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Harsh Sandhu Nov 2014
When listen about date of exam
Feelings got high and uncalm
Being company of books inevitable
Now condition of students deplorable
Having pressure smacking clock fatuously
Yawning and laziness offing continuously
To see books again and again become petulant
But thinking about exams it takes dissentiment!

Due to exams sleep devoured
Neither subject nor weather favoured
Time ate to last morsel the pleasure
And to do best alter one's nature
Pretending today's work to next day
Lastly purge to  get something we have to pay!!
Time for examination ..it's hard time, library time..
Daniello Mar 2012
At a party [many people, dressed nice, cocktails
going round] someone I guess awoke to my presence
as if I’d just appeared out of nowhere or something
and asked me [totally circular eyes, spearing pupils]
like this: And what do you do? I looked at him, and I
don’t know what face I made, but what I wanted to
look like was something to this effect, matter-of-factly:
Well, what do you think I do? Obviously, I simply
try to avoid, day by day,
a wretchedly hopeless case of dismal ennui.
I try to endure, as stoically I can, the
inner doggerel convulsions
and mawkish throes educed by the
realization of transcendental insignificance
(or, otherwise: paradoxically substantial nothingness)
that imbues all hope of Elysian ecstasy and
reduces it to but the terrifyingly
ineluctable fact that we are essentially
impotent holograms functioning by the fixed fractal geometry
of a dynamic and chaotic, kaleidomosaic-like reality,
which, as eternally self-transforming and
forever utterly inconceivable,
is devoid of any certainty, absolute truth
and, most of all, compassion.
Furthermore, when I look at you, I see a deaf-mute
reflection of a reflection of myself, and
to be morbidly honest, I don’t
know what I can tell you that would
make any difference to the fact that, freely or
not, we are both, you and I, just passing
through our lonely, fathomless, patterned
deserts, blinded and lured by the Fata
Morgana of our sadly sublimated
consciousnesses, due to which, undulating up ahead
of us in a chimerical haze, we are
conditioned to think, fatuously, that we know,
or that it’s possible even to know, that
it means something to love or not to love, that it
matters at all whether we are alone or
not, and that, at the point of death, there will be
something, somewhere, that will condense
somehow out of this
nauseatingly numinous fog and, like a deserved,
blissful wash of our “souls”—like a salvation!—
will come to justify the inanities
and insanities of our mundane life as just the
confusing buildup to a final and triumphantly
epiphanic crystallization in which, at last,
we will truly understand, unquestionably, the meaning of I,
the meaning of you, the meaning of truth,
and the meaning of meaning—I mean, honestly sir.
What do you do?
That’s what I hope my face looked like, but I guess it
must’ve looked like something else, or maybe I said
something, because the man just raised both his brows
[his left one slightly more than his right] and stared
me down in mocked awe, on the verge of superciliousness.
His eyes slowly receded like a tide imperceptibly towards
the back of his skull, his lips pursed, parched, and pitying.
Then he nodded complaisantly, too energetically, saying:
Oh, how interesting! Did you always see yourself getting
into something like that? Mmhmm. Hmm! [and so forth]
And how do you like that? Mmhmm. [and so forth] And
the pay? Mmhmm [etcetera]. After I’d finished answering
some of his questions, I said: If you’ll excuse me, I just saw
a friend of mine, I really should go and say hi, but what a
pleasure it was to talk to you, sir. Take care!
And I excused myself.
A Lorraine Oct 2014
The Vanilla Bean Frappuccino,
who brings chills down my spine every time.
Sweet on the inside, cold-hearted on the outside,
Especially when he leaves me high and dry
in the morning unexpectedly.
He’ll remind me that I’m alive,
And make me feel Zen for a split second,
Then he splits in a second.
Or
The Caramel Macchiato,
Tall with a sophisticated smile
And unrealistically hazel eyes
That read “bello” around his irises.
With a shot of expression—
He’s never afraid to speak how he feels.
But that’s just the Italian in him.
Or
The Pumpkin Spice Latte,
The most popular guy.
He’ll warm me up when I’m cold;
And make me feel like I’m his only one,
He’ll tell me everything I want to hear,
Then he’ll disappear without a sign—
At least until the next year,
Only to continue the same cycle over again.
Or
The Cappuccino,
He’s got a strong mind
like those French roast blends
With a secret soft side.
He speaks with fluidity and is
As charismatic as the rest.
He’s a morning person nonetheless,
And won’t leave me loveless
In the sheets like Mr. Vanilla Bean sometimes does.
Or
The Teavana Chai Tea Latte
He sounds fancy, does he not?
He’s different to say the least,
Layered with many spices,
And from cinnamon trees,
He’s warm-hearted, yet feisty.
Gentle, yet fatuously energetic.
Soft spoken, yet bold,
He doesn’t have to do much
To have me sold to his trance.

Now for me to decide what I want
As more people file in, deliberating the same
Line up as I, but they have more to
Choose from.
Perhaps I should loosen up some, and go
With last one.
Is this poem about coffee beverages or about men? You decide.
Steven Fried Jun 2013
War
Antagonism
burgeons back bad blood.
Compatriots, courtesy can cool contentions:
doubly, disrespect demands decisive
execution. Early efforts evolved
fatuously, force facilitated farcical fighting.
Gambling gents gleefully gored
hedonistic harlots. Harassing
ignorantly, igniting
jealously,
killings
listlessly- liars lament
momentarily. Meanwhile, monetary
nuances
of opulence obscure
prime problems.
Quarries quake
running red. Remembering
solitarily- stoic steeds stand silent, sending
thoughts,
unbidden, unbeknownst.
Violence:
we were
xanthic,
yellow years yaw…
Zymotic.
An alliteration of a the reasons for a battle, and the results of said battle.
Serendipity Apr 2013
Dissatisfaction an empty abyss
Deep in now a well known limb
Hope severed, intangible, a ghost
Screaming without a sound
Bleeding without a wound
And these strings fatuously tuned.
Inebriate and stumbling through
an ocean of nobodies, all together, unseen
Without a purpose, an insect
Abiding another nobodies law,
Rebellion restricted by a Metropolitan claw
Steel bars in my own conscience
Dreaming the escape, yet alone
Soaring through time
Captivation doesn't last
A welcome blessing and an unintentional curse, yet alone
and innocence is now grown
Harsh Sandhu Oct 2014
Neither star nor moon
I give you ever soon
Not in habit telling a lie
You believe me as true guy
Nay me fond of to boast
Because i exact know true love's cost
Can't promise to you fatuously
To stop smacking heart obviously
If life does not exist
Where the love persist
Not love render body to other
Love's fidelity among couples at par
Being body's pleasure short lived
Have no conform cause true love thrived!
I can't promise , i can't claim, love not with your skin, not with your wealth..i truly believe in love then why others things are important for you..is love not enough for you.
Duke Thompson Aug 2014
'and I realize everybody is just living their lives quietly but it's only me that's insane'
i walk the streets waiting for your call
six lowly lonely hours feet numbed
it never comes and tho i still love
you i hate you and big promises
spring fatuously little pretty lie
perpetual disappointment
in perpetuity i ******
hate you like
suspended
questions

falsities fabricated in your upward inflection  falsetto all goopy
distasteful muck of all our
empty troubled souls
the sea of the corpus which in reality covers most of  our primordial earth
so best pay attention

what are you high - maybe yes ok
probably can't remember honest
words never the less spill from
my mouth I love you yab yum
for i the raucous martyr-*******
to yer neglect bull whip *******
fantasies   (woe)
me up on yer cross
he died *****
as i do, you
cruel
          terrible
                         butcher *****
I close my eyes...

It's about the biggest mistake I did
It's the most fatuously done deed
An imbecile like myself
Again, got trapped with this trick

I close my eyes...

There I saw not darkness
It's not even one bit dimmed
But it was the greenest field and the bluest sky
Where there lay, you and I

I close my eyes...

Close... my hands are to you
Close... your breath is to my neck
As you breathe in my scent
I listen your heart's beat; loudened, quickened

I close my eyes...

There you are smiling at me
Holding me in your arms like a fragile jewelry
Kissing me like you own my lips
Oh, I'm robbed of freedom but brimming with glee

And now, I open my eyes...

Eyes that once sparked with love
Eyes that once glowed with passion
Now are woeful and bewailing
For the beautiful memory you've left me

I'll never close them...

Unless I'm worn out and tired
Unless I've cried enough at night
Unless my body whispers that I'm weary
Unless my body's quiet, cold and not breathing

Unless I am...

I will not close my eyes again.
Ankit Dubey Mar 2019
Letter

What exactly do you want from me?" She asked tenderly. Her eyes searching mine for an answer, compelling me to break my silence.

Me? I don't know. I've said that enough through my eyes but if you want me to put it in words so I'll explain it in the most obvious way. I want you. Your attention and your time. It's not that I'm some crazy psychopath dying to get an eye from you. I'm just a splintered soul who finds his solace in you.
I want to be with you. Either in person or just clung to your thoughts. I want to wake up next to you, to see your serene face shrouded with dim morning sunlight. I want to wake you up everyday differently. I want to giggle around you and to see you giggle with me, to let your laugh echo in my room of silence, sedating my soul, letting me feel vibrant.

I want to cook with you without thinking about our bad cooking skills. I want to twirl around you sheepishly while trying a hand in cooking recipes that are way beyond my capabilities. I want to sing dramatic duets doing salsa on our kitchen floor. I want you to make faces on having my delicious food and appreciate my horrible cooking experiments to save me from getting dull.

I want to have a garden full of roses and lavenders to water it with you and then playfully want to get indulge into some water fight against the green grass. I want to see your wet face with perfect smile laughing girlishly to let my head imagine how beautiful you must have been in your teenage.
I want to have pets with you. I want you to hold my hands to make me learn how to play with them touching their fur and befriend them without running from them. I want you to entangle your fingers with mine while crossing roads where I can barely open my eyes. I want you to cover me in crowd. I want you to hold me right to let me know you care. I want you to respect my tears knowing this heart of mine is fatuously emotional.

I want to sleep peacefully against your heartbeat, giving rest to the storms of my head if only you know I'm an insomniac with millions of mood swings. I want to ***** about how my workplace ***** and then rest my head on your shoulder crying myself to sleep. I want you to cover me up when I throw blanket in midnight. I want you to rest your head against mine to let me feel your warmth while asleep to fight back each witching hour of darkness.
I want to explore the world with you. That never meant to go on trips that are beyond our financial potential. I want you to wake me up in midnight to take us on some adventurous roadtrips to explore the fun we've missed while living and running this futile race of life. I want to drive insanely to scare the hell out of you. To go on long walks in cities of no recognitions and unknown faces. I want to go on adventure sports with you. Hiking up the mountains, diving skies and waters. Hence plunging deep in the ocean of togetherness.

I want you to surprise me on my birthday at 12 when I'm least expecting it to be remembered by you. To see you sing a happy birthday song and realise how horrible your croaky voice sounds. Yet the butterflies in my tummy flutters to show how elated they're to found you. To just get cute notes over fridge, desk and tv saying how annoying I'm and yet how my presence makes you feel alive. I want to have intellectual conversations about love, life and future yet I want to suddenly turn the table towards lame dance numbers. Dancing with you till my feet ache and breathing gets shallow.

I want to unravel secrets you've been concealing from this utterly judgemental world. I want to sit on rooftop at 2 am with you talking about how life must've origined and why death is scary. Admiring stars, moon and chattering about galaxies. Foremostly I would like to get lost in the galaxy your deep eyes allure me of.
I want to watch some over the top emotional movie and end up curling in your lap crying my heart out. I want you to pat my back and tell me how it's just a movie and my dumb head need to fathom out the difference. I want you to startle me with bitter truths rather than soothing me with comforting lies.

I want to lend an ear to your pain and smile in your contentment, I just simply want to be with you, till my breathes last and to make you feel whole with me. Holding your hands, fighting, reasoning, laughing, blushing and living I'm just a young mind with an old heart, heart which may not necessarily believe in clichéd fairy tales but wants to feel that corny romance, romance that's beyond age and time, time that binds our hearts together to make our own little infinity, infinity that entwines our dark souls conjointly.

I just want to get old with you, that's all I want.
this is all what I ever want to say you whenever you asked me what I want from you
my dear love : shreya
George Krokos Apr 2018
Please don't ever rend my heart in two
but keep it whole so I can give it to You.
A broken heart is due to love in-fatuously spent
a one-sided affair that in self-interest was bent.
______
From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Tribhu Aug 2018
Life goes high,
And life goes low.
In between we're the feathery souls,
We fatuously flow.
Where we'll stop
We do not know,
We are the lights of heaven
We vibrantly glow.
A little up we fly
A little down we go,
Too late to catch us in cages
We are the birds of gold.
Julian Sep 2017
Simpletons sprawl across the earth benumbed by quidnuncs without substance
They prattle indiscriminately amongst their hebetude and find travesties of proper justice
Inching along their snail mice paths they get ensnared by the cheese of Grapes and Wrath
Desiccated by the vainglory of smallminded insularity they chase the definitive epitaph
A grave dug by those that conflate laziness with profligate indecency cheap is their limited math
They foist expectation and I surpass standards unsung without a winsome glib tongue
But they expect a mountain of promiscuity invariably won
Their availability heuristic is patently dumb and insensate
Because few are the courtships among the dross of obscurity that yield infinite weight
I will fence with the gainsay of a thousand fools drooling over degradation and the epitomized tool
I will vanquish there sodomized and bowdlerized histories away from the foundering traipse of coruscating ghouls
For many are those within my rapprochement and many are the victories that I win
But unheralded close encounters of the magnetic north of womankind are buried by lies and purblind perspectives
They find elation in schadenfreude clothed with the most pyrrhic pride that ever existed
A pride of dumbfounded idiots reveling in perdition and clamoring for malcontent sedition
Against the inviolable traits of respectable personage and properly worn decorum, the latest edition
I will never capitulate to phantom skeletons wanting death and dishonor
Because my compass points to a broadened life of wife, husband and father
The groveling idiots of liberalism without bounty and meretricious egalitarianism gloat over lurid degradation
They besiege the tranquility of a levelheaded space and sabotage the atmosphere with disgrace and malevolent expectation
Then they expect me to vanquish specious caricature with their obstinate immature character
They are a battalion of morons waging war against innocence, chatterboxes of nuisance acting as impetuous barrister
I always get close, but never far enough to debunk their thoughtlessness and perjury against common sense
If I leer only at women, how the **** can I be on the ******* fence
Schadenfreude is common to mice that run the rat race at every imaginable price
And that is the extent of their consciousness, they infest the vogue with busybody nonsense and have false awakenings all the time in less virtue than vice
They think it is their obligation to dredge the sunk costs of life and obtrude with crime after crime against decency and peace of mind
Crab people likely have a venereal disease that pollutes them with a false solidarity for grime, lice and yeast of sour bread they easily find
They censor the easiest avenues to happiness and then put the burden of proof on me to find the convoluted route through the discord of naysayer cacophony and tainted atmosphere to find head, tail and *****
So I politely offer a challenge to the obstinate hordes that gloat for rebarbative squalor incongruent with inner peace and outer harmony… stop being so ******* pushy
Put a leash on your rabid dogs as you waft through life clouded by the fog of congenital ignorance and predatory instinct
Many are animals that only escaped extinction as ravenous predators incapable of the chivalry of the winsome wit and think
I have contentment in my life, talent runs through my veins, I have good posture and I ooze enthusiasm even when infamy haunts my many days so fatuously profaned
But contemptible is the nosy know-nothing that makes it sport to ignore profuse signs of success to invariably defame
The brunt of denial is upon the accuser who conflates conditional reticence with complete incontinence of a life inclemently tamed
I win at life almost all of the time, I court women often and come close enough to prove I’m fine
It is your lurid, fatuous and conceited imagination refracted through the decadence of Astroturf fascinations with contemptible ****** aberration that is completely asinine

(Don't Comment on this Poem)
'Course as a grim teller of tall tales,
(albeit poetic) reasonable rhyming
quasi roundelay I readily admitted to feign
cuz, stringing words together with
pride and prejudice plus
sense and sensibility, jocularity,
and conformity I dissed deign
(spoiler alert) iamb, trochaic,

dactylic, and anapestic metrical reign
jest your ordinary garden variety
dollar short day late dime a dozen
penniless citizen banker Abel and Cain,
yet mine mean mien blithely, daringly,
fatuously, ludicrously, nauseatingly,
pretentiously playfully urbane

many (if not all readers)
will **** sitter
yours truly harmlessly insane,
whose feeble attempts
to wax and wane
oft times falls flat (splat goes Matt)
as if dropped out plane,
without a parachute

instantly recuperating while lain
supine (winded, but...
none the worse) asthma brain
suffers concussion, confusion, contusion
actually, immediately, and unexpectedly
knocked fluent German speaking ability
within germane guy verständlich?

If ye really comprehend
trademark non Turkish gobbledygook
then explain (using
language of least familiarity),
but best to commence
with eye catching hook
impossible mission
apt lit pupils (mine)

to evade even momentarily
riveting, spellbinding,
and transfixing look
courtesy ingenious way
with word ye snook
cored me and took
wind out my sails.

Nor could I breakaway courtesy automobile,
cuz 2009 Hyundai Sonata
would not start... yea for real,
thus finding me ready to yoke
neck (think gibbet) each heel
dangling as body goes limp
blessedly, finally, happily
ridding me of any/all hangups,
one less goo goo gaga born this way
poker face cards for him to deal.

UNGABLUZUM describes this schlemiel!
sandra wyllie Aug 2019
cause I do
my own thing. I don’t
listen to other
people. They’re not
happy. Sure, they pretend
that they are. But if
they were, they wouldn’t
try to convince
everyone. They protest
too loudly and convince
fatuously, so daftly
I must ask myself,
really?? Now being a rebel
hasn’t made me happy. It’s
made me lonely. But unlike
others I own my loneliness
and whatever else I get. And
because of this I feel a bit
superior, maybe even genius!

— The End —