"busiest" poems
When I close my eyes, the sight of you appears
I learnt to build my thoughts around you
When you look at me and smile now
I wonder how we made it so many years.
A man is one who loves his girl
Treats her with respect and plays with her
Trusts her no matter the world flips sides
Shows her how much he needs her.
Shares every secret every thought with her
Stands by her when she in doubt
Helps her make the right decision
Fixes her mood when it’s out
Cuddles her when she is sad and low
Troubles her to get her attention
Pretends to be angry with her
Just so she showers him with kisses...
Sings to her to show how much he loves her
Helps her cook when guests are home
Jokes he cracks to make her laugh
Never would he even by mistake make her cry
Compliments her for the smallest of things
Remembers her in his busiest of hours
Tells her he loves her before she sleeps
Just to wake up with her kiss on his cheek...
Walks with her holding hands
Gives her hugs and kisses unplanned...
Is naughty with her when she’s happy
Does all this with his heart and mind.
Assures her she is beautiful, pretty and hot
Is dedicated to her like a sage
Messes with her emotions now and then,
But gives her the love she craves. ..
Wonder how many such men were ever made?
God creates for each one a soul mate
Wonder if these thoughts would just remain thoughts
But thank-god I am blessed with the perfect man of this age. :)
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
Love from you, my darling,
In the darkest of days, I need it.
Love from you, my beautiful,
In the blackest of nights, I wish it.
Love from you, my inamorata,
In the loneliest evenings, I require it.
Love from you o my best friend.
Love from you, o my baby,
In the playful days, I enjoy it.
Love from you, my dilruba,
In my sorrowful time, I miss it.
Love from you, my humjoli,
In all my joyful time I cherish it.
Love from you, my humdum.
Love from you o my lover,
In the brightest days, I need it.
Love from you, my gorgeous,
In the whitest dreams, I desire it.
Love from you, my mehbooba,
In the busiest mornings, I yearn it.
Love from you, my Jaan-e-mann.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
i belong to the daybreak
when humans with sleepy eyes
and mousy morning hearts
are brave enough to face
the scarily mundane world once again.
i belong to nature
to the hidden wonders of the world
there's unknown modern hanging gardens of babylon
and the secret sanctuaries
where the teenagers of the megalopolis
go to rest.
i belong to the ocean
in the deepest trenches
no man has seen
where it is quiet and still
and darkness reigns supreme.
i belong to outer space
in the galaxies who are
strangers we'd like to know
there's dark matter that swirls
space dust coalesces
and stars are born to die all over again.
i belong to the rain
when the sky cries and
the typhoons turn to drizzle
the water runs through
empty houses and thrift stores in the gutters
and on and on, to underground,
to God knows where.
i belong to the night
to the time when the busiest people
submit to slumber
but a few who are not
bothered by lightyears
sit by their windowsills
to watch the stars.
*i belong to the world
and the world belongs to me.*
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
~~
This is called a bed, a bier
All the faces who have
gathered in the windows have blurred
The lens is worn around
Still, I am going away from
the bottomless star
They have moved away from road
Sounds become smaller sighs
Anymore I do not see,
The yesterday's busiest bird
Alone in the silence,
The haze pine forest standing
It is a pleasure to wait for the bird
while close the eyes,
Springtime in the gray forest
My hand in her hand,
In the late afternoon's soft light
Strong wet black hair smell
All that is going
To move away from my sight
Pull together in the dark
The childhood, her hand, the drunk smell
Covered with a black screen
I'm going up from the CoT
Are mixed in the air,
moving clouds, rafting
unfamiliar tunes of fair, anywhere
At Times, Unseasoned, without any reason!
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
always had that feel that a poem could be born
when you're doing nothing lazily munching popcorn
because doing nothing is everything, it's not a void
but a streaming popcorn welling inside you can't avoid!
in sunlight and shadows in pricking pinching weather
the nothing that knows no rest doesn't give you a breather
doing nothing is the busiest time it's everything to savour
like your spicy popcorn that lends living a flavour!
doing nothing is the most fertile time for a perfect brew
munching your popcorn thinking wildest things to do
When bored of doing nothing that in His head earth was born
God surely conceived it when He was lazily munching popcorn!
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 8:12 AM UTC
I will wait for you
on a crowded street
I will wait for you
on the busiest bridge
I will wait for you
on a fussy platform
I will wait for you
near the rushed office gate
I will wait for you
near a temple
I will wait for you
near your house entrance
I will wait for you
wherever you assure to come
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
On the busiest of days,
even prettiest of faces,
can sulk into nothingness.
Where is the smile
she used to have,
at the time when it all started.
Reassurance is gone,
And so is self-belief,
I might ask, 'what you did?'
Look back, you would find a way,
look back, if you want,
for pearls often are left behind.
During those hurried hours
of the flight to well-being,
when you race past everything,
Surging on like unceasing greed,
you outstrip your own noble deeds;
look back,
for pearls often are left behind.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
In autumn,
all the leaves fall
creating a pastel monsoon
vibrant reds and illustrious oranges
that would make
the busiest of people
take a moment of their time
to glance up
and admire
the last pure thing
to coexist with the modern human race.
In winter,
the trees become bare,
vulnerable,
as am I.
What I used to enjoy
so much
now pains me to even look at on a calendar.
I was bare
I was vulnerable
and you striked.
Pulling back the string,
you brought the arrowhead to your lips
giving it a small kiss
for me,
and let go.
It struck me right in the heart,
but you were hunting
for all the wrong reasons
you were hunting
for the ****
The pain quickly spread through every nerve ending ever to exist
as my head pounded
kind of like the alarm
you give an ungrateful smack to
every morning.
There was no snooze button,
no matter how hard I hit,
cut,
and clawed at
the plastic surrounding
my alarm clock
the pain did not stop.
And here we are,
a year later.
Still buzzing,
still attempting,
still hurting.
In Spring,
the leaves grow back.
They grow back new skin
and new bodies,
any lacerations
nowhere to be found.
Yet, their colors
are more dull
because in nature
the more innocent you are
the less you shine.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
Yes,
Yes it sounds a hell load more sexier
To say I nearly jumped off a terrace
Or
I used to slit my wrists
Than tell you that
yesterday
The lights
Went green
And I
I don't know what come over me
But I walked to the middle of
One of the busiest crossings
And attempted
To peer into my future
In the headlights
Of a bus
I find it easier
To tell people
That I am a head-case
And they should stay away
Rather than tell them
That I sat up the whole night
Crying
On my birthday
Because I felt like a Giant Mistake
I find it easier
To tell people these lies
I still call myself honest
Wonder if that makes me a liar
I find it easier to describe
The pretty way the lights danced inside her eyes
When I brought her something entirely unexpected
But I won't talk about the dark, gaping hole
In my heart,
When I realised that I wasn't worth a **** to her
I don't talk about things that affect me
If my face goes pallid
And someone asks me why
I'll tell them it's cause I didn't sleep
What I won't tell them
Is that half the night was spent
Wondering how I came to be
And the other, thinking about how repulsed I am by myself
I won't talk about the way
I flinch
Whenever someone touches me
I won't mention the fact that I was molested
By my best friend
But I'll sound close to tears as I describe
My sorry friend's case who didn't know what to do about it
There are some things
Which aren't any of your ******* business
But it's **** difficult
To keep everything to yourself
When you've got anonymity protecting you
And no shoulder
To cry upon
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:11 PM UTC
Right in the middle of the busiest area of the Poconos, the group of condos sit in a large circle. The sky is dark, for it has been hidden from all possible sunlight by the many awnings and porches that join the different housing units. On one side of the condos the neon lights from the bar next door shine through the children’s windows, but the more occupied side the parking lot is lined with fast food restaurants- clumped together and riotous with large families that frequent them, juggling their small children and many diaper bags; and noisy cars speeding past with loud engines, pungent, murky exhaust spewing out of the back and police sirens constantly blaring down the street. In the parking lot encircled by the condos the tenant kids run around full of light yet somehow full of darkness at the same time. The older kids come out of the small houses to sit on the sidewalk in the evening, and the cracked sidewalks are covered with the faded chalk drawings left there by the youngsters earlier in the day, and with the sheets of crumbled up paper containing poetry no one would ever read, and with the old needles and discarded blunts of their parents who had left them there over the course of the day.
There is one unit in particular, a unit with a broken door from the many men who had tried to force their way in, a unit with holes in every wall that were put there by flying fists and thrown objects that had missed their true target- the oldest daughter. In front of the many holes in the their smiles are fake and their hugs are forced.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
There is nothing.
Its the only thing that i see..
I have conceived emptiness..
In trying to be someoneelse..
The busiest road in oneself..
is the path of thoughts.
because that’s where people often get lost.
So i’ve tried to visit it less.
There is that chaos.
Which can’t be heard..
But i feel it inside my head.
N now i perceive it like a nerd..
The fear of not being cared.
haunts me day and night..
The only moment i meet myself..
is when i am outside..!!
Now this shell asks for rawness.
As it has seen much fakeness..
The heart aches out a song..
when it sees nothingness..!!
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
Girl, around 27.
No, woman, rather.
Her youth walked through and hung there, dry, as mine did in exchange
so we pick and choose a role and sidle along the bar where
I am with a perk in the feet, lifted by the ***** of,
but a lot easier than you can imagine as
she lays her words out like warm hands and with a blue bird of compassion,
asks me how I am.
I gripe and she listens in a knowing way then reverse
in very clean queues and open mouths
She says, “They say today is going to be the busiest day of the year”, with a fire lit
behind an eye where she does not smile of her face, but through a grit in the teeth
I laugh inwardly, towards myself in a search for appropriation and then spit heavily onto table, “well, it looks like we both have something to look forward to, then”.
Then angelic laughter where my cheeks couldn’t follow and I am ****** in.
There was a moment then, which I wish could be brought to plate and silver.
a sort of cunning lock between a soul and my own where I hope only to god,
that I’ve thrown a key down river.
She walks out after our matching eyes and mirrored moves
So I watch her,
not her ***
not her chest,
not her brown, burning hair,
but the still skin of her neck in an open sense where I want to take it in
as if she had the happiness and I am jealous
like a tearing gabble of a baby.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 2:57 PM UTC
life went unbridled
from one corner to another
in the busiest cities
full of activities
for luxuries
however
in a dilapidated
untidy
unkept
broken
room
close to a place
where people sang hymns
in service of god
behind the curtain
of tatters
the hunger wrestled
with three daughters
bit by bit
while the avarice
panged
the poor
in those cities
where digital world
shines
abreast
the Moon
beyond Mars.
( Indeed, I felt pained for death of three daughters with hunger in Delhi.)
Narinder Bhangu.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
Self care is leaving
Its leaving the boy that doesn't know how to not hurt your feelings and cannot care less that he did. It's knowing that the second you do leave so many people will look down upon you. So many disappointed in you for breaking his heart.
Self care is knowing
It's knowing that the boy that your zodiac signs match a whopping 12% with will not work. Its believing the stars and putting your faith in them since your faith does not call to god. Its hoping that the boy you match with 99% will be better.
Self care is running
Running into the new boy’s arms that you fell so endlessly for. The one that always sneaks a kiss. The one that always makes time for you even though you have one of the busiest schedules in the world.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 8:08 PM UTC
_The poorest man would say he's rich in heart,_
_The richest man would say he's poor in spirit,_
_The happiest man does cry in secret,_
_The saddest face laughs when no-one is looking,_
_The patient man has no rush to death,_
_The busiest man hasn't got the time to drop and die,_
_The dreamer longs to fly so high,_
_The insomniac buries his head in the dirt of hopes._
So what of me, in the list?
I'm the poorest when it comes to being romantic; but rich
in my words of flirt. The richest of all my written love
poems; but the poorest in having a love to share them with.
I'm the happiest man when I cry myself to sleep in secret; and truly at my saddest when their eyes are no longer looking at me.
I'm patient on my morals, that keep me separate from death;
but at my stress, I rush into the thoughts of just dropping dead.
And I could dream a thousand times of wanting to fly; though
the insomnia of my creativity, is buried in deep thought.
All that you'd expect me to love, I'd surely hate. And so
I'm unknown to the actual truth of many peers. Who would know me by name, but never my real title.
I am _Mr Untitled._
Mar 15, 2022
Mar 15, 2022 at 3:15 PM UTC
Repair to repair we mend.
Broken down we begin to be built up yet
Again and again and again
We Crumble.
We race and bustle about for constant cycles
Grasp and wrestle time yet
Around and around and around
We Bumble.
The Busiest of bees transparent to each other
A mystery without the magic we falter
Love is artificial. Placed in bars we search in profiles
Constantly connected without connection
Based on superficial affections
Stuck in an iron cage the music plays the sorrows of
The carousel of modern life
Around we go Around Again in circles
Playing the same game
Over and over
It never ends.
So let the games begin!
The Constant carousel of crumble and mend.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
In the busiest days I still find time to look at you and just feel you near me.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 9:24 AM UTC
"no, it's just funny you should say that."
"why?"
"because I work at the capitol."
"oh yeah? what's the most interesting thing about it?"
"i don't know, it's ******* boring."
"nah, there's gotta' be something."
"not really, man. i mean, i guess the toilets are the busiest i've ever seen....nah, nah i'm serious, man. you know how most fellas use the ****** not at the ******* capitol."
"you know why that is, right?"
"why's that?"
"'cause politicians are full of ****
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 10:23 PM UTC
It was her graduation day
It was my busiest day
It was her important day
It was my DEADLINES day
But I promised her...
I did...
My maternal instinct urged to react..
I threw my files away
I drove like crazy...
Almost hit a pregnant cow..
It stopped in the middle of the road...
Staring at me... You are late MOMMY!!!
ahh cynical cow...
I rushed to the school hall
I came darling... I came...
There she stood sobbing...
I came Ali... I hugged my daughter
She was mad.. She had tears on her cheeks
She had tears brimming in her innocent eyes
I did not apologize… selfish I was
I wanted her to understand instead...
Mommy is late but Mommy is here…
I put my hand on her chest
Mommy is always here...
Doesn’t matter how late…
She smiled a little
She smiled a bit more
She hugged me tight
And laughed and giggled…
My sweet daughter…
I LOVE YOU MORE..
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
Even when I'm having the busiest day
I find time to think of you
weird huh
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
I hope you find someone that takes their phone off silent
in the hopes of hearing your calls. I hope they laugh
at all your jokes and can take a couple, as well. I hope they
remind you to eat on your busiest days, and help you
get out of bed on days you feel like you can’t. I hope they listen
to the same music you do and dance with the same fervor you do.
I hope they look for you in a crowded room, at the bottom of a bottle,
at the tops of mountains and in the deepest crevices of their heart.
I hope they kiss you for every second you’ve ever spent doubting
yourself. I hope they memorize your favorite colors and fruits, I hope
they call your mom to check in on her, I hope they get along with
your sisters. I hope they cheer the hardest for your achievements,
and weep the most alongside your sorrows. I hope they remind you
that you are loved, you are lovable, and you deserve to feel loved and
appreciated by those you surround yourself with. I hope they listen to
every story you have to tell, and help you write so many more. I hope
they love your laugh, and revel in how heartfelt and unfiltered it is.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC
Couldn't care less
shouldn't care more;
Should have said less
and win the war.
Mixed up in this mess
heading straight for the bar.
Thoughts so fussy, clumsy, mossy
and aches became excessive.
Over-drunk, heading to Road West,
chatter and giggling at their busiest.
Then it started raining.
Pillagers couldn't make a move at me because it is raining.
I love the rain.
Soaked in beer
and Drenched in rain
Every where was muddy,
and slippery.
Still stangering,
He left foot step on air
weightless and painless
till his right foot joined in curiousity.
no OUCH sounded
or even any wincing from him.
Death became physically present,
Its gripped his skull
and enveloped his heart.
"Sweet Torture come to me", he thought.
Then he passed out.
He woke the next day
on the hospital bed.
His wife saw his state
and a tear drop escaped her lids.
He turned his face away.
Somewhere in the background, the sun ray focused on His face.
Hope is seemed,
the new him is redeemed.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 6:44 AM UTC
I wonder what it would feel like if you
loved me in the same way that I love you,
calling just to say I’m on your mind
or writing me drawn out amorous poems.
I wonder what it would feel like if you
loved me in the same way that I love you,
with thoughts of me overtaking your beauty sleep
or making it impossible to crave any other.
I wonder what it would feel like if you
loved me in the same way that I love you,
effortlessly giving your all because anything less would be average
or living as if every single day was still the honeymoon stage.
I wonder what it would feel like if you
loved me in the same way that I love you,
realizing that one weekend of not speaking can slowly turn into our weak end
or remembering who's truly important even on the busiest of days.
I wonder what it would feel like..
Then my wonder begins to wander as I slowly whisper to myself
the only line I remember from that purple book sitting on my nightstand,
“Everyone loves differently.”
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 3:42 AM UTC