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 Dec 2018 lady lazarus
some lonesome pianos humming
inside a room in full bloom
where a young boy sits and listens and
cries under pretenses of beauty,
and then he returns to the yellow
wallpapered room and the warmth of
memory turns to pain

the same song sung again under a similar
sun, remembered in its warmth
hitting still-bright white walls,
echoing so as to make no noise,
and create an emptiness full

a bitter song shared between false
lovers, sharing in lips and shame,
hiding behind pretty sentiments
which are made false
by confused minds

a song of three parts to be played in
the moonlight hours for those
stuck inbetween;
there, pain is forgotten,
and in its place lives a haze of
life and love and laugh
and the moon is forgotten under
the piano’s soft melodies
 Dec 2018 lady lazarus
Do not mock me as you hand me your perfunctory nod.
This spotlight I'm in has no fame.
I am in the light.
It is obvious that not all light is righteous.

I am trapped by the prison of quarantines.
Placing me at the centre.
You bully me with your hostility.
I am your Aunt Sally, your easy mark.
Your missiles hit me right in the bullseye
As you climb your ladder of success.

But, know I am collecting it all and when I stand tall.
Your character flawed must fall at the mercy of my

Resilient Bellowing.

By Shaheen Klaaste
 Dec 2018 lady lazarus
in halls long forgotten
where lived people grand and verbose,
now lives the small things
which hid in-between
when the world fell apart

a small thing of a boy of a name,
which is henry,
lives in this steadfast
luminescent world
of sad forgotten things;
he roamed halls and sang
his little sad tunes
and came home one day
and found his love
dead and forgot,
killed by the impotence of
a stone world

he spilled tears onto the floor and
they wetted the dusty dry stone
and the earth moaned and
the stars twinkled a melancholy
twinkle and the world
became just a little more lonely;
and, when his tears dried
he picked up his love and ran
for hope from the despair
he ran down dusty caves
filled with decaying forgot structures
and skinny dark-eyed things
which hid from the light,
and he came to a building as young
as the tunnels themselves;
and in here he spoke in quick
quiet tones of matters of
consequence to an old
whiskered lady,
and she said she
would help him, for she
too once had loved
and he would need help her
in return;
down in the deepest
loneliest part of the
cave lives a white flower
which glows when the earth
hums and cries when
love dies
so the boy left his love
to the dark places where
all is naught and void
and lonely in its old age
and he ran ‘till at last
he came to the very bottom
of all that was known of the
old world, and there was
a wooden large building
with glass which could no longer
see out into the world
and the boy wondered into here
and called out into the night
and it called back
with a stumble and a greeting

hello, it said, just a little like the boy
here is where I live
and my heart hurts with the
but never can I wonder,
for I am long without my vision

hello, the boy said
here is where I want for
and my heart hurts with love
so I am made to wonder
that I may perhaps find it again

and the night embraced him
and the room lit up with the light of a small,
delicate star
and the boy knew what he had to do
so, when at last the night faded
into a world of sleep
content in the last
of his comforts,
the boy stole the little star of a flower
just a little sad to be hurting
someone for once like him

he walked slowly
away from the last of what
made him henry
knowing that his heart would
be shifted and he walked
until the light of the cave-stars
shone bright, and among
their opaque luminosity
were little imperfections
which made them happy,
but a little too alone

he returned to the whiskers
and said to her,

i have brought you your flower
and it has cost me my heart
so I hope that it may mend yours
and she said back to him,

it is worthy of such a loss
and in return I give you something
better, your love

and the little spiny thing awoke
with breath of life renewed
and it squeaked a little squeak and
in that moment
he realized his pain should not
be the burden of another
so he said to the old whiskered woman,

ma’am, this flower belongs
to the night, and he is lonely
and hurting and a little like me
and he deserves it more than I
deserve anything
may I return it to him?

and at this she grew sad
and said
it is mine in exchange
for life renewed
and the boy imagined the poor
old night alone and tired in a world
devoid of better things
and he made for the flower
but the woman stopped him
and he protested with a flail
but she stopped him again and pinned him
and holding some old sharp thing,
held it above his heart
and in this moment
his alive spiky thing
jumped in front of his heart
and it went through it
and killed it for a last time
and in the old lady’s horror
she fell on the rusty metal
and in penetrated her own
delicate, soft skin
and it spilled out of her
staining her silky white fur
and she gasped in the dim of day
and let a last solid breath out and
two bodies rested heavily on
the boy’s chest

he rolled them off of him and
standing, teared without
control at himself
and, picking up his flower,
said goodbye to his love
one last time
with a whisper,

thank you

he ran down halls forgotten
in their silence
until the darkness of day became
a real darkness
he returned to the night
but in the darkness
devoid of the light of a flower
of a star
he could not find it
until at last the boy wondered
into a little room with a view
within it a little glass dome to protect
the flower
and a chair with an old dead man
still wet from tears

the light of the flower then flickered and flashed
then faded and withered
and henry stumbled and fell
hitting the little glass dome and
shattering it on the floor
and the tiny pieces of glass slit
his wrist and arm and neck
and the last of the boy
spilled on the floor
and like all that he touched
i dont know if this is poetry but idc too much
You always just want more.

Longer kisses, longer hugs, more time spent together.

You'll drive around the block five times just to keep them another hour. Everything is another story to the bookshelf you are building..

Their happiness becomes just as important as yours. You learn to love what they love, you'll want to be better.

Because they've made you better..
5:52 p.m.
 May 2018 lady lazarus
a mottled stone of
ruddy brown, spotted:
the freckles on my mother's breast
of feeling whole; of love

the way I look at her
the infinitesimal touch,
my love, the impossibility
of desire

This; feeling my love
for you pulse in my
bone marrow,approaching
oblivion asymptotically
The ageless plight of persistant awakening,
Thoughts protruding into my every day,
The restless inner noise of ruminations,
Rustling windy bow-quaking wispers,  remain.

The restling of memory spurs a conversation with the past
Concerning things I have done,
As I recourse for resolution within the recollection.
I'm just playing around with a bit of alliteration this morning. I figure the proverbial inner monologue is just as good a topic as any.
 Apr 2018 lady lazarus
Lay me down
With my baby boy
Think of me fondly
When you look to the sky

Don't be sad when
When you think of me
Its what I wanted
I'm finally free

In my honour
Live your lives to the full
In my memory
Don't let a moment be dull

When you think of me
Do it with a smile
When you mourn me
Do it for a short while

I love you all
And I always will
I'm sorry I had to go
I'll he with you all still
Wrote while I was in a very bad place in my mind
High above the world's hectic tumult
Emigrating doves tore breeze in solitude
Gleaming ***** paused and then resumed
No one to bother or worst intrude
Embracing the gulp of dust and vapour
And riding on their tantalising bubbles
A crass crow came candid with croak
And bashed and entangled with one of those
The collision followed a cat fight
Only during their unison flight
A crass crow and doves and doves
Those doves were weirdly enough
The spectacle highlighted with the impressive shower
Of the feathers of the one that couldn't empower
Gleaming ***** resumed with the cult
Of curses and gloomy ******
Fly high as they with their sarcastic grins
Cracking jokes of the ****** and assassin
"The innocous crow soul rest in peace
This's what we can pray for thee"
Reached they their destination
Without any guilt and confession
The morning kissed their eyes
As they began again flying high
One of them entangled with a crow
This time both breeds were equal though
Lest the history repeats itself
Or there'll be pleads and requests
But the former often occurs
And a cat fight had begun
The croaky crows were the winners
The doves flew away in tension
The next morning embraced the eyes
Of both the groups for their regular journies to skies
History repeated itself
One of both again entangled
Lest the history repeats itself
Or there will be pleads and requests
The former often occurs you know
But not every time on show
A round of pleads and requests followed
And all reached their respective homes..
 Apr 2018 lady lazarus
love me because i'm different
rough on the outside yet sweet underneath
peel back my layers, enjoy fruits of discovery
  learn with me, grow with me
little kiwi tree
If everybody's a peach she's a different kind of fruit
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