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(haikus)

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Wine glass lay empty
toppled on the ground...its edge
smeared with red lipstick

Luster braved the dark
opals, sapphires couldn't hide
a face...so lovely

Stilled...supine...voiceless
stripped of fame...name...evil game!
success? envy? shame?

Opals, bright sapphires,
graced her neck...muted...like the
doe-eyed beauty...dead.


Sally
Copyright April 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***haikus from a longer poem...***
 May 2015 Tushar Sawant
ESR
I put ink to page
with an elastic band pen,
Because these words always
come back and hit me,
Leaving a sting in my ear,
and a ring in my head
 May 2015 Tushar Sawant
Hannah
I am a pearl
In the warm embrace of a mollusk
Something beautiful, glorious
But with its own secrets

I am guarded, walls up high
The mollusk moulds me
Thinks it knows every part of me
But alas, that is not the case

I was placed in the mollusk, a grain of sand
But the ones that know me better
Are my fellow sand grains
Hard, but smooth as one

They know everything about me
They know my past
They know my present
They will know my future

As I emerge from the mollusk
So do they, from theirs
We come together, to form something
Gloriously beautiful

While we journey with
Pearls who know our true face
We must never forget the mollusks
Who shaped us from sand
our parents are the mollusks, yes we have everything to thank them for, for raising us, for making us the good people we are today. but they do not know all our secrets. friends will always know each other the best, and will grow up (and old) together. but of course, we must never forget our mollusks.
I want to learn how to play it,
not just strap it on my back
like those counterfeit troubadors
playing it out on the fields of grass
with beautiful sweet ladies & no rhythm.
No.
I want to learn how to play it
with the desire of a rock star,
with the kindred spirits of the strings,
with the purists of the picks,
strumming with my finger-love.
Silence
Quiet and dark
Reaching, breaking, ending
It's always terrifying me
Stillness
 May 2015 Tushar Sawant
AZahorcak
I am...
A writer.
A corporate slave.

I sell my ink to afford my next page.
I will never be spectacular,
For I am just a droplet of water
Pretending to be an ocean.
 May 2015 Tushar Sawant
Chaos
Her words sound detached
     distant, far away
     as though he is listening
     without the telephone
Her voice seems lost
     lonely, afraid
     as though she is isolated
     from the world
Her soul seems faded
     worn, ripped
     as though she's fought hard
     but never won
Her eyes looks dim
     weary, tired
     as though what she's seen
     broke her apart
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