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 Dec 2019 Afia
Sean Devlin
Love should not be possessive. Love like you would a flower, growing in a field.
If you were to pluck that flower, take it inside, to place in a vase or between the pages of a book, it will wither and it will die. Suffocated, cut off from that place which it is meant to be.

Instead, lay next to your love. Let your breath be the wind that brushes against its petals. In a storm, build a fortress to protect it, to shade it from the sun. Sing songs to it until you fall asleep, where you dream beside it.

If you part, have no fear. Relish the moments in which that Love is beside you. Do not entertain thoughts of another coming and plucking that flower, you have no control over such things. Live beside that which you Love, possession will only bring death. No one can take your love. If in the morning that flower is no longer there, fear nothing, as you too will one day be gone.

The more we love, the more we want to hold on. Let go of the idea of permanence. Everything is ever changing. The seasons, the tides, they come and they go. Move within them. Hold that Love deep inside, like a heartbeat.

Fear of loss is ever gnawing. Let go of fear by letting go of the idea of possession. All that you own is that which beats within you, silent and voluminous. All else is an illusion.

When you look across the room at her, do so as you would a flower. Appreciate and enjoy, do not let the tendrils of fear wrap themselves around you. Do not reach out and take what is not yours, do not ask for anything in return. Open up your heart, let the sunshine pour from your eyes. Before you know it, these moments will be memories. This life will be another grain of sand on an endless beach. your story will be lost on the winds of spring.
XLIII

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
 Sep 2018 Afia
Salmabanu Hatim
Call me back to you,
I can't see her happy in another
man's arms.
 Aug 2018 Afia
Shofi Ahmed
A night owl in the harvest moon
was awake till the crack of the dawn
but wasn’t surfing online, wasn’t rowing
the boat in the digital river.
Deep down to a dreamweaving scene
that was, in musing, painstakingly creative.

Wait till you snap up a witty aphorism.
The darling buds of May will be in bloom.
The tickled pink nightingale too will
give out its voice, singing a song.
Save a copy and tweet it to all,
but do give us a demo, tell us a bit more.
Where does it shine and sizzle?
Where did the winter tuck away the rose?
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
 Aug 2018 Afia
Hisham Alshaikh
Brave men fighting
Knights crawling
Strong men dying
Kings crying
Emperors imploring
Kingdoms falling
Empires collapsing
Poets writing
Musicians performing
Paintings begging
Statues Kneeling
For a glimpse of your eyes


--Hisham Alshaikh
Glimpse of Your Eyes. Version 1.
 Aug 2018 Afia
Edmund black
I abide
Sunny
Inspite
Of agony
I caress
The Aurora
Inspite of cloudburst
I show the globe
Stupendous adoration
Inspite Of distress
My heart
Abide
Unclouded
Inspite
Malicious
I have this fire
Burning in my soul
I
wasn’t born
For the cold
Who am I as a man  Still yet to  unearth..... I found love where it doesn’t belong!
 Aug 2018 Afia
grumpy thumb
a hook of a moon
hanging low
burying itself into the dark soil of night ploughing methodically
churning the folds of time unsympathetically
despondent
weary
oblivious to the passing seeds
of thought
laboured over.
Should I expect more
from the ruts it rolls,
perhaps growth of understanding
or a crop of acknowledgment
for my wonderment of it?
Or is it simply a tool
to capture imaginations
of a fool who secretly belives
I have an intimate bond
with its silent magnificence,
perhaps wishing it looks at me
like a brother who shares this moment.
 Jul 2018 Afia
Salmabanu Hatim
In a garden,
As beautiful as heaven,
At night Jasmine,
With white silky lips,
Unfolded its perfumed petals,
Blossoms in ethereal beauty,
With a creamy glow.
In the morning the Red Rose in bud,
Drenched in dew,
Unfurled its petals one by one,
On a single stem with its prickly thorn,
Sassy and beautiful.
Each with an ego of,
"I am the best",
Their hatred flared,
In fumes their scent flowed in waves.
The  birds and insects looked on,
Prayed for peace,
Tried to pacify them.
Then one day their enmity changed to love.
Bees and butterflies sang and chanted love songs,
As they sipped their nectar.
Soon The Rose proposed,
My love, let's get married,
For long have we tarried.
So the hummingbird  flew them to them to a famous wedding planner,
To be stringed into garlands,
Jasmine for the bride,
And The Red Rose for the groom.
The couple took their vows,
So did The Rose and Jasmine.
They made a beautiful pair,
And their children were called Jasrose.
Poetic fairy tale
 Jul 2018 Afia
Lazhar Bouazzi
Writing is
the frozen music
of an ellipsis -
a silent song
of a lonesome poet
who sings in the dark
between howling winds
crossing swords
in the white shades
of unseen things -

a winter on the pole
on whose  obverse side
there's Rio,
and mirth,
and dancing,
and the sun's critique
of hegemony.

© LazharBouazzi
 Jul 2018 Afia
Leslie Philibert
an old car with rusty brakes,
models, the Eiffel Tower, a zeppelin
combs, a toothbrush, muddy sandals,
posters of sunsets and other better worlds,
a souvenir mug from Venice, an unmade bed,
handwritten notes, letters unanswered,
a ghost that wamnders through my veins

and the present of your life
my son is missing  presumed dead in the Bavarian Alps
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