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Asante' Nov 2018
It was a beautiful moment
Of dissatisfaction.
One where she realized
Complacency
Does not equate
With serenity.
That stagnancy
Does not yield joy.
So she moved,
Not only her feet.
She moved mountains.
The earth quaked beneath her,
And flowers bloomed
In every crack.
And this,
She thought,
THIS is how it feels
To be alive
I was your fuel
You were my drain
I was your blessing
You were my lesson
I was your cure
You were my disease
I was saving you
You were killing me

- I was calming your soul, you were stirring mine
Efa Nuryani Nov 2018
Our feelings, bloomed
to be doomed
The petals of our hopes fell over the leaves of our egos
You said fond memories wouldn't fade easily, remember?
You never told me that your love would...




Evenoer. 2018
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2018
Bloomed upon a star!
The setting sun sliding far
into the twilight pool
captured the picture!

Eye on the bumblebee!
That was first to bask in the sun
thinking that it dove to the length
into the shades of the midday rose.
There it's silhouette gets caught
is half-lit on the bank
of the milky way brook.

Shades of blue put
in the mix an inky shadow.
Oh, what’s in an unseen hue?
The sprawling black night puts
a veil on the day on every eyeball.  
Guess what it’s anyone's guess!
Even the leading light of the day
the sun shuffles an acre of the night
blindfolded down the full moon!
Daisy Marrow Jun 2014
You lay in a field of flowers counting each bird that passes overhead.
You've erased concern and decided to live for the moment because you always would say, "we might be dead by tomorrow."
Flowers grew from your heart and bloomed across your lungs,
creating a garden that sang the most beautiful hymns,
while my garden was withering.
Each breath you took was never wasted,
but I couldn't help but count mine like they were birds passing overhead.
Every night you would view the stars and moon with pure amazement as if it was your first time seeing them.
You gave all your love to me and each kiss was coined in my pocket.
You fell in love with me every night and I fell for all your hymns.
Soon enough the world would pass us by but I wouldn't blink because I could live off your touch for the rest of my time.
You showed me there is more in life than just one color,
but instead, the world is a whole painting with colors that can't be described.
You showed me just how beautiful the world was.
You taught me how to grow beauty from my eyes but lately, I've been dreaming and falling for stars.
Imagining what it'd be like slow dancing with the planets, getting lost in constellations.
But I'm just not ready to go yet however I do not control time.
You showed me that dying can be beautiful.
That we'll be okay because when we leave we all become one with the earth and one with nature.
So love, love me until time runs out,
until I become one with nature.

And many years later as time starts to fly by and you slowly start to watch your clock tick down, you'll know where to find me, my love.
I'll be up with stars.
Somewhere lost in the cosmos.
I'll be spinning with the planets dreaming about what it would feel like to be able to walk on flowers again.
2014
aziza Nov 2018
my brother learned life
in a rough way,
monday bloomed
red on his cheek
while friday left
bluish bruises for him.

i don't know about his pride,
but i see light in his eyes
dims and fades.
said, he never cries,

but he always lies.

my brother learned life
in a hard way.
he now suffers
addiction,
in a room with his console
to consume, then waste his times
wins nothing —— loses everything.


my brother is on the brink of despair,
he loves to stand off the cliff
as i watch him slowly walks away
said, he would not tries
to jump off

but i'm afraid,
he always lies.
#depressed #anxious #social #human#bully
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
I
A flower that smells of pure bliss keeps an ear to the ground
It's a serene one sitting beneath the stars down on earth
The moon, far, far, seven seas away, loves to drop into her lap.

The Bay of Bengal billows, music has gotten beneath the skin.
The leaves furl out off the deep wood with the birds
singing out to the top of the trees, rhyming with the leafy dance.
Heavensent, that was in one sanguine day in the spring.
The Mother’s Language Movement in 1952 sprouted like this
on the eighth of native Falgun month—oh magic did it unleash!

On that day our beloved brothers were shot dead
They could swallow the bullets with smiles but won’t give up
demanding the official status for the Bangla mother tongue.
Angels wrapped round the martyrs amid lamenting mothers
Laid them on Falgun’s perfumed ground bleeding corpses
Seas of roses bloomed and blew them out red, red kisses!

They are gone not the stone wall of consciousness they raised
Ah, at the sprout of the spring what were they echoing?
Ingrained deep in the soil the pre-designing voice in the planning?
Who can tell? The world gels on February 21 in celebrating!

The angels then snapped up our martyrs’ souls off the land,
placed them on a piece of Heaven where they can hear the jingle.
Down on earth, a nation springs up, has gotten its wake up call!
Stepping on the sweetening arc of the mother tongue melody
the stone turns a flower, all in a butterfly moment soaring to victory.
Thanks to the movement - Bangladesh itself later comes to be!

II
The sun comes down to the rose painting on the land
In the heavenly Falgun hues it nibbles some wild summer dreams.
“Serene songs of earth stirring the water,” like it comes into play,
rowing the cloud bubbles singing in southern breeze.
Ah, a walk on the sun-kissed kaleidoscope land is a pure bliss.  
Every blossom spray of the wind is soothing sweet
Hop on and play straight to the ruby heart, as if it's a flute.

Mother tongue means speak free, fearless, in full streaming.
Speak the heart to the world without the fear of losing the cloud
that will listen, bouncing back on the brink of the sky river.
Then what did one say, hear, or was awed by in the blooming Falgun?
Could it have been the spring humming in her native lingua
or King David singing in mother tongue by babbling brooks
what in any other language, even with a silver tongue, isn’t possible?

Allah has listened to our martyrs’ crying mothers and fathers
The martyrs’ souls whisk through the galaxies and starry fair.

Soar high over the clouds, take the rainbow's *** of gold away,
Like a hue turns 360-degree in the colourwheel bask into the colour.
Still, dip the toes in Bangla mother’s soil salted with perfumed art
Like Himalayan water swirling down melting deeper deep down
This magicland is polished for everyone be it you, a fairy, a star
or off the ploughed-out barrow a walked out wonder!

A pristine voice duo’s voiceprint gleans to the spring in muse,
Pops in a beauteous scurry and speaks in the mother tongue!
Hidden within the earthy depth, only emerges with time,
only dances in tangent, that day slipped out with the butterflies.
And finally the blue nymphs take the plunge drop down the sky  
That day the mother’s voice triumphed, whose is the most original!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
Daisy Marrow Jan 2014
It's so quiet.
It's so strange.
I've never heard silence so loud before.
The drum beats loud and echoes out
leaving us alone in this emptiness.
Come on, love
don't leave me hanging from this cliff.
Don't leave me alone to die.

I know times are hard and you can't stand on your own,
but that doesn't mean you have to leave.
Don't run away from this pain.
Just come into my arms and stay.
At the end of the day
the rain will be blown over and all the flowers will be bloomed.
Even the toughest storms leave beauty for the eyes to love.

Don't get swallowed up in the shadows.
I'll be your light.
I'll guide you,
just follow my feet.
I'll lead you into me and hold you until your numb.

You're standing in the ocean
welcoming the salt water into your body.
Dry your eyes and swim to the shore
because I'll be waiting there.
Just please don't go.
Because if you leave I might just have to follow.
2014
Caroline Jun 2017
“The eagles should have been far seeing”
Was the last apocalyptic note she wrote
In her broken and trembling hand
Words that I tried so hard to understand.

What eagles? What sight could they have beheld
That might have brought back to her
A reasoned light to illustrate
Something other than her tortured mind
Worn fragile and thin by monsters,
Who starved, and beat, and *****,
A child.

Or would these brave and noble birds
Have donned armor in her defense
Flocking in hordes to peck out the eyes
Of those so vile that they would welcome,
Just to destroy,
The spirit of a foster child.  

Or did these eagles nest inside her womb,
As like a sweet salvation,
My spirit bloomed
For them to lift on soaring, golden wings,
And place gently in her arms,
A child more precious than the moon,
And all its diamond light,
Since in my tiny form she found the strength
To chase away the memories;
To hold back a schizophrenic night.

So, it was these birds who were short of sight,
Who gave a gift and flew away.
Abandoned in her time of need,
Her mind crumbling from the weight
Of something from which she was never, truly free,
And though we tried so hard to save her,
No one was strong enough;
Not even me.
Eight years ago, I lost my mom to suicide. After a long battle with a form of late-onset schizophrenia, and also, the effects of a terrible childhood, I feel like she just couldn't fight anymore. The last note she wrote to me didn't make much sense on the surface, but I find deeper meaning in it. She loved me more than all the stars in the sky and I miss her just as much.
ryn Nov 2014
Too many** eyes watching
Too many ears listening
Too many ideals capsizing
Too many thoughts sinking...
And dreams drowning.

Too many drops fallen
Too many smiles forsaken
Too many times beaten
Too many hearts left shaken...
And promises broken.

Too many questions asked
Too many answers hidden
Too many faces masked
Too many hands bitten...
And people forgotten.

Too many words said
Too many pacts fade
Too many boundaries laid
Too many rules made...
And games played.

Too many secrets entombed
Too many feelings consumed
Too many ill thoughts bloomed
Too many enemies groomed...
And hate campaigns resumed.

Too many...
A plethora too many
Too many...
We choose not to see
Too many...
Taken far too lightly
Too many...
There's just *too many,
too many...
Dlusionl13 Sep 2018
It’s a bond formed with thousands and thousands of hours
It’s a friendship adorned like a bouquet of flowers

A cluster of yellow roses
For the companionship that bloomed
Or a bunch of chrysanthemums
For the wholehearted support during the adversities that loomed

A few irises
An unsaid message of dedication
With some violets
  A proof of everlasting devotion

And pink carnations
A promise to never forget each other
Plus some hydrangea
A gratitude for being understood in spite of our soul bearing different colors

Some blue tulips
For the genuine loyalty
A vow to never leave
And of course ivy
A promise of continuity of the wonderful friendship
That we will definitely achieve
Dedicated to my best friend
Austin Morrison Jan 2017
Finding a reason to live is harder than finding a needle in a hay field. You don't quite where to look but you know what you are looking for is out there. Your hands and knees will get ****** from searching, and at times you might feel like giving up. but when you finally see that this piece of metal shine you will get the most forgiving sense of relief. Like everything you have had to worry about is just gone. When I first saw you the sun reflected off your eyes and there was the most beautiful sparkle I have ever seen in my life. I found what was to be the smallest needle in the hay field we call earth. And all the pain and suffering I tried to cover up with cheap perfume and mindless lust was replaced with the smell of freshly bloomed roses and passion. You were the girl that gave me a reason to live, to love and to see how beautiful this world can be. You made me remember why I am alive.
This is my first write in over almost two years. I know it's bad but there is someone I love to much not to write about them.
Maria Etre Jan 7
She sang the song
of winter
and my
my cheeks turned red
like autumn leaves
my heart
warmed up like summer
and my eyes bloomed
like spring
Bison Jan 2017
Sweep clean the system
Shards of glass and bullets bloom
Party's over, no survivors
Shredded red ties and silk pant suits
Will we cower in glass houses
Stained panes fell through these rooms
War bloomed in the fresh-flowered noon

Don't believe what you see
Truth hides in deceit
Patron saint of finest filigree
What is gold but an excuse for filling blood seas

Chop shop, our listless hearts
Power brokers in bulletproof cars
Build your walls, we'll take your streets
The first house to burn is the house of greed
Thankfully you sold your souls for gasoline

If this is the end of everything
I'll make sure it's beautiful and free
Like fire off the edge of an endless sea
And you'll be the first to confess to fake history
Ankita Gupta Jan 6
Between now and then
A lot has changed
Or should I say grown
In and out, in every direction
Like it was just a matter of time
Like the change waited for seasons
The growth that need water and sun
The tree shedded it's leaves
It bloomed in the spring
Covered with snow for Christmas
Between now and then
A lot has changed
Paul Mar 13
Over the bed, a ceiling fan revolves
elliptically. Anxieties, post-****** and solitary are,
by the lungful, archived on the yellowed walls.
From his fingers the snaking upward blue smoke
of burning tobacco describes tumult. She
has gone back into the world.  Laying
in the mise en scène of their aftermath
he smokes like a figure growing distant
in a cinematic moment purged of heroism.
The worn sheets, roped about his ankles, recall
an inmate’s noose. She'd been inside. For years.
The way she assumed her role, face to the wall,
silent as though it were a meal to be had frankly,
was a thing they laughed about. Her parting
glance was inscrutable.
He drew deeply, and a ring of orange fire
bloomed, briefly proclaiming love remained
a chance. Who could know? The arhythmic
rocking of the fan beat the hot air back
onto him, the lone smoker, smoking blankly.
The curtains billowed from the room
into the parking lot like some great tongue,
wild and mute. And under the window,
in the shadowless heat, a dog, limp with thirst,
laps at the drips that drip from a pipe.
a re-write and re-post. I've strived for meaningful enjambments and a sense of metre while attempting to sound contemporary
Skaidrum Jul 2015
.
"You cannot love                        
                 what is cursed from your garden, Kira."



   Delicate silver wings bloomed,                  
from the outskirts of her dress and spine,
    sprouting through her floral skin.          


"Oh but my love,                    
I'll die trying."

.
Conquer your shadow
before your demons.
You were the stars that watched me,
twinkling in a vast dim space;
You were the candle in the middle of the room,
sending wisps of smoke in air.

You built a pathway for the microchip,
directing energies from place to place;
You weaved your words into my mind
and left with an unfinished blanket.

The moon was still up in the midst of the day,
the clouds are spouting rainbows as rain.
The years have passed, this flower has not bloomed
Will this ever be the day I awaited?
soon to be or just another trick?

© Cyrille Octaviano, 2015
Daisy Marrow Dec 2013
Someday your pain
will be beneath you.
Someday you'll see
that all that crying
bloomed flowers
under your feet.

When the sun rises,
I'll see you across the room.
It's been years since I've disappeared
but I did it all to protect you.
Keep you safe from the dark
that follows you and
tries to hurt you.

I ran into the darkness for you,
this was my plan
and now I've returned from the black for anew,
and I owe you a thousand apologies
In the morning,
I'll approach you.
It's been three years.
The story has ended
and I have shed my own tears.

"Don't apologize to me."
Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Sherlock BBC
Umi Jan 2018
Noon; I swear by what the angels write,
When I met you the world bloomed in me, with flowers far and wide
Ahh of all times you have chosen winter to come
Its so cold here that I cant even feel my thumb
The snow falls into a pretty pile
Lets go and sledge, then drink a hot chocolate after a while
But in reality, I am sitting here on my chair
Trying to write new poems, ideas are quite rare
With pen in hand I will try my best
And see this as some kind of  a test
Until I may or may not run out of ink
Until I may am not able to think
And until I just want to sink into my bed
Ah my pen, you are so pretty, you're elegant and sweet
Documenting stuff with you is really so neat
Please pen write on


~ Umi
A poem for my pen
Jo Barber Feb 6
The leaves change,
and with them the smell
of August floats my way.

The sweet-sour memories
of summer morph into
something new.

Plants die, but they will return.
Fiery red hues infiltrate
old life anew.

Summer love fades;
it wasn't meant to last anyways,
but it bloomed for a time.

The flowers wilt more each day;
In the wind the petals shall blow away.
Earth will later create a new bouquet.

For now, change is all that stays.
I switch between descriptions of nature and life. Both are changing and the speaker is unsure of how they feel about both.
Nolan Morris Mar 7
Branches full of buds,
for the heavens reach! Snowdrops
bloomed, in ice beneath.
Shofi Ahmed Feb 15
The sun was so close to
the fingertips of the earth mother
while the rose bloomed so bright
the first morning the sun rose on the earth.
The sun spaced up high up to the blue sky
so the colour of the rose may not wither.

The mother Fathima smiled even brighter
upon the rose, the sun draws back every sunrise
is ever closer till to date a colour never withers!
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