"coincides" poems
Hello friends & wishing you a very auspicious & prosperous DIWALI..
..............HAPPY DIWALI...............
On this auspicious festival of Diwali i wish & pray that, may everyone Life filled with a Sparking colors of the happiness & Light of Prosperity. May this world & people of this country live with a calmness & Fortune of love.
Diwali is one of my favorite festival & it is also the festival of light were houses are decorated with candles & it is one of the most beautiful festivals in Indian culture, coincides with Hindu New Year and is seen as a metaphor for self-improvement and as representing new beginnings. It involves a strong belief in giving to people in need, and is also traditionally a time for new clothes to be worn & Indian sweets is a variety of colours and flavours are eaten during the celebrations....May this writing platform of Lettrs continues as the same of making originality of marking a talent into a magic light... so I am inviting everyone to be a part of Indian festivals and culture... everyone are most welcomed to India..India is Country of Carnival with different Tradition, different culture , with beauty of joy, beauty of passion, beauty of love , beauty of art & beauty of everything that you have never experienced before... ....Thank-you..
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
Her
naughty secrets.
She never,
keeps them private.
The lust,
the thirst,
the desperate
urge to ride it.
Her wetness,
drooling down her leg.
She smiles.
Now,
her legs,
divided.
Such a
beautiful sight,
provided.
She wants it -
so badly;
her body
can’t hide it.
I want it.
So badly.
I lick my lips,
as I,
slide inside it.
Her wet *****
so warm,
her moans,
as I pump,
she grinds it.
Three fingers,
make her ***
And when I use my tongue,
the eruption inside,
coincides,
between her thighs.
Now her stockings
have a run.
Apr 11, 2022
Apr 11, 2022 at 5:53 PM UTC
*
Experiences make us wiser,
Learning makes us smarter
All must coincides together
with an open mind to ponder
and a good heart to wonder
-- balancing from right and wrong
We gain rooms for change
and more storage
to process
the increasing progress.
With all that often times we waste something good to needful things.
*
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
childhoods are forgotten
mere bonds simply left to rot
bewildered and betrothed to the very idea
of a more golden sun
and glistening moon
but not all the planets in the solar system are close
and are in fact very far away
words are to mean nothing
nothing
left with the wind
blown away
good bye! adieu!
I shall miss my friend!
and where is the blossom
whom I met so long ago
on Mars
on Jupiter
the promiscuity of proximity
reminiscing
within the shallow walls of the cave
that drips drips drips
to the past
and history becomes bloated
with subjectivity and
a sepia undertone
so how can we see what went wrong?
how can we learn the implications of each movement
made by our lips
fingers
each deep breath
that coincides with the galaxy
underneath a waning moon
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 8:22 PM UTC
What's your name?
Abubakar salim bin jahedee
sorry sir you will have to step back,
****** hypocrites,
how does my religion connect to terrorism,
I'm just a tourist in your territory,
no doubt,
my fellow brothers who dress like me,
act upon their anger due to ignorance,
and the quest for freedom ,peace& justice,
Just see,
What a curious coincides that is,
-but does that make me a terrorist?
Islam's a religion of peace,
yet they propagate islam with bad image,
Which is a huge damage,
Who's involved in horrendous crimes,
Who oppresses mere harmless civilians?
When we retaliate the world begins to hate and
start generalizing,
without realizing what conspired,
-does that make me a terrorist?
Its we muslims who suffer from terrorism,
all around the globe,
Terrorizing and vandalising isn't islam heritage,
Impressed and obsessed you are with your TV,
believing the twisted storys as it gets to you with
no atom of truth,
Corrupted by silly illusions,
Apportioning blame on hopeless islamist
seeking for peace,
Do you still think i'm a terrorist?
Develop some form of reservation when you
call us terrorists,
I need not to speak through my nose,
before you know islam is against all kinds of
injustice,
-How can I be a terrorist then?
Innocent muslims die everyday,
In the hands of american soldiers
yet we are never part of the mainstream news.
No one cares,
Take a soul of an american citizen,
Then the whole world will point at muslims as
terrorist,
how tragic,
-does that make me a terrorist?
As a Reflection & manifestation,
Of an expression to the element of truth,
My Quran says,
you with your religion & me with my religion,
-does that sound like words of a terrorist?
I dress in the most noblest of form,
Yet you criticize me while you breed monsters
in your country,
Man to woman, woman to man all in the name
of civilization,
All these leaves me spellbound,speechless &
riveted
In loneliness and seclusion,
Reflect over the word terrorism,
And you will see it has no connection with
islam,
i'm a muslim not a terrorist.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
~~
She rolls down the western edge
The bucolic Spiral path
Coincides with the horizon
Gray foot print
Slowly mingles with dark
As the Bats of evening find back to home
Gentle Breeze to dangle
Purple haze of Four O'clock
The Crossroads, Wait behind
Where to start, or what end is!
Poetry continuing as the falls of pain
Afternoon's Lyrics said good bye
Today's bright Star does not rise
What they chase during the run out!
Why come back again
Along with the known way!
Moonlit falls on the ways of Standing hill
Beyond the horizon
Dark fading, while
Lost love fusions with her colors
Across the Monsoon, Autumn, Winter
Finally the Spring is on the way
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
Mother warned me not to be too absorbed
In the mirror. I need to instead pay attention
To the world around me. “To form an identity,
One needs not to worry about perfection.”
She said. But, mother, you are apathetic
If I am anything but. I calm my impulses.
I buy and obsess over material possessions by impulse.
Catch me with a teen magazine, completely absorbed
As I block out the real world with an apathetic
Attitude. As I sit and read, I pay attention
To the celebrities who demonstrate perfection.
I will copy their traits to form my identity.
Lost in this dreary world, searching for identity,
I collect people’s personalities, stealing them on impulse.
Searching for happiness coincides with the pursuit of perfection.
I laugh at those who say I am self absorbed,
That say I am only looking for attention,
When it comes to criticism, I am apathetic.
I don’t care that I come off as apathetic.
It just happens to be part of my identity.
I don’t do it for attention.
Or maybe I do? I’m too impulsive.
I’m only this way because I’m self absorbed.
Obsessed with the idea of perfection.
I look at myself and all I see is perfection.
Others may see me with nothing but apathetic
Stares, but they are simply too absorbed
With their own problems of their identities.
Not my fault that they don’t feel the impulse
To love me. I don’t need their petty attention.
That was a lie, I live for attention.
Can’t everyone see I am the human embodiment of perfection?
Without their validation, I may act on my impulses.
And then when they ask why I did it, I will be too apathetic
To care. Dangerous and beautiful is my identity.
It isn’t so bad to be self absorbed.
I am absorbed in myself, desperate for attention
My identity relies solely on the thought of perfection
I am only apathetic because I care too much about myself. Here they come again, the impulses
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 11:49 PM UTC
The night and I are best friends.
Our darkness coincides
and I find myself confiding in the moon
more than I ever did with anyone else.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
Music is my Muse
From the funky jazz tempo
To the sounds of salsa
From the classical rock
To the alternative basses
From the Opera Lady's bellow
To the Tenors solo
From the 80's slow jamz
To them 50's swinging bands,
To them country folk songs
To those old folks blues
Music is my Muse,
My inspiration,
Being Black&Puerto; Rican
I- A NuYorican,
I've heard the best tunes,
Bahchata's & Merengue,
Bailes La Cumbias,
Like Macr Anthony &
oh how he sang to me,
My wanting
to rock with you like
Micheal Jackson-
To Vanilla's
Ice Ice Baby,
It's yo thang do what you wanna do,
Candy coated Rain drops
By Soul For Real,
& When will I see you Again-
Babyface
Until I muse
in my amusement
When Tim McGraw
Sanged don't take the girl,
Reba "Asking Does
He love me like
he's been loving YOU",
To its my prerogative
Like Bobbi Brown said,
Let not for get
Johnny Cash,
Or what About them
O'Jays
Yeah my muse is musical-
Music and thinking artfully
coincides with one another,
with breathing and eating
Rhyme & Rhythm linguistics
even as we walk down the street
or cruising
while jamming in ya car,
LL Cool J said Cars drive
by with the booming Systems-
AH Push it was
My jam back in the day
R&B; Was mostly what I liked
But growing Up
I started listening to
Rock & Hip Hop,
Got drunk off those sweet
Monster Ballads
while Making love
to Sade,
Sung All Cried Out
at my graduation party,
Tony Toni Tone
Made Us-FEEL GOOD YEAH
at all them block parties
back in NYC,
Now
I listen to everything
going on 33
heard it through the grape vine
that YOU share
a likeness in this Musing?
Music is My Muse.
Always Me Ayeshah
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 5:02 PM UTC
I am not in love, I tell myself. Faint words
do not reverberate, however, I know
that I am very good at fooling myself.
I should feel the vibration,
or so they say.
I am not in love.
Scribbled words running off
loose leaf.
Words left in the margins,
underneath the dotted line.
No Strings Attached
Or so they say.
I am not in love.
My hand on
the small of your back.
The taste of cold.
Wind blows headlines down
the sidewalk.
Adjusting coats and
gloves.
Skin remained covered,
to prevent frostbite,
or so they say.
How much prose
can relinquish this fire,
this intensity, which coincides
with disillusion?
When does an act of grace
become an act of convenience?
I am not in love.
*Every once in awhile you find yourself at a crossroad,
or you feel like you've reached a dead end.
Life is hard to handle sometimes, and so are the relationships we hold.
It's very confusing.
Especially when it is between two people of the opposite ***
The easiest way to explain this,
is that
it is not easy for most people to let themselves be vulnerable.
We all face so many hurdles in life,
trying to attain this goal that is (sometimes) unattainable.
Not all of our dreams will come true.
But that doesn't mean we should lose sight
or become discouraged.*
Or so they say.
That is why we are human.
We are willing to make these decisions
and prepare to accept the consequences in doing so.
We don't allow ourselves to take breaks, simply because life does not stop.
We push forward. We strive. Although, sometimes life catches up to us.
We become irritable.
We become confused.
We become tired.
My life: far too much scrutiny.
In the end, I put too much thought into something
that changes my perspective.
Usually a distorted one.
That is why shutting down in a neurotic state is accepted.
A cool down period,
when all the while we know another meltdown is around the corner.
I am not in love.
Ideally, words should have the same
encompassing power.
But seeing as how I can not
determine what works well
for me, I have conditioned
myself to being adaptable.
No rhyme or reason,
will ease the pain
that seems to follow
your name.
And that is why
I repeat faint words.
I am not in love.
She never was.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 12:17 PM UTC
The level of betrayal
Hit me on multiple levels
Beyond the shadows,
Was it the Devils kiss
Those moonlit craters,
in the gallows,
That created those layers
In the mountains of the Himalayas,
Will they ever tell us,
The secrets lost within those meadows
Flourishing down at base camp.
Flying those false flags in eminence,
whilst were sentenced in the highlands.
Hidden haters,
Camouflaged in winter colours,
the mesa range
a inhabited massif,
A hint of frostbite,
That in hindsight could cost lives,
of those trapped beneath the icy nights.
The snowfall is just drop of ice,
Stinging the eyes of those blinded
by the shards of glass icicles in the avalanche.
A ridge away from the mountain range safety nets.
Disrespected tor of mother natures indignation.
Only the indigenous survive.
Yet in the flames of exasperation,
In the footsteps of evanesce,
A liquesce renders the snow storm useless,
as the sun melts the inundation of the snow slide.
An aubade ray takes over the landscape,
oxidating snowflakes one by one like a machine guns wake.
The temperate rise coincides with the rise of hope within the atmosphere.
The patterns clear and the same mistakes will be made over and over again
until the atmosphere is damaged so severe;
The sun itself will cry a tear.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
-Because I lost count of how many times I’ve seen “Romeo Must Die”
if only to bring you back to life for the film’s entire running time-
You were a shooting star baby girl, yet to arrive at destination
in a world were too many broken dolls die by their own hand
one whose last name coincides with the city of a space station
the universe added a constellation for every year of your life.
Every string of hair breathed air, with both feet firmly on earth
leaving air itself without air to breathe; while we were heirs
to the despair of knowing you were no longer there, relieved
while wistfully wishing whispering the talent we received.
Like a beautiful gift wrapped in your chocolate-coated skin
like an ingenious plant growing from the asphalt we could see
like a butterfly’s open wings shaped in the color of your lips
like all of the music, slowly dying no longer playing on MTV.
Since you passed your name’s the most popular among girls
quite fitting for the lofty, sublime, exalted nature of you voice
breathy vocals while holding a python and rocking the curls
the only “resolution” needed was on my TV to feel you close.
So these verses are dedicated to the soil blessed by your steps
to your lashes, one in a million laughter, the stem of your neck
the plethora of kisses never given, your soul engulfed by love
from here to eternity, no sense in mourning a gift from God.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 1:59 PM UTC
What’s in a word
That says far too long
Of the feelings
All a miss
Tells how the sun shines
On a day gloom
Or how loss resonates
The rays of a rainbow
But at times does it coincides
With the stages of life
Coincidence might be word
That gives all surrounding through.
It is irony that lasts a lifetime.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
Having *** with our bodies, making love with our minds.
You've developed a guilty pleasure that coincides with mine.
Don't rush in, slow it down, baby, take your time.
Make sure yours words and descriptive lines match mine.
So our rhythmic rhythm and rhyme perfectly aligned.
With what your body language cosigned.
Words coming together,
Line-after-line,
In sync with one another,
Every single time.
Co-writing partners
You're words; not mine.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
sunrise is lazy this morning
as our awakening coincides with shivers
running up and down cool spines
on crusty concrete floors
sheets and sweating water cups,
that's what we ride for
past waterfronts and freeways,
fast as we can with sleep in our eyes
paisley prints surround us
as i lay and recount our night
flashes of flash lights reveal
strange structures inside of silos,
climb on, climb on,
exploring exploitation of the norm,
art in ways art hasn't yet dreamed
wild animal sounds bounce and billow
around in old grain homes,
while hands keep beats and hearts
are pedaled in shadow onto walls
fire breathing pipes belch into the
calm, black night and attempts to
climb towers are squandered by
men holding flashlights and power
so we fade into the nothingness and find
other metal mountains to explore,
garage doors open up to windmills
and i find myself with knees as
****** and black as the night before us
still, the animals cry out, but this time
it's low and between rushed breaths
that betray a sense of ecstasy only felt
when it sneaks up from behind
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Let's speak about love and how much I love. I've watched my pen bleed out slowly for these words I've written that some have read. Only seem to trend when I speak about love.
Was told my poems are no good because they don't rhyme. Foolish guy wouldn't understand the essence of each line. Wouldn't understand that nothing is sweet just sour like lime. That my worst poems were the best in my mind. You still believe I can't make a poem rhyme? When you read this guess you'll be surprised. just to make it clear I probably read more books in my childhood than you'll read in you lifetime. Is easy to rhyme.
Said I couldn't have a 10 word scheme.
So here is one.
**** you" times five lines.
Said I speak to much about the hood I speak to much about drugs.
I don't need for you to understand I'm far away from the sunny side.
I live on Broadway never river side. From the city that doesn't sleep to the city that doesn't speak. I can tell you how to take ******* and make it sweet as sugar cane with water and baking soda.
Love love love as I tortured my pen.
I've watched my pen bleed out slowly for these words I've written that some have read. .
Why I speak about the ghetto?
Everyone poem that I've read has been about love that is far from the streets I grew up in. Every line coincides with the previous one. Love love love
I love my brother who brought me a slice when I didn't have to eat. Now I'm grown no more fasting for me. No trial he just took it 5 years later went from a blackberry to the iPhone 6. Six months in a halfway house now he's free.
I do more than speak about the hood and drugs.
Don't take it at face value if you don't know how much it cost me and the family.
I'm making it college degree and all.
I'm glad I don't trend
I'm glad some don't understand
I can speak about love though all my relationships have fallen and crumbled to the ground like the twin towers. And if that offends you then skip the line and read the next one
I can speak about love though all my relationships have fallen and crumbled to the ground like the Berlin Wall on November ninth of eighty nine. Love love love. This is my poetry and history is mine.
Love love love.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
If you would allow me, I would like to invite you into a world that I'm in, and then into a world where I would like to be in. The surplus of this thing called madness has overwhelmed me so. It has etched it's presence within the peripherals of my vision and the groundings of the world around me. I'm doing my best to refrain from the usual written prolix; my most verbose dialect that seem even ambiguous to those of a higher stature. I want you all to comprehend and peradventure shed a scintilla of empathy; the bedlam that is my mind keeps attracting the mad and the sleeplessness.
The monotony of repetition and the lonely nights of nostalgia. In unison, the Asylum within the corridors of mind houses such emotional consequences and dares to formulate an ominous construct; derived by the copious amount of my many iniquities. I am never at peace.
Give me a silent "dark" that coincides a placid slumber. Let me drift within the winds of a comatose state and the ringing of the Sandman within my ear; the melodies of sleep produced by nothingness. I seek such a slumber that transcends that of delving into the subconscious of the brain, but instead the subconscious to reach inside it's own subconscious. Like a dream within dream, but with no dream.
How absurd.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
The kiss, reminisce to a hot summer afternoon,
The scent of him, hangs like a cloud above my head .
And every breath burns, like a flame set on fire, inside me.
His touch, dissolves, now a part of my very being,
His taste still lingers as this sweet dream of a passionate love affair.
And as the night draws closer, my soul aches for the sound of him,
And with every beat of my heart, his coincides to be of one.
Sweet nothing, as true as the sun that rises in the east.
And into his arms I fall, onto a bed of roses,
Underneath the sheets, skin and skin meet, burning desires,
As the dreamer in me awakes.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
Can you pour music into my soul?
Can you divide the lines between forgotten and unthoughtfulness?
I am strange.
Strange is my name.
I go by the titles of ****** God and the Devil.
Acting as one being, I am all powerful.
My words cut through like ice upon the ground.
Melting into your very core.
The common withdrawals of my life tend to create an atmosphere humid with lies and deceit.
Propaganda.
I am the overlord.
The great being that coincides with the path to destruction and sexuality.
A ****** moistened by the spit of a politician.
A reckless behavior, known by my cunning smile and grinning mouth,
I engross myself in the knowledge of good and evil.
The later being the most interesting.
Did you ever hear the story of mankind?
A dwindling pack of rats scurrying through life with the will for wealth, drugs and ***
A greedy coin collector locked inside an attic.
A basic complication.
The worlds most renowned contradiction.
A magnificent art of bones and skin.
A neck, a support beam in times of headlessness and ill-being.
I will forgo my judgement as a walk-on to Heaven's door.
A key needed, I use my snaked tongue.
A crime so easily forgotten by those that are rotten.
No longer holding back, my flames scorch your heart.
A thumping paper bag in a locked chest centuries old.
Can you take the distance, mile runner?
A treacherous land this is,
Filled with snakes of every color.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 3:41 PM UTC
If the Universe were a man in a trench coat
then his lair would be a carved-out pumpkin
with triangle windows and a candle as a kitchen
Perhaps we would all know when our time would come
and death would take bribes
as the devil coincides with all of the good.
Maybe we would all have a piece
of knowledge in our hands.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
Love is truly not from thy heart
Love is yet static vibrations
From within minds electric creation
Through touch, vision, scent
Amps infinite lumens
Blinding thee
Illuminating you
Fluttering heart thumps
Coincides my Electric speech to your weak knees
THAT IS MIND
THIS IS LOVE
THAT IS WHY
Till the day my mind dies
My heart will never dull
Nor weaken
With your light beside me
Growing blindingly brighter
We become one light so bright
Leading us towards each other
So close it blinds us from any one person
To reveal two in one And one in two
Life with out you Is life with out love
Never stop...
The light in my soul.
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
Falling In Love
It’s a downward spiral.
Everything spinning
And yet despite all
The bruises we get
As we crash into the cliffs
The splash at the end
And what’s left of the mist
Is more than enough
To suffice the need
Of the neediest lovers
Whoever they may be.
But when the mist coincides
And the water lays still
Is there anything left
But the bruises that didn’t heal?
So the fall starts again
And the sores multiply.
The heart begins to tear
And the soul begins to cry.
As the bruises become cuts
And the cuts become scars
We fall out of love
And become who we are.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC