your complaints.
We can't all waste our time narrating other people's lives in the third person.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC