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Kendall Mallon Jul 2013
Book One


Prelude:

As Romans before them, they built the city upward—
layer ‘pon layer as the polar caps receded
layer by layer—preserving what they could, if someday
the waters may recede back into the former polar
ice caps; restoring the long inundated coastlines.


Home:

A man sat upon a tall pub stool stroking
his ginger beard while grasping a pint loosely
in his other hand. An elderly gent stood
next to him. The older gentleman noticed
that the ginger bearded man’s pint sat almost
quite near the bottom of its tulip glass.

A woman with eyes of amber and hair
as chestnut strolled through a vineyard amongst
the ripening grapes full of juice to soon
become wine. She clutched a notebook—behind (10)
thick black covers lay ideas and sketches
to bring the world to a more natural
state—balancing the wonders and the merits
of technology apace with the allure ‘n’
sanctity borne to the natural world.

When the ginger bearded man finished the
final drops of his stout, another appeared
heretofore him—courtesy owed to the elder
gentleman. “Notice dat ye got d’ mark
o’ a man accustom amid the seas,” (20)
he inferred; gesturing the black and blue
compass rose inscribed inside a ship’s wheel,
imbedded into the back of the ginger
bearded man’s weathered right hand.
                 “I have crewed
and skippered a many fine vessel, but I
am renouncing my life at sea—one final
voyage I have left inside of me:
one single terminal Irish-Atlantic
voyage t’ward home.” (30)
“Aye d’ sea can beh cold
‘nd harsh, but she enchants me heart. Ta where
are ye headed fer d’ place ye call home,
d’ere sonny boy?”
     “’tis not simply a where,
‘tis a who. Certain events have led me
to be separate from my wife. For five
eternal years I have been traveling—
waiting to be in her embrace. The force
of the Sea, she, is a cruel one. For (40)
it seams: at every tack or gybe the farther
off I am thrown from my homeward direction
to stranger and stranger lands… I have gone
to the graveyard of hell and the pearly gates
of (the so called) heaven; I have engaged
in foolhardy deals—made bets only a
gambling addict would place. All to just be
with Zara. I am homesick—Zara is my
home—it doesn’t matter where (physically)
we are located, my home is with Zara. I (50)
was advised to draw nigh the clove of Cork
and wait; wait for a man, but I was barely
given a clue as to who this man is,
only I must return him this:” the ginger
bearded man held out a dull silver pocket watch
with a frigate cut into the front cover
and two roses sharing a single stem
swirling upon themselves cut into
the back.
   “Can it be? ‘Tis meh watch dat meh (60)
fat’er gave t’ meh right before he died…
I lost it at sea many a year ago.
It left meh heartbroken—fer it was meh only
lasting mem’ry of him… Come to t’ink I
was told by a beggar in the street—I
do not remember how long ago—dat
I would happen across a man wit’ somet’ing
dear t’ meh, and I’d accomp’ny dis man
on a journey, and dis man would have upon
‘im d’ mark of a true sailor…” (70)
    “Dear elder man,
my name is Abraham; the mark you see
represents the control that I have on my
direction—thought it appears the Sea retains
some ascendancy… Yet now, it appears,
the Sea is upholding her bargain—though
a bit late... Do you, by chance, own a vessel
that can fair to Colorado?—all across
this mist’d island no skipper ‘ll uptake
my plea; they fear the sharp wrath of the Sea (80)
or (if they have no fear) simply claim my home
‘is not on their routes…’ i’tis a line I’ve
heard too often. I would’ve purchased a vessel,
but the Sea, she, has deprived me completely
of my identity and equity.”

Zara, with her rich chestnut hair sat upon
a fountain in a piazza—her half empty
heart longing to savor the hallow presence
of Abraham, and stroke his ginger beard…
Everyday she would look out at the sea (90)
whence he left…
     All encouraged her to: “forgo
further pursuit”; “he is likely deceased
by now”—his vessel (what left) scuttled amidst
the rocks of Cape Horn, yet Zara could feel
deep-seated inside her soul he is alive;
Alive (somewhere) fighting to return home.
Never would Zara leave; never would she
abandon post; she made that promise five
years ago as Abraham, ‘n’ his crew,
set out on their final voyage; and she (100)
would be ****** ere she broke her promise—a promise
of the heart—a promise of love. Abraham
said: “You are my lighthouse; your love, it, will guide
me home—keep me from danger—as long as you
remain my lighthouse, I’ll forever be
set to return home—return home to you.”

Out from Crosshaven did the old man take
steadfast Abraham en route to his home.
Grey Irish skies turned blue as they made their
way out on the Irish Sea, southwest, toward (110)
the southern end of the Appalachian Island.
The gentle biting spray of the waves breaking
over the bow and beam moistened the ginger
bearded face of Abraham; his tattooed
hands grasped the helm—his resolute stare kept him
and the old man acutely on course.
A shame,
it struck the old man, this would be the final
voyage of Abraham… he: the best crew
that the old man had ever came across; (120)
uncertain if simply the character
of Abraham or his pers’nal desire
to return home in the wake of five long
salty-cold years—a vassal to the Sea
and her changing whim. Never had the old
man seen his ship sail as fast as he did when
Abraham accorded its deck—each sail
set without flaw: easing and trimming sheets
fractions of an inch—purely to obtain
the slightest gain in speed; the display warmed (130)
the heart of the old man.
        And thus the elder
gent mused as he lightly puffed on his pipe
while sitting on the stern pulpit regarding
at Abraham’s passion to return home
(as he calls her):—maybe dis is d’ reason
d’ Sea has fought so hard, and lied, t’ keep
Abraham from returning home… Could not
bear t’ lose such fine a sailor from her
expanses—she is known t’ be quite a jealous (140)
mistress…
      But for all Abraham’s will and passion,
the old man insisted for the fellow
to rest; otherwise lack of sleep would cause
the REM fiddler to reap his debt—replace
clarity of mind with opacity.
Reluctantly stalwart Abraham gave
in and retire below deck—yet the old
man doubted the amount of rest that he
acquired in those moments out of his sight. (150)

For the days, then weeks, in the wake of their
departure from the port-island Crosshaven,
the seas were calm as open water can:
gentle azure rolling swells oscillated
and helped impel the vessel forward. The southern
craggy cape of the Appalachian
Island pierced the horizon. Like a threshold
it stood for Abraham—a major landmark;
the closest to home he had been in five
salty long years—his limbo was beginning                               (160)
to fade, his heart slowly—for the first time since
he left port in eastern Colorado—
started to feel replete again. The Great
Plains Sea—his final sea—he would not miss
the gleam of his lighthouse stalwart on shore.




Book Two

Oracle:**

Upon a beach, Abraham found himself alone—gasping
in gulps of moist air like that of a new born baby first (10)
experiencing the breathe of life; he felt as if he
would never become dry again… the salt burning his skin
as it crusted over when the water evap’rated
into the air; Abraham took the first night to rest, the
next day he set to make shelter and wait for a rescue
crew; out he stared at the crashing waves hoping for a plane
or faint form of a ship upon the horizon…days and
nights spun into an alternating display of day then
night: light then dark—light, dark, light, dark, grey, grey, grey…

Abraham (20)
gave up marking the days—realized the searches are done—
given up after looking in the wrong places (even
he did not know where he was…) the cold waves and currents took
him to a safe shore away from his ship and crew, in a
limp unconscious float…
From the trees, and what he could find on
the small  island, Abraham occupied himself with the
task of building a catamaran to rid himself of
the grey-waiting.
Out he cast his meager vessel into (30)
the battering surf; waves broke over his bows and centre
platform—each foot forward, the waves threatened to push him back
twofold… Abraham struck-beat the water with the oars he
fashioned; rising and falling with the energy of the
waves; Abraham stole brief looks back with hopes of a van’shing
shoreline—coast refused to vanish… his drenched arms grew tired;
yet he pushed on knowing he would soon be out passed the
breaking waves; then could relax and hoist sail; yet the waves grew
taller—broke with greater power… Abraham struck-beat the
water with his oars—anger welled—leading to splashes of (40)
ivory sea-froth instead of the desired progress
forward; eventually, his arms fell limp beyond the
force of will… waves tumbled him back to shore as he did the
first night upon the island…
Dejected Abraham lay
in the surf that night—the gentle ebb of the sea added
to insult, but hid the tears formed in the corner of his eyes—
salt water to salt water… the next day Abraham took
inventory of damage: the mast snapped in multiple
places, the rudders askew—the hulls and centre structure (50)
remained intact; the oars lost (or at least Abraham cared
not to search); over the next weeks he set to improve
the design and efficiency of his vessel—the first
had been hurried and that of a man desperate to leave;
the bare minimum that would suffice—he set to create
a vessel to ensure his departure from the des’late
accrue of sand and vegetation; Abraham laboured
to strengthen his body—pushing his arms further passed the
point his mind believed they could go—consuming the hearty,
protein-rich, mollusks, and small shellfish he could find inside (60)
tide pools or shallows—if lucky, larger fish that dared the
nearby reefs.
Patiently, Abraham observed the tides and
breaking water; he wanted to determine the correct
time to set off to ensure success—when the waves would not
toss him back to the beach; the day: a calm clear day—only
within few metres of soft beach did there exist any
breaking waves, and those that broke were barely a metre high;
loading provisions upon the vessel, Abraham bid
farewell to the island (out of wont for the sustenance (70)
it gave not for nostalgia) grasping his oars, he set forth
to find open sea—where the waves do not break and set you
gingerly on foreign shore(s); Abraham paddled passed the
first few breaking waves, his heart pounding with hope—he stifled
the thoughts (celebrate when the island is but a subtle
blue curve upon the horizon); as the island began
to shrink in his vision, the sky to his back grew darker…
the waves started to swell—moguls grew to hills—Abraham
stroked up and rode down; the cursèd Island refused to shrink…
if not begin to grow wider… stroke by stroke Abraham (80)
grew frustrated—stroke by stroke frustration advanced into
anger—stroke by stroke anger augmented into fiery
beating of the water!—Abraham struck and struck at the
Sea—eyes closed—white knuckles—trashing!—unsure which direction
he paddled…sky pitch-black, wind blowing on-shore Abraham
bellowed out to the Sea in inarticulate roars of:
hatefrustrationpitydesperationheartache!
Towards
Abraham’s in-linguistic roar, the sky let out a crack
of authority! a wave swept the flailing Abraham (90)
into the ocean—cool water only heated the rage
in Abraham’s mind—his half empty heart only wanted:
to sail home, become whole  again—sit under and olive
tree and stroke the chestnut hair of Zara as she drifted
off to sleep on his chest while he would whisper sweet verses
into her ear… Abraham’s rage, beyond reason, forgot
the boat and all clarity, he tried to swim away from
the cursèd island—scrambling up waves only to tumble
back with their breaking peaks—salt, the only taste in his mouth;
churning his stomach to *****; his kidney’s praying he (100)
would  not swallow anymore… his gasps stifled any curse
Abraham’s head wished to expel onto the Sea—yet she
swore she heard one final curse escape his lips! at that the
Sea tossed Abraham (head first) into his ghost-helmed vessel—
all went dark for hostile Abraham…

Contemplating back
at his rage—knowing the barbarian it makes of him,
Abraham peered into the band inscribed into his
ring-finger and saw the knot tying him to Zara—shame
at his arrogant-uncontrolled-fury sent Abraham (110)
into a meditative exile inside of his mind
(within the exile of the island…) in his mental
exile Abraham spun into deeper despair at his
two failures—even more at the prospect of failing the
vow he professed onto Zara: return home—home from this
final voyage, grow old with her on solid ground, never
to die apart and cause the pain of losing a loved one
without the closure of truly knowing the death is real,
to die by her side white, white with the purity of age…
Abraham’s destitution turned inward—his fury, the (120)
lack of control, the demon he becomes when rage surges
through his muscles; equiping him with untamed strength without
direction or self-possession—so much potential, yet
no productive way to use it… Abraham’s half-full-heart
burned, ached with passion and anguish—all desire
focused on home, his return, but the mind’s despondency
and insistent ‘what-ifs’ kept poor Abraham prostrate in
his mental cave—all his wishing for anger and vi’lence
to force his will, it did more to retain him upon the
cursèd island than bring his heart closer to fulfillment: (130)
his long awaited home…
Out of his mental exile did
Abraham’s irises dilate and contract with blinding
illumination—self-pity is not what make things happen—
it would only serve to anger Zara—nothing other
than I can be to blame for my continued absence; I
am stronger than that!—looking at the tattoo in his hand,
he remembered the reasons for the perennial brand—
the eight-spoke ship’s helm: the eight-fold-path—I must cut off my
desire for anger to be the solution and focus (140)
on the one path to Zara—the mind can push the body
further than the body believes is possible—the star:
the compass to guide me via celestial bodies
to where my heart can see the guiding beam of my lighthouse!
This is the Final Voyage epic thus far. I am converting Home into blank verse and it is taking longer than I thought to do; which is why that part is incomplete here. I also added line numbers. I changed The names as well.
Geetanjali dogra May 2020
Maa teri meri yadein boht achi thi
Tu jo bhi kehti thi boht sachi thi,

Yaad hai mujhe aaj bhi wo pal maa
Bimaar mai hoti thi taklif tujhe hua karti thi,

Tu kabhi na bhuli mere khane ka samey maa...
Qki maa tu hi toh khane ki plate mere aggey piche ghumaya karti thi,

Wo teri aloo, pyaz wali khaniya maa
Jisko sunn k sach mai maan liya karti thi,

Kya khub sundarta thi tere bhole se chehre pay maa...
Jo meri saheliya bhi gunn tera hi gaya karti thi,
Maa ...qki teri meri yadein boht achi thi
Tu jo bhi kehti thi boht sachi thi,

Jab pehli baar un chote se hathon se chai bnayi thi maine
Yaad hai , tu sab rishtedaro mai yahi gaya karti thi,

Har baat k liye zidd bht ki Maine tujhse
Par aakhir mai meri khushi k liye haa tu hi bharrti thi,

Bht ladai ki sabne mere liye tujhse maa
Lekin har pal sath khadi tu hi mila karti thi,

Maa teri meri yadein boht achi thi
Tu jo bhi kehti thi boht sachi thi,

Bht si horror movies bhi dekhi tere sath maa aur tu kahani ka pehlu phele hi bta diya karti thi,

Bht hase bhi sath mai roye bhi sath mai
Aaj jab dekhti hu toh ansu apne aap nikal k beh jate hai,
Bachpana samjho ya nadaniya samjho
Par tere hi aggey hua karti thi,

Tu Maa thi ya meri dost thi
Qki tu bhi toh bacho jaise harketin kiya karti thi,

Aaj bhi wahi tera chehra dikhta hai mujhe maa , teri wahi awaaz sunayi deti hai,
Lekin bevas tu hai ya mai hu aisa mnn mera kehta hai maa,

Qki maa teri meri yadein bht achi thi
Sach mai Tu jo bhi kehti thi bht sachi thi.

Wapas se wahi samhe jeena chahti hu tere sath maa..
Par sochti hu tu yaha ayegi ya mai waha au maa,

Sach Drr lagta hai duniya se maa ab
Jee paungi ya tut jaungi mai ab,

Kitni bholi thi maa tu humesha se
Qki jhuti ya sachi sab maan liya karti thi,

Yaad hai mujhe aaj bhi jab scooty meri band hoti thi
Toh kick tu hi mara karti thi,

Wah kya paranthe aur rajma banati thi maa tu
Jo saheliya hi sabse phele khaya karti thi,

Itni sachi aur achi maa thi tu
Warna mujh jaise nalayak bache ko tu hi sambhala karti thi,

Maa dubara se wo maa sabd tere aggey tujhe bolna chahti hu fir se
Kya tu dubara janam legi milne k liye mujhse,

Ek baar toh ake gale lga le maa mujhko
Fir se wahi pyara bacha bnke dikhaungi tujhko,

Yaad hai maa mumma's lil girl ka tattoo maine bnwaya tha tere liye
Lekin jab ghar pauchi toh dekhte hi dil baith gya tha mere liye
Maa tu sda zinda rahegi dil mai mere
Qki Sach keh rahi hu mera wajood hi hai tere liye,

Maa bharosa kar mera
bharosa nahi todungi tera
Ab aa hi jana maa bacha hu tera.
Aryan Sam Jun 2018
Ni zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Sathon russ gayi ae peed marjaani
Zakhman nu fer chhil jaa
Beh ja ankhiyan'ch ban ke paani
Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni

Vekh mere bul'chandre
Fer hansde ne dard bhula ke
Haaseya naal pawe aadiyan
Dil honkeya ton ankh ji bacha ke haaye
Fer mere muhre khad jaa
Taza hoje koyi yaad ni purani

Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Sathon russ gayi ae peed marjaani
Zakhman nu fer chhil jaa
Peh ja ankhiyan'ch ban ke paani
Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni

Langh ja ni rooh vich di
Agg fer ni lahu nu lag jaave
Hathaan utte kar totka
Meri zindagi di leek mitt jave haaye

Ankhiyan'ch neend radke
Ankhiyan'ch neend radke
Langhe chees koyi haddan de thaa ni

Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Saathon russ gayi ae peed marjaani
Zakhman nu fer chhil jaa
Peh ja ankhiyan'ch ban ke paani
Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Shofi Ahmed May 2021
Zindagi ki piyala itna borha nahi hai
ki uski andor me lehron ki mujhme
nodia beh sakta hai.
Likhen uski andorme ek bindu
pani bi nahi itna chota
ki isme sagor bon nahi sakta.

Koi yaro achanok milta hai to bolta
kitna chota hai ye donia
Ye mitti andorme bi kya borha?
Khodo to isme kobor bonta hai
Liken agor Mawla chahe to ye
mitti se bi Adam bon sakta hai.

Somundor to somundar
shabnam (dew) bi Subhan Allah!
Aaj kaha aj reh ta hai kal ** jata
Kal ko kisi ko kiya pa tha
Thalu aftab (sunrise) ki canvusme
Ankhi dal kor job sham dol jata hai
Kisi Ko zulf ke saye me bemalum
Kitne ankhi khu ja ta hai
Kis andaar goliche chad aa ta hai
Kiso ki kiya pa tha hai
Liken mera bhi kitna khush naseeb hai
Khali hate aakor bi itni kimti herat angaiz
(amazing) majlish me ek hishya bhi mila.
Mawla karega keyse Aap ka shukrana
Alhamdulillah kiyanat ki Rab taarif Aap ka, Aap ka!
A thought on my birthday perhaps applies to everyone.
THE ALLAN FAMILY STORY, BRIAN WANTS TO BE AN ADULT, BUT HE;S TOO YOUNG



YOU SEE BRIAN ALLAN SINCE HE MOVED TO CANBERRA, HE HAS BEEN GETTING

VOICES IN HIS HEAD, OF HIS FAMILY AND OUTSIDERS, TREATING HIM LIKR A LITTLE

YOUNG DUDE, BUT BRIAN WAS FRUSTRATED, CAUSE, HE LIKED THE ADULTS BETTER

YOU SEE BRIAN WAS A COOL KID, BUT HIS VOICES WERE BOTHERING HIM, WHEN BRIAN

SAID I AM A MAN, HIS BROTHER WOULD SAY, SHUT UP, BABY, THEN ANOTHER VOICE SAYS

FROM AN OUTSIDER, SAYING, MEN BULLY, BRIAN, AND YOUR NO BULLY, BE LIKE USES WITH

THE YOUNG DUDES, AND BRIAN WAS UPSET, AND SAID, NO I AM AN ADULT, THERE IS NOTHING

WRONG WITH BEING AN ADULT, I WAS A COOL KID, YOU SEE, I WANTED TO BE ALLOWED TO RELAX

BUT BECAUSE MY BROTHER WAS ONLY 2 YEARS YOUNGER, HE FORCED ME TO JOIN HIM

WHICH I DIDN’T MIND, CAUSE AS I SAID, I WAS A COOL KID, YOU SEE WE PLAYED YARD CRICKET

AND FOOTBALL AND SPORTS SHOWS, AND BECAUSE OF ALL THIS, I WAS A REAL MAN, WHICH

UPSET MY PARENTS WAY OF LIFE, AND I DID THIS ALL THE WAY THROUGH MY CHILDHOOD

WITH OUTSIDERS CALLING OUT TO ME, SAYING, YOUR STILL A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE, AND

WHEN BRIAN SAID, I AM AN ADULT, THEY SAID, ADULT, ADULT, TRYING TO TAKE THE NOVELTY

OUT OF ME SAYING I AM AN ADULT, CAUSE I AM TOO WOOSEY TO BE LIKE LYLE, AND THIS

YOUNG DUDE SAID, **** MY ****, YOUR STILL A YOUNG DUDE BRIAN, BRIAN AT FIRST

SAID ******* I AM NOT GAY, HE SAID, NO YOUR STILL A YOUNG DUDE MATE, **** MY FUCKEN ****, ****

BRIAN SAID, WHY CAN’T YOU LEAVE ME BE TO BE A REAL MAN, THEN HE SAID, **** MY ****

YOU ARE TOO WOOSEY TO BE A MAN, AND BRIAN SAID, I DON’T WANT TO **** YOUR ****, ****

I AM NOT GAY, YA ****, HE GRABBED MY ARM AND PULLED ME INTO THE ROOM AND FORCED ME

TO **** HIS ****, THE FUCKEN **** HE WAS, AND BRIAN AS SOON AS HE LEFT, WAS FOLLOWING HIM

AND HE SAID, BRIAN ****** MY ****, YA SEE THAT **** IS NOT LIKE ME, AND THEN I WAS PLAYING

A TIE UP GAME, WHERE BRIAN ASKED THIS YOUNG DUDE TO TIE HIM UP, HOPING IT’LL TAKE THE

LITTLE YOUNG DUDE OUT OF THE STREET, BUT BRIAN BECAME WILD, AND HIS DAD, WELL HE AIN’T PERFECT

BUT STILL HIS PRIDE GOT IN THE WAY, I GOT CRANKY WITH DAD, CAUSE, HE LOOKED AS IF HE DIDN’T GIVE A ****

YOU SEE, I WAS TRYING TO GAIN RESPECT AND OPEN UP TO HIM, BUT I FOUND IT HARD, AND DAD HAD A LIFE

LIKE BEING A SCHOOL TEACHER WHERE HE HELPED A LOT OF KIDS, ACTUALLY DAD WAS THE REAL KIDS FRIEND

BUT, ME, I COULDN’T GET THROUGH TO DAD, SO I PUNCHED HIM AND THREATENED HIM WHEN HE LAUGHED AT ME

I SAID, SHUT UP, *******, YOU ARE NOT LIKE US, AND DAD WANTED TO HAVE HIS CHAIR, NOW DAD DID MAKE IT UP TO ME

BUT I WANTED FRIENDS, AND I FUCKEN TRIED TO BE CAREFUL, BUT I HATED THE YOUNG DUDE ASKING ME TO **** HIS ****

AND BRIAN HATED HIS DAD, HAVING A PROBLEM, WITH HIM BEING A KID, I WAS PLAYING BASKETBALL LIKE MY BROTHER

PLAYED TENNIS, AND DAD NEVER UNDERSTOOD, I LIKED THAT LIFE OF GOING OUT AND WALKING AROUND THE MALL

YA KNOW MUCKING AROUND BEING A FOOL ON SOME DAYS, BUT OTHER DAYS, MAINLY ON WEEKENDS I WENT TO THE MALL’

TO HAVE LUNCH AND HAD A BIT OF A MUCK AROUND AT *** BLACK PINNY ARCADE, AND THEN OVER TO THE BOWLING ALLEY

AND ON THE WAY HOME, I ENJOYED ALL THE KIDS PLAYING IN KEANE PLACE, YA KNOW YARD CRICKET, YA KNOW, BEH AND JOSH

AND THIS KID WHO LOOKED LIKE A CARBON COPY OF THE BIG YOUNG DUDES I LIKED AS A KID, BUT HE WAS A TROUBLE MAKER

AS HE ASKED ME TO TIE HIM UP, AND IF I DIDN’T KNOW BETTER, I WOULD HAVE TIED HIM UP, BUT I SAID NO, HOPING KIDS WOULD

STOP TREATING ME LIKE A PHEDAPHILE, AND THEN ANOTHER GAME OF CRICKET WITH BRENDAN AND CANDICE AND MY BROTHER

AND I LOOKED LIKE A REAL COOL KID, CRUISING AROUND, THEN AFTER A WHILE, THE VOICES STARTED, AND EVERY VOICE WENT

TO BED, LEAVING BRIAN THE COOL KID TO STAY UP ALL NIGHT, PLAYING COMPUTER GAMES, WATCHING TALK SHOWS, AND JUST AS

I WENT TO BED, MY MATES RANG ME UP, TO DRINK BEERS OUTSIDE THE SCHOOL, AS WELL AS JUMPING IN OUR FAMILY’S SWIMMING POOL

AND LEAVING SHARP OBJECTS, MAKING MY FATHER, NEVER TRUST ME EVER AGAIN, I WAS TRYING TO BE LIKE A MATE I LIKED, PAT, BACK THEN

BUT I LOOKED LIKE A DRUNKEN WOOSEY *****, CAUSE, I WAS TRYING TO BE THE COOL KID IN THE CLUB, TEASING THE NERDY YEAH MATE YEAH KID

WHO IS LIKE DAD’S NERDY BEING FRIENDS MOTTO, BUT, I WAS A FOOL, BUT I ENJOYED WALKING AROUND FROM PUB TO PUB, WITH THE

LINE IN MY HEAD, MEN DON’T DO THAT, THAT’S WHAT KIDS DO, I AM OFF TO THE PUB, AND WHEN I LOOKED SHY AT A FEW STAGES IN MY LIFE

IN CIVIC, I HEARD DADS VOICE SAYING, GO INTO A PUB BRIAN, RATHER THAN WALK AROUND CIVIC, AND I PARTIED ALL OVER THE CITY CLUB

AND THE PRIVATE BIN, SOMEONE TRIED TO ROUGH ME UP OUTSIDE THE CHARNWOOD INN, AT A CHOIRBOYS GIG THERE, BRIAN LOST EVERYTHING

THAT NIGHT, BUT THE TAXI DRIVER WAS HAPPY TO GIVE ME A FREE RIDE HOME, I AM NOT DOING THAT AGAIN, AND I VISIONED ME AND BRENDAN

WERE ******* TOGETHER, BETWEEN HOUSES, BUT I HATED DAD LOOKING LIKE HE DOESN’T CARE FOR MY WELL-BEING SO I HAD NUMEROUS FIGHTS

WITH HIM, BUT I DON’T BELIEVE IN VIOLENCE, AND DAD, ALWAYS DID THE WIMPY THING TO CALL THE POLICE IN RATHER THAN JUST RELAX AND LET ME YELL

DAD, HAS HIS PRIDE, TO PROTECT, I SAID THEN, **** YOUR FUCKEN PRIDE, I WILL NEVER BE A NERDY ADULT LIKE YOU DAD I SAID, AFTER A WHILE I UNDERSTOOD DAD

BUT I CAN’T UNDERSTAND, WHY IS IT SO IMPORTANT TO BE AN OLD JITTERY MAN, BACK THEN, BRIAN WAS JUST TEASING THE OLD JITTERY MAN IN DAD, DAD

LET HIS PRIDE GET THE BETTER OF HIM, DAD CARED, BUT, HE COULD’VE BEEN A LITTLE NICER BACK THEN, CAUSE I NEVER HELD A GUN TO HIS HEAD

AND I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A FIGHTING COOL KID, BUT I WAS A COOL KID, WHO LOVES TO PARTY, I HAVE ALWAYS LIKED PARTIES, IN THE PAST

AND I WILL LOVE THEM THROUGH EVERY BUDDHIST LIFE OF MINE, DAD, REMEMBER FRANK SPENSER, BETTY, OH DEAR BETTY, WELL YOUR BETTY NOW DAD

AND NOW, I HAVE TO MAKE PEOPLE UNDERSTAND, I HATED FIGHTING DAD, I WAS HAVING PROBLEMS, LIKE I THOUGHT I WAS DEALING WITH, LIKE A COOL YOUNG DUDE DOES

I WANTED TO BE AN ADULT, DON’T WE ALL
Bleeding Doc Feb 2019
Aaj phir se uthai Kalam hath me
Kuch batane ka panno ko dil chahta hai,
Labzo me jo baat keh naa saka
Geet me gungunane ko dil chahta hai |

Kaun kehta hai ki tujh se pyar karte hai log
Bas jarurte puri karte hai log |
Jab tak zinda hai sauhrate hai teri,
Mare **** ko bhi kahan ghar me rakhte hai log |

Na koi hai tera na tu hai kisika
Jo chahe tuje tu ban jaa usi ka
Khel matlab ka duniya ne khela sada hai
Tu bhi hissa usika me bhi hissa usi ka

Jala ke **** ko rakh baha de nadi me
Aisi duniya se chutkara dil chahta hai
Aaj phir se uthai kalam hath me
Kuch batane ka panno ko dil chahta hai |

Yun to chalti rahi jindagi na ruki,
Koi aata raha koi jata raha |
Kayi khel ke dil se mere khilone ki tarah
Dil ko apne har dum behlata raha |

Kisi ne chaha kisi ne toda muje,
Me phir bhi sada muskurata raha |
Kabhi roya kabhi sadme me beh gaya,
Dil ko har baar apne behlata raha |


Badi faramaush hai duniya samaj me gaya,
Fir bhi kisi ko chahne ko dil chahta hai
Aaj phir se uthai Kalam hath me
Kuch batane ka panno ko dil chahta hai |
Mohd Arshad Aug 2016
Beh
Behavior is not a personal thing
As it exists because of others
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
it's less, well,    less agonising to think in
german, than it it is speaking in
english:                                    only when
  ς = ß, or when it doesn't...
only as it sounds,  ingested by the eyes...
and one says schtein! and zechtm nein sein!
only because you won't treat
it as a grapheme, and interchange the s mit z...
or volk, the people, and cloud, wolke...
   fascinating papa German and mother
                                    englischsprechen,
and coming from eine slawin, hein! ein! hein!
ha ha ha ha!
        marsch! die deutche marsch!
laufschritt! marsch rückwärts.... eine eine eine!
       schnell! schnell! schnell!
    commandant achtung: ja?
       nein nein... counter nein, ja? nein!
                beifall... beh-e-fall...
nein akut ah, neine arnst ah...
the one under the halo of a zeppelin:
pin-point one... like counter bay-fall,
or rather beh-e-fall... like: ***** and not
askew...
   fallen schmellen...
                             lauf rekindle...
        kinder blut...
                      la la giggly: towed by
a radio transmission.
                         deutsche, natürlich
compoundierung zung...
                 englisch alle sparen binderstrich...
so no wonder:
    i spreschen quasi deutsch,
and then there's dutch,... and Goethe
and the myth of chemistry by humanities
   and herr Faust...
              kinderfeld tanz.... where mein
piglet sour soul was sentenced to an aria?
some also say: neuter.
or soft german N, niu-ter... or new... ta ta per.
beginning with syllables...
            ending with syllables...
    ß ≠ ś ≠ š = ς ≠ σ, i.e. ß = ς ≠ σ...
or as the suggestion plainly states:
   said sound is in the eye of the one
about to say it, unravel the encoding.
i can't help, but not be, what writing in this
language might suggest...
  i just can't... or that's how you exploit
bilingualism strata... you entrench with two tongues,
and then leave one of them
  very much adequate to become a plumber (e.g.),
you actually construct one of the sides
to a very refined architecture,
you even get to experience god...
and then your psyche debases it...
  deconstructs it...
        while at the same time debasing
your language of origin as:
some sort of counter-genesis,
or an exodus with a beginning that needs to be
returned to...
   both langauge fail...
   you're playing with a cat with a shoelace
and after the "magic hand" moving the shoelace
about is "missing", the cat seems bewildered,
so much so, that his usual circumstance of
eyeing up solipsism seems, quiet frankly,
usurped...
             it's such a shame that i learned this
language to this state of affairs,
and i have nothing to give it, other than the hope
that i unlearn it...
         and given that i wasn't given a chance
to explore a psyche in my native gadać....
that i might return to stating a universe in
a cat's eye, with a woof or a meow...
in the beginning was the word,
and the word was with god...
secondant!
in the end was the word onomatopoeia,
and onomatopoeia was with the zenith:
woman's ******... but the mountain crumbled
into dust, and all that was worth, was only
worth a manly grunt and later a snore.
so yeah... cat's meow...
   or a dog's bark...
    or a fox's dry "laugh"...
                                           awoooooooooo!
tangshunzi Jul 2014
Se devo essere completamente onesto .avrei davvero mai sentito parlare di Gotland fino ad ora.Ma venire a scoprire .è un vero gioiello al largo della costa della Svezia (grazie Google) e l'impostazione di questa pastello storditore da Sara Norrehed .Pensate capannone industriale incontra rive Beachy incontra perfetta storia d'amore con una splendida sposa e lo sposo rubare lo spettacolo .Si rompe lo stampo matrimonio nel migliore dei modi .e stiamo amando ogni secondo nella galleria qui .

Condividi questa splendida galleria ColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsWarehouseStylesCasual

Da Sposa .Quando ** incontrato la prima volta mi sono innamorato .e sorriso .perché si sapeva .Beh questo è Shakespeare .ma lui deve aver letto la mia mente !E quando la persona più bella che abbia abiti da sposa 2014 mai incontrato proposto a me su una mattina di Natale io ero la ragazza più felice del mondo !Lo sono ancora .

Prima ** incontrato Gabriele non ero mai stato a Gotland .che è la più grande isola della Svezia situata al largo della costa orientale .Egli è nato sull'isola e la prima volta che ci siamo andati insieme mi sono innamorato di questo posto magico .Così.quando era il momento di trovare il posto perfetto per il nostro matrimonio abbiamo capito che doveva essere qui .Eravamo in una ricerca di last minute per un luogo e un giorno ventoso in aprile abbiamo trovato la posizione più incredibile in un vecchio tiglio pozzo .I colori.la luce .la natura .Tutto era pura magia .Come un sogno .

L'ambiente e gli edifici di questa ri- modellato .vecchia industria chiamato Fabriken Furillen sono molto spoglio e crudo con un sacco di cemento e metallo arrugginito .Questo si è rivelato essere il perfetto contrasto con il tema romantico che avevo in mente per il matrimonio .Essendo una persona furba fai da te volevo tutti i dettagli per essere personali e fatti in casa .Molte ore e fino a tarda notte sono stati spesi per piegare rose di carta .trasformando cucchiai d'epoca in segnaposti e fare zigoli juta .Il risultato era più di quanto potessi mai potuto desiderare !Mi piace che ogni impostazione tavolo era diverso.con le vecchie sciarpe di pizzo utilizzati come runner e candelabri Usato mia



mamma aveva raccolto per me dal giorno in cui la data delle nozze è stata impostata .
La sera prima del grande giorno avevamo un barbeque e tutti i nostri amici e parenti eravamo lì a mescolarsi .vino e cenare e festeggiare.Un ottimo modo per iniziare il week-end !Sul grande giorno il tempo era fortunatamente a nostro favore .La cerimonia è stata aperta su un piccolo portico con l'oceano successivo .La cena era deliziosa con abiti da sposa 2014 prodotti locali .i nostri amici e parenti fatto alcuni discorsi indimenticabili e tutti abbiamo ballato tutta la notte.Vorrei che potessimo farlo di nuovo !Avevamo un fotografo straordinario che è riuscito a catturare tutti i momenti preziosi e mi piace come le foto si è rivelato .assolutamente bellissimo e molto artistico .L' intero matrimonio era caldo .amorevole e divertente .E la cosa migliore di tutto questo ?Sono ora sposata con l'amore della mia vita

Fotografia : Sara Norrehed Fotografia | design floreale : ! Vaxthuset Lindsay | Scarpe : Jimmy Choo | Gioielli : Tiffany \u0026 Co. | Gioielli abiti da sposa on line : Jarl Sandin | capelli: Nyans | Illuminazione: Bordodesign \u0026 Technology | Abbigliamento dello sposo : NK Stockholm | fascia per capelli : Etsy | Luogo : Fabriken Furillen | abito da sposa ( " Aglaya " ) : Elie
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=806
http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/4256135353535_396367.jpg
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-2014-c-13
Svezia Wedding da Sara Norrehed Fotografia_vestiti da sposa
Akta Agarwal May 2021
Paani pyash bhujhati h
Hr aag bhujati h
Ankhon S jharna si beh jati h
Dil ko thandak de jaati h
Apni manjil ki talash m bsh yu hi chalti jaati h
Paani kathinaeyon K pth pr kv na thamna sikhati h
Paani tabhae v machati h
Piano toofano ka sehlab v laati h
Paani kv dhubati to kv uthati h
Paani bhram mitati h
Paani pyaash bhujati h
ApoorvaHN Aug 2020
Ye jeevan diljani
dariya ka hai paani
Paani toh beh jaaye
Baaki kya reh jaaye
(From Yaadein)
Copyrighted by Subash Ghai
O Rev. Behman Ameshaspand, grant us an absolute Beh-Man please.

A Beh-Man, ie. a good mind, that doesn't during difficulties freeze.

Today, ethical and religious values are drowning or being blown off

We ridicule or laugh at honest and peaceful people; at them we scoff.

May your blessings us reach; n our mindsets for the better change;

May this trend change n respect we people who belong to the above range.

Teach us self-control, true compassion for these animals innocent;

So that, become we all vegetarians, with all our heart, a hundred percent.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
Rabab baj rahi thi kahi, jaha khuda bhi naach raha tha,
Phir na jaane kaunsi yaad-e-dard baraat leke agayi.

Naghma jo lehrake aayi, banke sur-e-shahen shah,
Wo sur jo nafs se mile, to khud dard banke beh gayi.

Aye mere jaan-o-dil, jamal-e-mah suna teri nazm-e-kamal,
Hum to ro rahe hain, jab se teri lafzon, aasu ban ke beh gayi.

Andaaz mat pucho koi, apna batane layak nahi rahi,
Khair agar puch hi liya hai, to kya batayen, koi andaz hi nahi rahi.

Bata to denge hum, par koi kyun sunega,
Khair agar sun hi liya hai, to sun ke bhi kya samjhega.

Baatein to bohot hain, gar koi sunna chahe to,Par kaun sunne ke liye baitha rahe?
Khair agar baith hi gaya **, to ek be-kafan lash ka,Nazm-e-ashk bhi sun ke jao.

Ro to nahi rahe the hum, wo kam to apna lafz kar raha tha,
Achanak wo rabab yaad agayi, jis pe khuda nach raha tha.

Hum to baithe the, ab khare ** gaye,
Na jaane apna rone ki awaaz, us mehfil ko kharab na karde.

Ab mai chal raha hoon, kahi aur jaa raha hoon,
Kidhar jaa raha hoon, utna nahi pata,
Bas rabab se dur chala jaun,
Nayi mehfil sajane, udhar firse nazm-e-ashk bhi suna na hai.
Purva Barva Jun 2020
In Aansuo ka bhi kuch samaj nahi ata mujhe,
Inhe palke to kabhi raas hi nahi aati,
Kabhi to ye itne khuddar ** jate he ki,
Sabke samne bilkul bahar nahi nikalte,
Aur Akele mein to bahar aane se ye bilkul nahi katrate!
Phir Kabhi ye na chahte hue bhi bahar aa jate hai,
Chahe fir wo Khushi mein muskurahat k saath aaye,
Ya phir gusse mein yuhi beh jaye!
Kya Gazab ka rutba hai in aansuo ka bhi!
Una riflessione

Premessa:
Sono sempre stato molto empatico e ** sempre sofferto della sofferenza altrui. La sentivo come mia. Per questo ** sempre sognato un mondo ideale dove nessuno soffrisse, e dove i rapporti tra esseri viventi fosse il più delicato e rispettoso possibile.
E come ogni persona su questo mondo, quando qualcuno mi tratta male, dice qualcosa di negativo o faccia qualsiasi cosa che io reputi ingiusto nei miei confronti ci sto male, magari mi sento triste, adirato, arrabbiato ecc...

Quando la Russia invase l'Ucraina e pensai a tutta quella sofferenza mi sentii molto triste. MA.
Adesso uso un pensiero alternativo:

"Cioè la Russia fa uno schifo di guerra, e IO MI AUTOPUNISCO provando emozioni negative?
Cioè è lei che fa lo schifo e ci deve andare di mezzo la mia serenità?
Può la mia sofferenza, per quanto grande, cambiare ciò che sta accadendo?
No.
Anzi aggiungo un'altra persona che sta male, me stesso.
Questo non vuol dire che io non scenda in piazza a protestare o che avendone la possibilità io non provi a cambiare le cose.
Vuol dire semplicemente SOFFRIRE MENO."

Oppure, qualcuno mi tratta male e io ne devo soffrire?
Cioè lo stronzo sei te e ci devo stare male io?
Beh puoi andare bellamente a cagar.
That day, three hundred and twenty nine precious, hopeful, innocent lives we lost

Passengers and crew all; an aircraft entire; unaccountable, was the cost

O Ahura bless those souls and their families to this irreparable loss bear.

Even today, sad I feel when visualize I, those crying relatives; their hope mixed with that scare.

What a drastic, horrible result it was, due to some people who were grossly mislead.

Happens this often, when illogical, lies, fear and hatred to weak minded people is fed.

Those who do these crimes heinous, prepared must be, for consequences dire

Burn have to in hell, all those people who misuse and play with ammunition and fire.

The theory of KARMA,  understand must, these misled individuals; use they must their mind.

Aware must be all those leaders, who inculcate such crimes n vulnerable poor find.

Ahura, bless every individual with Beh-man, the good mind, so all things, we do right.

Help the misled ones with a good, kind, compassionate mind, with Your divine light.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
"sei molto strano."
beh, grazie
Lo prendo come un complimento
io sono strano.

english:

"you are very strange."
well, thank you.
i take that as a compliment.
i am strange.

— The End —