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"amply" poems
Chairs in the room Vacant Because Alone Requires Emptiness On the table Papers Requiring attention Strewn to the side And left Alone Fire in the hearth No one To watch it Empty room Amply furnished Ticking clocks No one To listen
0
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 9:13 AM UTC
alone
i was born of rough cloth. it cradled me from youth it kept me scarcely warm, and amply humble. but i grew a longing for silk and silver— a softer touch, a glimmer around my neck. my head rests against your chest— your cashmere skin greets my weary cheek i hear that gem beating in your jewelry box a scarlet ruby, plated in the pure gold of your love. i run my fingers through your amber satin ribbons. you laugh a music box tune and i long to dance. your smile shines in pure ivory, and your eyes twinkle with a clarity the finest of diamonds envy. i look at you, rich with love and i remember my wealth.
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Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 7:01 PM UTC
cashmere
When all alone, true emotions become exposed; the memories are no longer hiding within. The pain and sorrow that are so often closed, are brought to the surface usually concealed by the skin. Smiles turn down with descending tears, empty thoughts flow through your mind. Goals and content have begun to disappear, replaced with heartache so blind. In time the light will amply return and you can once again make it easily through your days. Each heartbreak brings a new lesson to learn; new emotions, new feelings, will start to make way. So in a moment of weakness, where it feels as though your heart is broken Divulge your uniqueness; to new opportunities your eyes will be open.
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Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 9:54 AM UTC
Beyond the Break
Shakespeare’s Dog in the theater tonight, the notion of a poem-potion courtesy of Shakespeare's dog came unbidden So when home arrived, was unsurprised that this very peculiar pug was farting before my own front door. get lost, I announced got what I need from your boss, but before I could kick him across the floor, the pug spake thusly: *this dog knows the boot too well, it is parcel of this dog's life of no quality, but if you give me shelter tonite, I will provide, share some of Speare's un-Published Works and you can claim it as your own!* kicked that dog across the room, (having pity earlier I let him in and enter) told Jim, (that’s what I called him) he can stay the night, or long as the sun rises up and goes down unbidden, but, if I ever caught him plagiarizing, selling sonnets on the side, I would report him to the ASPCA and the Poet’s Union. The American Society for the Poets of Conscience Alive - might have his low hanging ***** cut off in retribution. he laughed out loud, rhyming funny, pontificating: *well mate, thanks for the soliloquy, me ***** long time gone, but what I know and what I’ve seen if tale-told you, and you were to listen, you would keep me around as fodder for your artistic soul. in return chappie, you need only provide me a rug, a fire, A/C for the languid summer eves, fodder for me body, and your boots, far removed from my hindquarters.* We spoke much thereafter, turns out he served his poet-masters in many ways, more than a mere footstool. his snoring keeps me awake some twenty years later. his love for country music makes me put him on nice days, outdoors, his headphones securely strapped round his double chins. ugh that pug. became my best becoming love, old friend, one of us will pass someday and an elegy composition, the other devotee will furnish sadness utterly becoming. so if a farting pug before your door you’ve  found, take him in, give him water, an amply supply please of Carrie, Trisha and Chaplin-Carpenter for his immortal soul, but beware, he might try to sell you some of my words, as your own.
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Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
Shakespeare’s Dog (Happy Birthday Will!)
Shakespeare’s Dog in the theater tonight, the notion of a poem-potion courtesy of Shakespeare's dog came unbidden So when home arrived, was unsurprised that this very peculiar pug was farting before my own front door. get lost, I announced got what I need from your boss, but before I could kick him across the floor, the pug spake thusly: *this dog knows the boot too well, it is parcel of this dog's life of no quality, but if you give me shelter tonite, I will provide, share some of Speare's un-Published Works and you can claim it as your own!* kicked that dog across the room, (having pity earlier I let him in and enter) told Jim, (that’s what I called him) he can stay the night, or long as the sun rises up and goes down unbidden, but, if I ever caught him plagiarizing, selling sonnets on the side, I would report him to the ASPCA and the Poet’s Union. The American Society for the Poets of Conscience Alive - might have his low hanging ***** cut off in retribution. he laughed out loud, rhyming funny, pontificating: *well mate, thanks for the soliloquy, me ***** long time gone, but what I know and what I’ve seen if tale-told you, and you were to listen, you would keep me around as fodder for your artistic soul. in return chappie, you need only provide me a rug, a fire, A/C for the languid summer eves, fodder for me body, and your boots, far removed from my hindquarters.* We spoke much thereafter, turns out he served his poet-masters in many ways, more than a mere footstool. his snoring keeps me awake some twenty years later. his love for country music makes me put him on nice days, outdoors, his headphones securely strapped round his double chins. ugh that pug. became my best becoming love, old friend, one of us will pass someday and an elegy composition, the other devotee will furnish sadness utterly becoming. so if a farting pug before your door you’ve  found, take him in, give him water, an amply supply please of Carrie, Trisha and Chaplin-Carpenter for his immortal soul, but beware, he might try to sell you some of my words, as your own.
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49
Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine; Refresh your recollection, And sit a moment, to define His means of self-protection. How truly fortified is he! Where is the beast his double In forethought of emergency And readiness for trouble? Recall his figure, and his shade-- How deftly planned and clearly For slithering through the dappled glade Unseen, or pretty nearly. Yet should an alien eye discern His presence in the woodland, How little has he left to learn Of self-defense! My good land! For he can run, as swift as sound, To where his goose may hang high-- Or ****** his head against the ground And tunnel half to Shanghai; Or he can climb the dizziest bough-- Unhesitant, mechanic-- And, resting, dash from off his brow The bitter beads of panic; Or should pursuers press him hot, One scarcely needs to mention His quick and cruel barbs, that got Shakespearean attention; Or driven to his final ditch, To his extremest thicket, He'll fight with claws and molars (which Is not considered cricket). How amply armored, he, to fend The fear of chase that haunts him! How well prepared our little friend!-- And who the devil wants him?
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2.8k
Parable For A Certain ******
In moments of raging to the hospital, the jolts from the road, the squeal of the tires, and the tripping of your feet only multiply your anxiety. Delicacy is suspended amply in the air, hanging daintily on the thread of life and death. Delicacy is the soft and inconsistent beeping from the cardiac monitor. It controls your thoughts; yet is only a shadow on your radar. It shares the rhythm of the pounding in your head, and the thumping in your chest. You strain to shut everything out, leaving only the shy quiver of breathe slithering out from their lax lips. Their lips tremor under the reign of some foreign enemy, and their eyes flutter from an unseen truth. It is the suffering you wish to unburden them from, the pain you would inflict upon yourself in return for both their lives intact. Delicacy is a light fragrance, a mixture of disinfectant and sweat. Is it the scent of creating a life, or the imminent end of it? Beads of perspiration stream down your face and sting your eyes. The sweet caress of silk treads faintly underneath your fingertips. You rub the back of her hand, clammy and fragile. Rubbing the skin, you forget who the comfort is more for while footsteps pierce the stillness in the air. A figure dawned in white appears before you. Their form blurs in and out of focus, their voice a toneless muddle seeping through your cloud of stupor. Delicacy is a whisper flashing goosebumps across your skin, "We can only save one of them." It is the realization that too much pressure, and two months premature, is a cocktail dyed with poison. She looks to you with eyes of understanding and acceptance. Delicacy is the collapsing of all you know. It is the berating of incoherent words tumbling from your lips for the pure sake of escaping. You're swiftly taken from the room, kicking and screaming to the hallway. The unsettling tick of the clock mocks your every fiber. You **** the void of silence with the tapping of your foot, taming yourself from barging your way into the room. With the screaming from the bed, the instinct of protection, the stiffening of your back, the nurse quickly ushers you back in. The soft and consistent rising of the baby's chest is surrounded with the light fragrance of life. The plush fibers of the yellow blanket tug on the skin of your fingertips. The fascination apparent in your eyes, look to her while wondering how this little body will have the biggest impact on your life. Delicacy is the soft whisper flashing goosebumps across your skin, "We made it."
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Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
Delicate Friction
In moments of raging to the hospital, the jolts from the road, the squeal of the tires, and the tripping of your feet only multiply your anxiety. Delicacy is suspended amply in the air, hanging daintily on the thread of life and death. Delicacy is the soft and inconsistent beeping from the cardiac monitor. It controls your thoughts; yet is only a shadow on your radar. It shares the rhythm of the pounding in your head, and the thumping in your chest. You strain to shut everything out, leaving only the shy quiver of breathe slithering out from their lax lips. Their lips tremor under the reign of some foreign enemy, and their eyes flutter from an unseen truth. It is the suffering you wish to unburden them from, the pain you would inflict upon yourself in return for both their lives intact. Delicacy is a light fragrance, a mixture of disinfectant and sweat. Is it the scent of creating a life, or the imminent end of it? Beads of perspiration stream down your face and sting your eyes. The sweet caress of silk treads faintly underneath your fingertips. You rub the back of her hand, clammy and fragile. Rubbing the skin, you forget who the comfort is more for while footsteps pierce the stillness in the air. A figure dawned in white appears before you. Their form blurs in and out of focus, their voice a toneless muddle seeping through your cloud of stupor. Delicacy is a whisper flashing goosebumps across your skin, "We can only save one of them." It is the realization that too much pressure, and two months premature, is a cocktail dyed with poison. She looks to you with eyes of understanding and acceptance. Delicacy is the collapsing of all you know. It is the berating of incoherent words tumbling from your lips for the pure sake of escaping. You're swiftly taken from the room, kicking and screaming to the hallway. The unsettling tick of the clock mocks your every fiber. You **** the void of silence with the tapping of your foot, taming yourself from barging your way into the room. With the screaming from the bed, the instinct of protection, the stiffening of your back, the nurse quickly ushers you back in. The soft and consistent rising of the baby's chest is surrounded with the light fragrance of life. The plush fibers of the yellow blanket tug on the skin of your fingertips. The fascination apparent in your eyes, look to her while wondering how this little body will have the biggest impact on your life. Delicacy is the soft whisper flashing goosebumps across your skin, "We made it."
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8
Sly, shy shadow, capturing attention, photons fail, within delicious dimension. Indicating ably, though quite indirectly, amply, firmly, softly, lovely, young fecundity
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Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
Ode to Cleavage
851 When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face— When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race When to his Covenant Needle The Sailor doubting turns— It will be amply early To ask what treason means.
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2k
When the Astronomer stops seeking
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench— A Power of Renowned Cold, The Climate of the Grave A Temperature just adequate So Anthracite, to live— For some—an Ampler Zero— A Frost more needle keen Is necessary, to reduce The Ethiop within. Others—extinguish easier— A Gnat’s minutest Fan Sufficient to obliterate A Tract of Citizen— Whose Peat lift—amply vivid— Ignores the solemn News That Popocatapel exists— Or Etna’s Scarlets, Choose—
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1.8k
More Life—went out—when He went
It rained on and on. The fire in the hearth Had long died out. Hunger grew, Frustration raged. Vultures swooped down to feed on flesh. Half willing, half resenting, Surrendered, rather subdued, Desires spilled over, Bristles pricking From ***** to ***** Thrusting and tearing Devouring in greedy gulp Waves surging past the log Passion spent, Hunger appeased, Purse strings loosened, Silver coins tinkled. Amply paid, Her wages of shame…… The toil not wasted! The reel of Time unwound itself, And the scenes, constantly replayed. ‘Exploring hands encounter(ed) no defense’. Each day closed in ****** h(r) ut, When the h(r) ut turned a **** She started to rot. Feeble she grew, Languid she became, Body thinned, Energy waned, Ailments plagued, And Immunity lost! Now, She lives an outcast. A wild flower wilted by the wind! A luscious fruit blighted by the worms!
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Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 12:28 PM UTC
Outcast
As a child I cried When denied Your creamy-white inside So fresh and benign You gave me addictive, bloodshot eyes Like a sugary sweet joyride I long for you by my side Comforting lone nights, amply supplied I could eat you poolside Or outside Inside or in a landslide, Hearthside or in a hayride, Formerly provided storewide Now you sit on the offside Nowhere I can find, Saddened am I, To see that Chauncey crocodile has finally dried, Along with hostess, and died.
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Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 1:47 AM UTC
Hostess
from the high balcony, when i view the cityscape is still under the spell of chill. early morning mist the happy daughters of winter, dance in an intoxicated mood, swirling, twisting and quickly changing mind, in a lively display of female grace, now running away to dance with romantic wind, meeting confidently his challenge. then the sun, red faced, impatient tries to force his way in, the female power of mist is now evident, his attempts didn't that much succeed, these lithe maiden won't stand his macho attitude, it's amply clear. Slighted sun awaits the mirth of mist to subdue, the moment they get tired.
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Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
winter morning spectacle
In my mind I see beauty, Priceless imaginations and fantasies, Still so many pass by, Never to have truly lived; A Spalsh of water, Dozens of droplets left To hang in suspension, Temporarily weightless; A hillside ablaze, tragic As it might be, as the tress A hundred feet tall fall, Yet life will renew one day; Two bodies lie together, One wrapped by the arms Of another, in silence, Motionless, in love; Standing on the shore, Waves thrashing about ankles, The sunset so still, Sleepy above the horizon; Summer rains Drench our clothes, As thunder and lightning Storm and rumble our hearts; Laying in the grass, Warm and dry and green, Watching from above, As clouds pass below; Lengthy moments, with Another, and you see Behind those eyes, The discorded truth; The capricious life, Led when one finds Adventure - finally, Air that gives breath; Trees in a forest, Shuddering in wind Prepared to die, To serve others always; The dance of a flame, Lit upon a candle, As if it was such a stage, Of respect and acclimation, The embrace of friends, Love, new and old, Kinship undying, Future unnerving; An infant child, Held in arms built of Love and other fine things, Spoken to in honest tongue; An evening in the yard, A ball tossed about, Suns set each time, Times long since past; The will to live, Truly a special gift, That which not all ascertain, Not granted to all alive; The symphony made up, From tiny noises does it emanate, Strong, resolute, with finesse Collectively, in cooperation; From atop the highest peaks, On mountain tops abroad, The world sprawled out In utterly perfect disarray; Passion for Love and Living, For oneself and for others, For the tradition and routine, For the surprise and serendipitous; Crystal clear waters, Amply temperate air, Sunlight broken intermittently, By green trees and foliage abound; The propensity to change, To mold, shape, to evolve, In fear out of the light, Found within everything.
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May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
Beauty - An Anthology of Thoughts
In my mind I see beauty, Priceless imaginations and fantasies, Still so many pass by, Never to have truly lived; A Spalsh of water, Dozens of droplets left To hang in suspension, Temporarily weightless; A hillside ablaze, tragic As it might be, as the tress A hundred feet tall fall, Yet life will renew one day; Two bodies lie together, One wrapped by the arms Of another, in silence, Motionless, in love; Standing on the shore, Waves thrashing about ankles, The sunset so still, Sleepy above the horizon; Summer rains Drench our clothes, As thunder and lightning Storm and rumble our hearts; Laying in the grass, Warm and dry and green, Watching from above, As clouds pass below; Lengthy moments, with Another, and you see Behind those eyes, The discorded truth; The capricious life, Led when one finds Adventure - finally, Air that gives breath; Trees in a forest, Shuddering in wind Prepared to die, To serve others always; The dance of a flame, Lit upon a candle, As if it was such a stage, Of respect and acclimation, The embrace of friends, Love, new and old, Kinship undying, Future unnerving; An infant child, Held in arms built of Love and other fine things, Spoken to in honest tongue; An evening in the yard, A ball tossed about, Suns set each time, Times long since past; The will to live, Truly a special gift, That which not all ascertain, Not granted to all alive; The symphony made up, From tiny noises does it emanate, Strong, resolute, with finesse Collectively, in cooperation; From atop the highest peaks, On mountain tops abroad, The world sprawled out In utterly perfect disarray; Passion for Love and Living, For oneself and for others, For the tradition and routine, For the surprise and serendipitous; Crystal clear waters, Amply temperate air, Sunlight broken intermittently, By green trees and foliage abound; The propensity to change, To mold, shape, to evolve, In fear out of the light, Found within everything.
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80
remember in my story how you wept on the monument your tears staining the feet of soldiers row men who killed amply and without judgment your eyes do that now rip throats out from beneath my fairy tales your hands are deeper than they used to be i think you’ve burnt a real levy this time the shores agree and mock my tone creeping like your hair brushed along my back im soothed by the patience of eyes tying me to a fever that begins below the skin have me for dinner and don’t look at me once just mouth words like pacifier and forget-me-not wishes like be the one please i beg for scraps from the table bits of meats ripped with your teeth glistening with your spit the devouring of my mind
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Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
Untitled
your arms-the thorns of my body so strategically placed; protecting my vulnerable frame your lips akin to petals; kiss tender 'n eager every breath's aura so congenial your support resembling stem to strengthen and meddle me straight, yet staying amply meek your faith is purely fervent and keeps you veraciously planted- just as strong roots your charming quirks protrude similar to leaves distributed throughout; nothing shy of perfect your bold personae is exclusive; a risqué hue of disposition- solely invaluable my darling rose
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Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
rose
Grind me to dust - Go on do it; I'm simply waiting for you to make the first move -Amply, your innate poignancy shatters my every statue and taboo; So that I'm left to blossom again Permeate me; Or eliminate me, Though I'd rather flourish with you than perish Break down my walls, Rip me apart; As we stand arm in arm while I do the same So place us in a mold, Lets blend together Mesh with me We could synthesize; Or divide It's only a matter of time, An eventuality before we'd reamalgamate anyway You're the math to my abstract; So should you calculate or speculate? - Or perpetuate while we vegetate? Would you, Could you conquer the inevitable? Could you, Would you ever endeavor? You are the order to my chaos We could burgeon in oblivion, though I'd rather balance in harmony It's black and white at the same time Like cognitive dissonance
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Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 7:37 AM UTC
Coalescence
**Songs of Zion  from the distant shore, They are pealing , sweetly pealing, Zion's sons are firstfruits unto God, In their mouth no murmuring. They are virgins, holy , undefiled, See them standing  - great high calling, In their trials they were sore oppressed, But were dauntless through His grace. From the heights of Zion they reign, All their loss has turned to gain, They shall see His face, they bear His  name, And sing a song unique, What a meeting over there, Oh, the glory they do share, And with Jesus they shall stand on Zion evermore. Heights of Zion is the pilgrim's goal, They are shining , brightly shining, Voices there like many waters sound, Breaking forth like thundering , They are servants wholly sanctified , In their counsel , God directing, They shall ever and for ever reign, This is Zion's  heritage. Holy Zion is the Father's choice, God is planning , greatly planning, City Crystal, richly garnished there, Perfect rest and harmony. Where the saints are truly magnified , Harps there strung show love prevading, In that land where love for ever reigns, All in perfect symphony. Christ on Zion is the corner stone, God is building , surely building, Holy temple with the bulwarks rare, Zion's work is far  reaching . See the Lord comes amply satisfied, For our Christ has great discerning , Since He has built all her structures fine, Great this Zion's mystery.**
0
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
ZION
*I confess to you I hardly confess to her.* Why I say this is I often deliberately miss To say the sorry-s I owe her For having found fault with her Only discovering after some hours It was me who was wrong all along What she did was amply right What she did was with farsight Her acts take care of only my needs My wants she always perfectly reads. A piece of the dairy white sweet in my lunchbox Soft silken milky treat When melts in my mouth I remember this morn I told her *Why you bring these ****** plain sweets And not those juicy colored scented treats Don’t put any of those in my lunchbox* Not caring her face’s strains of shocks! I have forgotten though she has remembered My utterings of emotion its every word *How I miss dear those plain white sweets Pure unencumbered most delightful treat.* I have forgotten she remembers My companion of all weathers She picks my choice she knows my mind Yet for her a sorry I hardly find. **Don’t you think tonight in her ears I should coo a sorry in unuttered whispers?**
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May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC
Not a love poem: a confession
Determination must be had to succeed We cannot live just like that casually Our mind must possess will-power amply We must not be prone to temptations Our goal must be carefully selected And every moment for it must be lived We must take steps to fulfill it wisely We must not ignore it out of disgust Skillfully by maneuvering toward mission We must take concrete action shrewdly Thousand ideas will be given by the World But, we must stick to our goal to achieve Enticing moments must be firmly tackled We must not fall a prey for fate's traps We must take judgements with real care Our full brilliance must be displayed fully In the absence of most sincere efforts How can we attain glory creating history? Never approach the goal with a weak mind Proceed to prove your mind's supremacy. Reluctant approach is a definite loser Firm decision to toil brings great victory Never hesitate, but ever be courageous Only bravery is the answer for solutions. mvvenkataraman
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Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
Courage Wins at Every Stage
The road is narrow The path is dark The ensuing sparrow This pilgrimage, we shall embark! The ferry set sailing In search of an ark Anubis, Osiris; hand in hand, hailing! You people that do sleep, hark Heart beats slowing, a few failing meeting the written destiny Shred by shred, bit by bit, haling a sense of ennui envelopes amply Vicious circle, round after round moments of delights, some agony what goes around, comes around Seems to be in perfect harmony 6/25/2015 * New Version
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Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
Perfect Harmony!*
tea-cream earth underoak lying drenched in sun gleam streams, a sky in between the green sheets laid upon and the beamyblues breezes blew past our post-modern monument, and I shuddered like the towers, as i was amply leafed. strong winds knocked branches loose, falling from seventy-four inches up in the air. a logjam tore a hole inside my artesian mouth. still, fresh spring water found a way out, taking a ride in a turnstile cycling through riffle and pool all the way to its end. clothes soaked, made holey, by rain no righteous men know; I tried my hand with a needle and thread still trying to forgive, a soft fabric to sow.
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Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 3:36 AM UTC
no admittance
I'll always wait for you in the hours before rest where sleep nips at my heels and exhaustion clouds my eyes but, unchangingly, you come near. I never see you appear, but you slip your fingers in the space between my elbow and waist, and you slide your hands from spine to navel, and grasp your own elbows with opposite hands. Your strong jaw rests amply in the soft crook of my neck, and your coarse ****** hair finds comfort nearest my flushed cheeks. I breath a sigh of relief. This is my home; this is where I truly find rest. And I wake up, and you're gone, like you have been for many years, and my lungs feel tight, and my back bare, and there I wait for you, endlessly, in these waiting hours.
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Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
Waiting Hours
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 86 BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem Oh Dear beloved! My intellectual debt towards you’ One can not amply repay. In any possible form of; Social wealth or eternal realm. Either in this social life, Or on any rare day of reckoning! To except willingly surrenders, To you as freed serf myself, In your devotional love! Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan. ©UT-BK 2019
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Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 6:19 AM UTC
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 86