"beautified" poems
Aara Priyanka Chopra Beige Net Saree. This bollywood wedding saree is beautified with resham thread embroidery on pallu portion and panels of the saree.Shimmer embroidered patch patti is placed at border of the saree add extra beauty to the saree. Blouse pattern shown in image is only for photo shoot purpose. Ara Priyanka Chopra Beige net Saree color of the product may differ from that shown on your computer screen. Aara Priyanka Chopra Beige Net Saree difference in color is mostly due to flash, monitor or camera settings. The images shown are only for you
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
Aara Priyanka Chopra Beige Net Saree. This bollywood wedding saree is beautified with resham thread embroidery on pallu portion and panels of the saree.Shimmer embroidered patch patti is placed at border of the saree add extra beauty to the saree. Blouse pattern shown in image is only for photo shoot purpose. Ara Priyanka Chopra Beige net Saree color of the product may differ from that shown on your computer screen. Aara Priyanka Chopra Beige Net Saree difference in color is mostly due to flash, monitor or camera settings. The images shown are only for reference.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
Alexander K OPICHO
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
from north in Kaduna of Okigbo to south in the Rhoben Island
of Mazizi Kunene and D M Zwelonke who sang the song of Shaka;
in Zulu Heroism that beautified our face in the armpit of Ezkia Mphalele,
the sons of Africa in the knighthood of poetry,chantery and incantations
you are hailed with with glory and dignity for your service to humanity
your service to literature and gods of poetry in the spirit of the song
that we chant in the spirit of love and peace the glory of hour heritage
is an eyesore to the lazy ; who though ill will can stop the flow of African river,
Sing our songs and chant our spirituals as you write our poems
open your poetic ***** for the world is a ******
in which the seed of African poetry will plummet and flower
to glory of man the essence of Godliness,
Let Soyinka and Achebe sing our songs without fear of home
As Okot P' Btek revamps from the ashes like a phoenix
to re-plant the bumpkin in the old homestead of Taban Lo Liyong
Who sang the cacotpic song in the dystopia of black diaspora
when he saw another ****** dead in the guest for Nocturnes of Senghor
who feared Marxist poetry and African songs which Aime Cesaire chanted
in the mayoralty of Paris.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
I went into this with
eyes and thighs
wide open.
I cannot sanitise my position
My legs astride
Your waist.
I cannot analyse our predicament
I sympathise truly
With her.
But, this affair started together
both to blame
no shame.
I'm beautified by your attention
Call it love
I'm mystified.
I only know I cannot
I will not
Give up.
I'm sorry that you're married
as am I
that's life.
Or is it oversimplified lust?
just never leave
I'd vaporise.
But, before we go back
to our partners
glide inside.
Again.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
Her soul is tainted in a dark mystifying mist.
While her body is lightened and beautified by a warm cooling mist
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 2:38 PM UTC
absent from my life,
but dancing forever in my mind.
preserved perfectly:
idealized and beautified,
immortal, god-like.
wanting to let go,
yet holding on too tight.
memories, exaggerated:
they haunt me,
notoriously unreliable.
close my eyes;
take me back in time…
before I was bloodied by his arrow.
Oct 17, 2021
Oct 17, 2021 at 11:38 PM UTC
As bronze may be much beautified
By lying in the dark damp soil,
So men who fade in dust of warfare fade
Fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.
Like pearls which noble women wear
And, tarnishing, awhile confide
Unto the old salt sea to feed,
Many return more lustrous than they were.
But what of them buried profound,
Buried where we can no more find.
Who ( )
Lie dark for ever under abysmal war?
2.5k
The distressed clenches his or her heart in agony,
Someone ripped it apart and left it for dead.
The distressed wipes a single tear from his or her face,
Hoping, Waiting, Wishing,
For the returned of the beloved.
This is ********
There is nothing to be beautified
Over the pain of losing your love.
It's ugly.
It's the reason for grief, insanity, hatred.
The glorification of heartbreak
Is what causes the heart to reach farther
For something that cannot be reached anymore.
Love is not pain,
Heartbreak is not beautiful.
Love is beautiful,
Heartbreak is pain.
Alas, the beautiful facade of heartbreak,
Is deceit.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
I plucked a shamrock for him,
Beautified with the glamour of the green,
Mystified with the aroma of the wild.
I am keeping it for him to give,
May love & luck shall be his,
With all the shamrock blessings.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 3:57 PM UTC
Have a look at this intricately fashioned globe
How it has been beautified with perfect contrast
Soothing green carpet and calm blue canopy
Compels you to admire its each and every lobe
Have you ever imagined it without these colours?
How it would appear with all its ink gone…
Dull, boring and blank is a portrait without paint
Life would surely lose all its vivid flavours
Have a look at the sky, brushed with black
How it has been studded with priceless jewels
Far beyond the reach of Kings are these colours
Dazzling for the artist is this silver round on black
Have you ever imagined it to be washed off?
How it would appear with all its glitter invisible
Surely no one would bother to look above
You and I love to live due to these colours
Have a look at whatever you swallow and chew
How it has been made mouth watering for you
The perfect blend of colours tempts you to eat
Nature has already garnished all that you need
Have you ever imagined all this to be colourless
How it would appear with its blank coat
Probably no one would relish this feast
Your sense of sight might seem to be useless
Have a look at the humble king of flowers
How it has been made a symbol of love
Those red chunks resting among green carvings
So inspiring is this beauty which nature showers
As I look towards the roof of this globe
The rays of the golden ball give me hope
Colours encourage me to move despite all obstacles
I owe my existence to these conspicuous colours
Written by: Fakiha Hassan Rizvi
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 5:57 AM UTC
Rose of a champion
Thought, in a beautified accord
Set to waiting hours, a needs complexion
Where we are, the tale of unity to its peaceful order...
Skip, argue or define
The truth, we removed by bounty of pouts...?
Sated avarice, and the curtness of kin caught in a notorious lie...
Welcome a shadow to breath, when a harrowed eye allowed...?
Is a requited girth, of when, any of a decency's curse?
Has found me, in a live and by chastity's purpose
Handsomer skills that agree, in no known terms...
I had the taste of pride, like a reality of sin, to accuse
Why...?
No man with a tradition of sincerity, is this island commit
Without the sigh of me, the irony to dwell and seek tight
The course of another ship of fortune, that has seldom to wit:
Look, an eye of poise, if not intellects poison...
Made manifest by the only few, of bared conscience
That has us for curiosity's fool, but you, for another hero to loan
A flower of understated chaste; a victim of letters of prescience?
Tall tales of nothing more than a drunk hysteria?
Here is your mind, in my way for one more timidity...
Think and details of weal, we will know until votes ***** drama
To a reaching hour, no one above another, like acts of humanity...
Sep 4, 2022
Sep 4, 2022 at 3:17 PM UTC
Some people are of God,
The thinning of their sole, torn shoes and worn clothes tell the tale only hearts of God hear. How blessed, for their treasure lies within, no fear of loss, no fear of pain because the glacier of faith they carry within is too magnificent to be beautified, yet too fearsome to let any fear linger around the edges.
Everyone of us is a keeper of that glacier. It's only, that the burns sometimes melt the forted edges of iceberg of faith. But the keeper knows exactly when it happens, and when it can happen. And do we not sometimes melt and do we not always gather our blistering crystals, do we not bear the burns on our palms and yet we stand strongest after the burning waves of fate pass on? It melts, it smoothes, it shapes and after all the carvings in the keeper's castle, makes him even more majestic.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
You’re the next Jesus Christ,
Waiting to be crucified,
Among your flock of sheep.
Blue eyes ready to slice,
I, your prophet beautified,
Heresy to stab deep.
Let’s gather around you,
To magnify your glory,
Nails to skin under glass.
Raindrops rising from dew,
Superficial & weary,
Ready the blinding mass.
Hosanna of the high,
Dare you me to deny…
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 8:58 PM UTC
The footprint of this place
is a freshly razored face.
Mother Earth’s been ‘beautified.’
trees, grass, roots, shrubs,
stubble shaved from the chin,
neck and face smooth.
Underneath this house.
The whiskers have been shaved
she’s dolled up
But in gruff’s stead
there’s a wart on her face
A fossilized, mortared blackhead.
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 3:11 PM UTC
Silence is needed .
Silence is a massive part of your brainstorming session .
Let it be your studies , your workspace , your next project session or about your love .
And by love I didn't mean it to be a human being only .
Love is a strong possession , which can be about your newly bought Fountain pen or can be about your new social innovation .
But silence is needed , for making you stronger and your presence to be valuable .
Silence should be there as pure bliss , to give you a thought of match making .
Do you remember , how much you inhaled with silence and those breezy nights ?
Just cherish once about them and think where you were before some days and where are you now ; standing all alone and strong challenging all the facets of truth and society .
Yes , silence is needed .
Chaos can't always bring you to the path where you desired to end up with .
Silence doesn't make you socially introvert . It gives you the space for differentiating between you and what you will be .
Ask one poet or a writer or any person who loves to think at the end of the day , 'what is silence for them ? How much does it matter to them?'
Then come back to me and say again .... " I hate silence."
Silence is subjective . It is needed , but not always . And that also doesn't signify chaos should occupy the space .
Silence is needed to make space in those beautified chaotic nature .
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
You are so beautiful Ma Sha Allah Allahouma Barik.
Yes! I'm talking about you!
Imagine someone putting you together, piece by piece.
Every detail, every inch, every atom that makes you YOU was put together with utmost wisdom. His wisdom.
He swt wants you to look the way you actually look; amazing.
He wants you to have that skin color and texture. He wants you to have those beautiful eyes, even if you can't see through them. He wants you to have that beautiful nose, lashes, eyebrows, arms, legs, hands, feet and so on. Even if certain parts do not work properly, even if you do not fit into the beauty standards of today's world. And even if people start calling you names.
Remember, He named you first.
He swt named you with utmost wisdom, care and love.
Don't lose that name. Please, don't lose the way He created you just to fit into a beautified lie..
Love, I want you to understand that there is wisdom in every inch of your body; His wisdom. Meaning you're constantly carrying His wisdom around. That way you're constantly reminded of your name, of who you truly are;
A servant of Allah swt, crowned with the beauty of His wisdom
🤍
Apr 18, 2022
Apr 18, 2022 at 10:16 AM UTC
the backyard lawn freshly cut
provides vivid perfected image of summer
half in shadow of the rubber tree
half in unyielding sunlight
i feel at peace drinking this scene in
i feel the strength of possible futures
i feel the beautified past
summer my old friend
summer my home
barefoot reluctance in the shallow pool
splash her sunning
she gives mock angers and throws a grape at me
this grape of wrath falls to sandy ground
to lay sweating in the sun
forgotten fruits of our laughter's and joys
seeds for tomorrows we will always dream of
and dreams planted in stealth of night
growing to smiles we share today
summer our silent companion
summer our dear home
her voice as she talks is echoed by birdsong
she blends into the days beauty
she is the days beauty
i kiss her while she talks on the phone
she shoos me away
then grabs me and pulls me back in again
and bites my lip tenderly
summer my friend
summer my home
laughter and joys can be seen
in the fluttering's of birds
in the plane climbing into clouds high above
in the insect crawling with intents to the
spent remains of my breakfast
summer is full of life
summer is my home
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
he’s interested in disasters,
the kind of catastrophes that the media has a field day with,
the kind of accidental atrocities that are awe-inspiring in their horrid glory,
the kind of things that have self destructed spectacularly – so much so that the remaining debris becomes a masterpiece on the ocean floor, a memorial for beautified trauma.
and I guess that’s why he’s interested in me.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
My blood runs red in my blue veins
I feel just as you do, exactly the same
Cut me open and see inside
That which is in me is beautified
So as with you, our hearts are all true
Irrespective of the color that our skin exudes
If you were to hurt me would I not cry ?
Asking you forgiveness, the reason why
Just as you would if you were to die
Be judged by the same man in the sky
Do we not love and fear?
Hope and dream for all things?
That this life would be gentle and kind
That we might live and learn unconfined
We are born and we die in the exact same way
Are similarities not enough to keep a color war at bay?
Skin, hair, money, status and power
Are these the things we fight for that will slowly devour us?
I search for a world where this will no longer matter
That for this reason no more blood shall splatter
When the color of my skin will not make me less of a person
But rather a sister to love and trust in
I want this world to see through the my eyes
See what it means to truly accept and thrive
What we could be if only we stopped fighting
It would be love and life uniting.
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 4:30 AM UTC
When the birds of spring sang with joy
To hail the blowing breeze pampering the face rapidly with moisturizing coy
When rays of the shine stand very kind to make the life neither hot nor too cold
Life rushes through the mobility of less anxiety or creating abundant tumult
Shining novelty on juvenile tress’ robe bestow jubilee to those hurry to work
In confronting the bundle you expect to parole
Life is so lovely what are you feeling for?
- “ seems… GARLIC…?”
The most beautified Criollo … ladies of shadow…listen to spring and smooth song of returning swallows
- “ sounds GARLIC..?”
Sender of magic rockets to Apollo… ladies of shallow… smell of plant mingled with heavenly blossom of sharp blue, it is a time to define the final intentions supposed to follow…
- “ feels GARLIC…?”
Drowsy, numb, with mouths open, shoulders down like zombies out of tomb… who are you? mighty dancers with delicate willow with strong sense of itching on our marrow
- “…ladies of GARLIC…”
Nobody comes, nobody goes, life is so hollow, what it supposed to be full of energy …you You talk a lot…just go!
smell strange not from corpses but from walls, earth, and ceiling… what is it?
- “….life is …GARLIC…”
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 5:30 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My heart has gone out for all families on the street
That came out of the erstwhile street boys and girls
Kudos to your creativity as you make life from nothing
Blessed bye your bravado and sense of oblivion
With which you have held the riches of the world
In which effortlessly swim the powers that be,
Beautified be a street family in the all quarters of the world
Wherever you are kindly be ennobled
Whether in India or Chicago of Americas,
Be it Nairobi, Lagos or Jo’burg the infernos of urchinery
Good times and chances befall you children of the street.
Great beauty with you is condemnation of the tribe
In Africa where ethnicity is the bricks of tribal mall
Your names are conditional but not tribal connotation
They sing songs of exclusion but not chauvinism of ethnicity
I was in Kenya at the city of Eldoret, I visited your platoon
In the suburb of Langas, I derided not in the glory of your nomenclature;
Some of you festooned in the street emperor, as other wallow in mauverick titles
Like; Cop-puncher, weed-cooler, ****** breaker, top sniffer, hotel sentry
And many other accoladic names as you feasted me on your virtuosity.
Royal is your blood as you bivouac in the blizzards
The blood in your vein came from the state panjandrum
During the libidinous hour in the wee of the night
The teats you suckled were of your undergraduate mothers
In the high powered Universities of bourgeoisie education
Never regret in your ego for great is your genetics
It was solely misplaced priorities of your vulnerable mothers
That had you dumped on the street garbage in the oblivion of society
But great you are because 10% you hitherto make
Of the ostentations African population that is whoopingly a billion!
Time is coming for your final say, bivouac wherever you are
For your day is very soon.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
UNNOTICED
The first time i saw you
I couldn’t get my eyes off you
You smiled at everyone in that room but me
I guess your smile was what caught my eye
Was it the way you walked
Maybe it was the way you talked
I remember you sounded like the whispers of angels
I was heading home that day smiling like riches kissed me
Too shy to explain the reason why
My friends see me as tough
As the one who doesn’t fall in love
But that is the biggest lie i live with
You were strangely too beautiful to forget
Your face as smooth as polished marbles
So i painted imaginations of us
I struggled to understand why i felt this way
I reached back in time wishing i told you how i felt
But i wasn’t so sure that you would feel the same way
I came back every time i had a chance
To behold your sun bright smile
To see the soft freshness of your skin
I wished your gentle eyes would fall upon mine
I stalked you without you knowing
From a distance i loved you for you
In my dreams i constantly see you
In my own fantasies i took you on uncountable dates
I pinned pictures of you in my bedroom
I knew i loved you better than the one you love
I made myself to believe that you are mine
You are a human adorned in splendor
The honey that sweetened my life without knowing
Days turned into weeks and so it continued
I was comfortable with loving you from a distance
Why? because i was too scared!
Too scared that you would say NO
Too scared that i would mess things up and lose you forever
I know you might call me a coward
But would you blame me?
Would you blame me for being scared to lose you?
You were mine and i wasn’t yours
Yea truly most times it makes me really sad
Without you knowing you melted a heart as cold as ice
Without you knowing you made me fall in love
Without you knowing you brought sunshine to my life
Without you knowing your voice became what disarms my demons
Without you knowing i smile in my loneliness
Without you knowing you are the love of my life
In your world i am but a foreigner
In my world you are everything
The stars that beautified my planet
The sweet violin constantly repeating in my head
You have become the commanding officer of my happiness
Yet in your world i am still the UNNOTICED.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
He shouted
the music booming
smoke like tendrils around her face
tiny tremors marching beneath,
the same ones that led him to this place,
the ones that pointed to Her,
Her,
always Her.
Her,
the one beside the bar
Her,
the blue eyed specter with leather boots
Her,
the final note in the euphony known as Saturday night
She shouted back
whites of eyes glowing against the black light,
his faint neon smile revealed,
tiny tremors pushing forward,
the same ones that brought her there,
the ones that brought him,
Him,
always Him.
Him,
the one muted by the music
Him,
the dark haired calamity with red adidas
Him,
the only one to hear the cacophony of night
They shouted
led by the echoes inside
into the street
tiny tremors beautified by the fresh air
the same ones that vibrate beneath
the ones that marched
and pushed
and gazed through the window
the ones that lead always to her
the ones that always brings them close
Tiny tremors engulfing them
Them,
always Them.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My heart has gone out for all families on the street
That came out of the erstwhile street boys and girls
Kudos to your creativity as you make life from nothing
Blessed bye your bravado and sense of oblivion
With which you have held the riches of the world
In which effortlessly swim the powers that be,
Beautified be a street family in the all quarters of the world
Wherever you are kindly be ennobled
Whether in India or Chicago of Americas,
Be it Nairobi, Lagos or Jo’burg the infernos of urchinery
Good times and chances befall you children of the street.
Great beauty with you is condemnation of the tribe
In Africa where ethnicity is the bricks of tribal mall
Your names are conditional but not tribal connotation
They sing songs of exclusion but not chauvinism of ethnicity
I was in Kenya at the city of Eldoret, I visited your platoon
In the suburb of Langas, I derided not in the glory of your nomenclature;
Some of you festooned in the street emperor, as other wallow in mauverick titles
Like; Cop-puncher, weed-cooler, ****** breaker, top sniffer, hotel sentry
And many other accoladic names as you feasted me on your virtuosity.
Royal is your blood as you bivouac in the blizzards
The blood in your vein came from the state panjandrum
During the libidinous hour in the wee of the night
The teats you suckled were of your undergraduate mothers
In the high powered Universities of bourgeoisie education
Never regret in your ego for great is your genetics
It was solely misplaced priorities of your vulnerable mothers
That had you dumped on the street garbage in the oblivion of society
But great you are because 10% you hitherto make
Of the ostentations African population that is whoopingly a billion!
Time is coming for your final say, bivouac wherever you are
For your day is very soon.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
am a butterfly
Only that I don't fly
I undergo metamorphosis
Under constant change and transformation
I grow day in day out
I was an egg
Then a boy,
Crawling like a caterpillar
I turned a butterfly
And beautified with lines
And phrases of poetry
I am a butterfly that can't fly.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC