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In a corner of a room lying is the table,

A vase placed on it
A chair besides it,
A cot placed near it,
Me sitting on it...
Each morning,
every evening
This is the look of
A room which has
White walls
And glass windows.
The room that's in the corner of the big full house ...

House is filled with voices,
And cooing of babies
And whispers
And laughter
With people that are mine,
With guests that are visiting...
But the white room in the corner
Have just me and my silence.

Its not happening
with me alone
It has happened with many
before me,
It will happen with many
after me
Some will call it fate
Some will call it compulsion..
Sitting here alone
I think,
I have learnt to live alone
I will manage my remaining
life alone
But my son and after him his son
Will they be able to live in
old age alone like me??

Some have all the living relations but house is lonely,
Some don't have any one around and house is silent
Those born in my time have long gone
Those death do us part had too gone away
And I am still alive!!

I write sometimes on the table lying beside
Sometimes a poem
Sometimes old memories
List of old friends
Those who are still alive
Those who are no more...

I am waiting to become a
photo frame
To be adorned on the wall...
Though in a photo frame,
but waiting to be part of colored walled that's main room of the house,

I am waiting to be once again in the center of whole voice filled house,
I think,
The day I am hanged on the wall of colored room
Knowingly-unknowningly I will become part of there talks too...

I have lived a long time in this white walled room,

Maybe then I will leave this room
Maybe now I will leave this room.

Sparkle In Wisdom
Matt Shaw Aug 2016
the hearth that plays upon
gold-trimmed porcelain
like a grand *****

the room that pulls your steps forward
and makes your eyes glowing

held up by a chemical dream
woven of nothing
so sweetly kissed by nothing on all sides

i am the death god
i am the room held up by dreaming
that hosts the phallus and the womb

a fixed stare
a lovely dare
a poetic doom
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
It streams down eye to eye
from the unseen but the all seeing.

Far from the Mars far from the Neptune
skipping all the planets hanging in space
only on the cheek of earth, a drop of tear fell.

Every angel in the heavens' shore
has heard of this lore.
It’s timeless long mesmerising beautiful.
Far from the blue yonder sky
hunky dory is delighting to the eyes
the stunner is made to measure.

A tear in the corner of the eye
as if it's diagonally weighed down
with the 360-degree open looking sky.
As close as within a fingertip comes the Moon
still, a sea is ahead forever untouchable!
Desmond the poet Jul 2018
I've been ignored and sidelined.
Denied freedom of expression.
Due to poverty, I was laughed at.
I was hurt, broken, and fought against.
Like a bicycle, I kept my balance to keep moving.
Then I won.


Passion didn’t come without suffering.
I strived not to be noticed.
I strived for my absence to be felt.
My intention wasn’t waiting for the storm to pass.
The intention was to dance in the rain.
Kneeling before God gave him ability to stand before anyone.

I’M THE STONE THE BUILDER REFUSED whom against all odds:

Forge without questioning.
Loved without condition.
Cared for people without expectations.
Gave without any sparing.
Shared without pretending.

I'm the same stone that turned to be the corner stone.
It's a personal poem about how I was treated by my family when I grew up and today I'm successful.
Alyan Khan Aug 25
the broken, the swelled
the shattered, the caged

there's an addiction
in grief
there's a pleasure
in sorrow
when you look back,
the past seems to follow

it never hides
it never did,
nor will it

even in the darkness
or in the night
in the hope,
and in the might
it never seems to hide

and you;
you are lost,
whether in the light;
in the hope,
or in the might
you were lost
looking for a ray of light
of hope, and of might
Hannah Christina Jul 2018
It's not the shadows themselves that are alive.
The darkened places are where you hide the thoughts you dare not face.

What did you expect?
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Once, the summer sun will rise in London
Like the half of the Ge meets the other half.
Like a magic by the Lamp of Aladdin
The love flame hidden in the chest lits out!

Like a blooming rose in a glowing beam of light,
Like a smiling face speaks a gentle word,
Like a beautiful sunrise colour in the first light!

The summer in London will pop and sizzle
We will see a threshold in our land.
The rose for a while is tucked away
Off the winter and is given to the sun
Winter is not forever spring is on the corner
Come back in the sun with the early bird
Before Cinderella takes on the primrose path.

Keeping an eye on a thriller is in the winter’s field
Oozy ozone misty land gets a gingerly seasoning
What on earth will it strike, will it dish out?
Ah, the sun will pop out like a river breeze.

Like a southern song singing on a dream scene.
a smooth fairy dance facing the Moon
a thrill of exposing Stonehenge once and for all
a melodious raindrop in the serene pond
a butterfly dance on the rose
a turned on tall tale of the blue peacock
Like a pure belief in heaven without a pinch of salt!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
A girl in the corner,
carries monsters in her handbag
Dark eyes are her soul window
Shrouded with feathers.
She breathes gently but with strength,
You'd barely notice .
She was watching you...
Don't play and no react
Sometimes she smiles.
Maybe you see the shines in her eyes.
The flash of craziness
That you've been enlightened about.
She moves with natural
As she glides on shattered floors.
Likewise,  the hearts she left in the dust.
She halts.
And looks you in the eye.
And your breath catches her discrete thought
Revised:  01/06/2019
sammy Jan 24
Treated, as if my heart's like yours
Talked to, as if I intruded your words
Looked on, and had brought my eyes nurture,
But my couple of words never went any further.
You're kind and you're caring,
But you'll never try hearing,
Just what my tongue ponders
And just what I am bearing.

It's true that I'm wrong,
But it's wrong what you've sung,
That I'm painted real pretty
And I'm made from some stone.
Don't feel lost or feel pity,
Just keep talking and loving me.

See it's simple my darling
There's no pain or torture
It's just weary and frailty,
And imperfections unblurred.

It takes time and good vision,
It takes feeling some words.
It takes more than you'll realize,
But it's not so unsure,
That I'll quickly find inside,
All the sweet and the pure.
Sobbingsoul Sep 2
Unbearable pain within
My hearts is soaked
In anguish
Am bathed
The Eternal rainfall
Of my own tears
No place to pour
Here I come
To my sacred corner
Where I can sob
Nowhere I want to be seen
Embracing you inside of me
Want to go back
Where I always have been

Nicole Oct 10
He was too many poems
And she was frankly too
Tired to write one more,
Except the one that she
Left in the shambles of her
Heart, snoring loudly
With fear of it being kissed awake.
It doesn’t hurt that you chose her. She’s prettier than me, smarter than me, not broken like me. Her smile is bright like the sun, her eyes are as blue as the sea, and her laugh is like the melody of the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard. She’s your favorite book, and I’m just a page of it. She’s really the obvious choice.  I’m happy for the two of you, honestly.  Sometimes I see you holding her, and it looks as if you’re scared to let go. I see her smile up at you, and I can just tell that she’s lost in your eyes. I’m glad that you found love.  It doesn’t hurt that you chose her, but you wanna know what does? The fact that I almost had you. You almost loved me. You held me like that, and I smiled at you the same way she does now. But something happened, and suddenly you’re all I can think about, when to you I’m just a distant memory.
Jerry Vital Aug 2018
Since after birth
My whole life feels casted by the devil spell
Ever since I started walking on this earth.
I walk on sidewalks to hell.

Living on a broken street,
My life has only been jagged.
And my soul looks so ragged
Until I can't stand anymore on my feet.

Wanting to start over,
with only broken bits and pieces,
with the chills of life running up to my neck
everytime I go around the corner.
Need a solution, I need to find some peace.

Telling my mom: Can we all leave, please?
So we can find some peace to feel at ease.
Hoping life would take a welcoming turn.
Until we reach the point of no return
A writing prompt I had to do with these words:
Prior to Early May Day,
Can’t help to driving into flavour of red and green.
Are all duties done?
Or never end with trio ensembles,
May sun stays and birds continue to sing.
It is a real chill out,
The genuine thing.
I am not deceived,
but I do think summer is hidden around the corner
With you and all
By Angel. XJ 30/04/2019
Silverflame Aug 2018
my old futile dreams
make the windows all misty
ripping up the seams
blood mixed with ancient whiskey

a smile around the corner
lures the naive mind
******* up the world order
another death wish signed

overhead, brick by brick
the november wind stands still
heart oozing of homesick
empty thoughts keep my glass refilled

delusions cover my sight
faraway lights blink with eager
fixing the crooked night
dinner with the grim reaper
A poem I wrote last year, which I someone managed to delete with my clumsy fingers.
Lawrence Hall Dec 2018
“…and looking at a picture on the opposite wall.”

                          -C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Ikons are windows to another World
Of Theos and Theotokos, of our saints
Some as merry as yet are others stern
While forming from the prayerful writer’s 1 hand

And in the saints the Light of God shines through
True witnesses to that transcendental Truth
And so we pause and with a candle catch
The prayer-light of their eternity

(As does the bedes-spider 2 who lives there)
Ikons are windows to that truer World

1 In Orthodoxy an ikon is said to be written rather than drawn or painted, but y’r ‘umble scrivener is no authority; the reader might begin a study of ikons / icons with:

2 An Orthodox friend discovered that a spider had made its home among his ikons, and so in peace and hierarchical obedience the little creature served God as a sort of canon, or perhaps a bedes-spider, until its death.
PC classic Oct 2017
not so long ago
they made you feel
not so alone

the social medias and  compulsive criterias

and the claustrophobia
that comes
when you will always understand where some people come from but never love them for it

these days it sits in a blind corner
like a forgotten foreigner
mentioned in sentences
that start with
"remember back when..."

The lesson of technology is to go with the flow

The lesson of time is in old and fading photographs
where you are holding
a landline phone
and pretending to talk into it
because your mother wanted to take a picture
Jesse stillwater May 2018

He liked to gather up the silence in the springtime
  Pack it up and carry it in an old timeworn leather rucksack
From a distance it looked like he was a senseless fool
  Picking up handfuls of nothing;  then putting it in an empty jar

No mind is paid to the fleeting glance in the corner of a stranger's eyes
  They were out of reach from the box he was living in
He kept gathering up the endless silence like missing pieces of a lost soul
   It seemed to be everywhere ―  and in it heard,  the only voice he knew

Supposing all his thoughts pondered come forth of silence
  Often resting sheltered beneath branches where it grew on the trees ―
It wasn't just the songbird that broke the stillness in dappled sunlight
  It was the dearth of love that rivers through a strong heartbeat’s
silenced words ...

Jesse Stillwater

04   May   2018
Thank you for reading and considering "gathering silence"
CK Baker Apr 2017
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets
through the green heaps and brown bags
through the downtown whisperers
and sage solitude souls

Army bands prepare for march
(their trench members filling packs with canister and cane)
the high command and tricked militia head pinned
quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle

Traffic patterns change at the COP connect
camouflage bearers break formal stride
battle men slip between colorful floats
unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary)
grin in their second suite dying rooms

Twitching men and rubbernecks
sit discreetly on the corner wall
JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute
holy rollers raise cheer (in a moment of silence)
chess men hold steady
with ivory cues

Flames belt from the distant foundry
streets come alive with crackle and dust
members of the attic group glance down from their perch
an elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now)
sits solemnly with a cold reflective stare

It’s not far from the steely mud holes
from the flying fragments and sharp broken dreams
from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the *****)
the ivy trellis
and flowing white gown
are a nocturne fit
for this elevated rolling highland
King Panda Oct 2015
who knew you were filled
with gold!
when I stuffed the dynamite down
your throat and ran you
through the casino I wasn’t
expecting a jackpot
maybe a princess piñata or a
party popper
but a corner leather and a
fresh haircut?

no, we’re not
in the 50’s anymore
but your vault was guarded
like mob headquarters when you head
started sputtering

you the
light-skinned pin action
movie star
looking highly alien
my diamond studded
Shaine Fraz Oct 2018
8 fifteen in the morning,
huddled around this wooden framed door,
awaiting today’s moderator,
another professional development,
Restorative Practices,
the art of inclusion,
the art of accountability;
Skill building,
The mutual hate among us as we stare into a dark room,
Awaiting another 7 hour day of ice breakers,
We clutch our coffees and populate the lone corner — 12 capacity room in the basement,
All 15 of us,
Good morning: let’s begin
© 2018 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz
King Panda Oct 2015
this is a medical emergency ossified
in utero part the hair to cover
pink earwax scar innervated this
cochlea this ******* that steals
the spotlight and rooster’s comb
braised sockets for teeth wired through
the rafters kissing corner braces
shallow chromium double-eye poke
like a pile of face bones stacked
paul bunyan forest slide and jump from
the peak to the pool shallow and
undisturbed to dunk your face and
see future pure voodoo spirit board
and voice box locked with tongue-ectomy
removal of cough through neck hole
cardboard cut stickers in half to
write ******, I’m done.
Nebi Sep 12
The very first rule
has been broken
that you made
in the first place.

When waking up in the morning
is all that I can do sometimes
when breathing hurts so badly
when I know I cannot cry
because I will not stop.

My faith in being honest never wavers
no matter how many souls
lie to
cheat on
prey on

In love I still believe
but I think you have finally convinced me.

You may feel backed in a corner
but I have no way out.
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