Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
Open your heart paint your dream.
Do it in the broad daylight,
it’s your colour scheme.  
If the twilight falls on your colour plate
before you’re done painting the noon,
keep drawing down the moon!

Breakthrough at the first light.
No sunrise is any bird’s sleeping pillow.
They are on their wings, out and tweeting,
singing on the past night’s dreamscene.

Any of the fair duo, the Sun or the Moon,
sleek sunny golden or the silver line,
neither one of those can you catch.
They know their science  
like you count your time.

You can set your mind any time,
pick any number to count your time,
but you won’t have the last one.
There isn’t one, the mind is spotless fine.
But if the solar-lunar duo can count the last:
ask them to stop the time.  

Be truthful as you speak.
Open the heart into your eloquent word.
Never think you are alone, you are
complete with the complete world!
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
The little zero is big magic.
Count on any number in the number set.
Zero can give the heaps the giant leap,
yet no number can square it,
not even the complete set of digits.

Science trailing through the zero and one  
leads the digital age, continues to grow.
What's in a number is in the know,
but what's in a zero?

Now let’s take a trip into the matrix
without the arithmetic pill of the zero orb.
This time let it be with a poetic dose!

Should you not bask in the sun,
dipped only dew-deep,
shimmering in the sea of its deep
shadow in one little drop?
Can you touch a moon
up high, waxing lyrical  
above the billowing ocean?
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
It’s a coloured and shaded broad daylight.
Bring me my hourglass, my paintbrush.
Keeping a timepiece, how soon my brush
strokes become finer it is not the task.
Try once more, strike a fine chord in time,
ever ticking but doesn't make a sound!  

Let’s read the small prints, the shadow lines
on the pitch of the slit sun shines!
A dark spot in the light, some dotted lines
on a blank paper, however witty you might
describe it, count on the tweeting birds
short and cute, singing in the open air.

Light and dark the two tallies, ins and outs.
The times come and go, flowing fine.
For now, let’s take a look inside.
Tint and shade nor tone them now.
Zoom in and out, just watch them as they are.

This cool sleek shade on the sunny slate
is it a shadow, or some quivering curly hairs
or are these reflections of flocking clouds,
diligent sea eyeing deep down on the ground?
Read the small prints, shadows in the daylight,
before the show is wrapped up.
And down the evening pool, the sun
parts away with the black swan.
m May 31
I clench my jaw when I pray,
and I don't stop until it aches.
Only then is it that I realize
nothing pure slips through these teeth.
Popping Prozac at communion,
swallow down the savior with the blood of
---Christ, I bit down too hard again.

We know many sacraments here.
Each breath is a ritual.
Breathe in.
Hold it.
Breathe out.
Now count your sins
until you run out of stars,
and search for salvation on the edge
of each blade.
And hope to whatever god
that eternal life is just a myth;
it sounds worse than any hell
your preachers warned me about.
aphroditez Jul 1
I was 14 when I first discovered love,
Colors bloom the day when he arrived.
His face was my favorite mystery to solve,
Please just please don't get on my nerves.

For the very first time I laid my eyes on someone,
For such beauty could make you go insane.
Even though he's hiding; you can see easily spot him,
And I'm just someone who has always wished that you can claim.

Forlorn figures painted on my face,
Someone like you that can't be replaced.
Even though you left with no trace,
I won't forget your tight embrace.

Ditching off with you when we both have a curfew,
Out of nowhere sketches of you that I even drew.
Even if those memories can count as few,
I still love you even if you love someone new.
still stuck in the place where you and I collide
Noemi Ortiz Jun 20
My addiction to online shopping stems from the very simple idea that I have something I’m waiting for so I can’t kill my self yet. So I rather be broke than dead, but throughout the wait I beat myself bloody. Count the hairs on my head. Wishing for some kind of release. Receiving my package just to do it all over again.
Elizz Jul 13
"Be the light in someone's darkest corner. Even when you aren't your own." ~ The Context Kid.

Flames fizzle from the ends of my hair
Always the exit of a dark tunnel
Never the entrance
No one ever WANTS to stay
That's what I am
Spinning through darkness

Digging through it as if it were someone's empty tomb
Always there
Steady
A constant presence
Deep breaths
Count back from thirty

Light flows from me on the outside
But all there is on the inside
Is an internal slash
From my heart to mind
Seeping out like a broken oil line
Inky
Smothering
Darkness
Velvety in texture

Like an untuned guitar string
At times it's comforting
Something to float in
Something that is comforting
Other times
Obsidian obelisks
I watched as my soul
Shuddered out of my lukewarm body
Impaled on that towering

Lightly thrumming stone
A tall tower
Full of regrets
Full of inner demons
Full of everything that I don't want to acknowledge
Full of every single dark thing
That coats my nightmares
And ties my waking hours

In black silk laced ribbons
A pretty package to be opened at your whim

Hi
I didn't necessarily hear
But it looks like you could use a light
Silent mornings and empty beds. I cook for one.
28 day snapchat streaks, “omg” “lol” and “wtf”.
Walking by your mom’s house. You’ll run out that door any minute...?
New friends in class. They’re temporary and they know it.
Job applications stacked on my bed. I’ll quit within 3 months.
Getting breakfast at LP almost every morning. They’re the only ones left who know my name.
I count the days until summer ends, and with it my loneliness.
37, in case you were wondering.
Even temporary losses induce a constant ache.
Amanda Jean Oct 2016
I'm not trying to say I did nothing wrong
I'm just trying my best to be moving on
I feel weights that are lifted and I'm holding them high
I realize my power
I am a part of the sky
No movement is wasted
Not even my hair in the wind
Everything everywhere has a connection
They say God is to blame
God be the blessing
God have mercy on us for we are nothing
But they don't see that God is with us
We are to blame
We are blessings be
We must have mercy on everything
You see something wrong?
Don't just pray
Be the change
Tell everyone what is wrong
Use your voice and speak out against it
If you're only thinking and praying do you really think there will be changes?
The thought is something
The intention better
But what really matters are the actions that you're putting out there
If its all in your head then does it really matter to anyone but yourself?
If I write out all my sins, if I count them all up
If I repent and repent and never change my faults
Then am I truly forgiven?
Can I convince myself that I am?
If I understand my sin, I can justify it, right?
Its the logic that saves us, right?
Its the left brain, the reasoning, right?
But what if I'm a sinner?
What if I can never do enough good?
Not helping enough no
Not loving enough no
If I try to do more
Will my sinning ways stop?
Will I be able to,
No matter how much good I do,
Will I ever get out of the dark?
Shofi Ahmed Mar 1
The material body was yet in the making
The first and foremost luminary feminine
ebb and flow heartily pans out
flawless flow to the finest angle.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it like it
shapes and forms are waxing lyrical:
The pure masterpiece without a mirror!

Arts on the go Fathima moves on.
Praise be to the Lord she being made
to measure inborn mathematical the pi is her!
(For the perfect circle the circumference is masculine
The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer into a whole full number!

Hops up her first step she looks for ‘the all’
the complete whole the absolute one Allah.
Time and again she steps up but finds no floor
Her measured step by default lays on 360-degree circle
Scans all things at the first go still finds no bottom!

The first luminary masculine peace be upon him
first looks in the open she takes the veiled angle.
Through the evermore pi decimal micro-hole
She looks on and witnesses the first water drop
surfaces up without a base without a roof on top!
It follows through truly the copy of the original
softly springing around the serene water paints  
of all the maters to be created from this first drop.
Fathima looks at it and veils withdraws her reflection.

It’s still remembered in the sky that follows suit.  
First, a star was born stepping in Fathima’s shoe.
It tried so did the full set of galaxy only to disperse
into a profound constellation never finds a bottom.
Cause amidst this water circle floats the first soil.
Allah called it His house that He first created from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimage around it in the core
known as Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.

In the pre-designed world after the first masculine
the first feminine Fathima thus did the first pilgrimage.
She walked the walk did so in the patternless pi veil.

Nature is never uneven on the hidden hand of the pi.
Every little fraction, the small decimal does it count
connects to the dot without showing up a pattern!
Long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise.

Retracing time and again the sun rises in the median lane,
yet the black box scores it's only a dark chart end of the day!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and sync in the feminine water cycle but save only one
with Fathima floating out of the box it can’t link up!

Like millions, ever wonder where Fathima’s grave is?
The earth strived too to the death bite to print her footprint!
Most of the mass visiting Medina look too see the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been a tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown. Reportedly she wanted her grave to remain unidentified.
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