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kiran goswami May 2020
I posted a picture on the internet today,
after handpicking the best of all.
While she is left with no choices,
so she walks on the roads that burn
carrying herself upon her feet that bleed.

I took my camera and checked up the lighting,
as I wanted the picture to look 'natural' and 'candid'.
A cameraman rushes to her to click a picture
as he is a magazine photographer searching for stories real.

I sweated and protested about the scorching heat
while I set up my camera.
She wipes the sweat off her father's forehead
on which the glabellar lines cease to exist,
while hers is carrying the roots and branches of it.

I held books in my hand to strike a pose
as my fingers laid in front,
whose nails I painted yellow for this summer.
She holds the handlebars of her bicycle she can no more hold or paddle,
her nails have painted themselves with the colour of mud.

I clicked too many pictures for me to count or recall.
Even after thousands, she remembered how many miles is home.


I captioned my picture
'No more lonely quarantine',
She hardly knows alphabets or words to even ask for help.

I swiped from filter to filter
selecting an 'aesthetic' one.
She drinks the pitch-black liquid,
they tell her is water,
without even demanding for 'cleaner' one.

I finally edited and made a perfect picture,
with my wide grin sealed with a gloss,
And the cameraman too asks for her to smile for once.
She with her deserted lips forms a curve that makes the cameraman frown.

He deletes the picture from his camera
as it would be disliked by all,
It got 1.9k likes,
The picture I posted on the internet today.
I catalog events with a subtle, ulterior pretense
Describing the notorious infamy in all the events
And anything characterized, inspiring, and bold
Makes a story unfold in the real time it's told
I am snowblind and need defibrillation to wake up
Either my heart turned cold or has simply had enough

The ferry fan dreamboat has only so inadequately found
That as I feel my orienting response record the time down
It is not truly me who was looking around
Though I can pinpoint the exact moment that I drowned
The only lingering product of me absolutely remaining
Is the aftermath of my angina so ever restraining
Never complaining until the sound of the trigger
Then I'll be adamant to describe that noise with vigor
Though rigorous it may be, I will try, I might even with some tact
And let you in one last time presenting only fact.
I stepped away and left this place while presently in line
The sentence was one more time for the last time
And then you said goodbye

I was watching all the while a vapor on the scene
And I felt myself lose oxygen with no production in my spleen
My blood does not perfuse in that bilateral moment of blame
How can I let asystole clamp and constrict my cowed red vein?
How could I dilate the cause of my shame?
How could I love my life in the rain?

The simple reason I was experiencing tinitus...
I found out all connections were lies
Like a manufactured virus
Love was a prescription with doses written in ink
With no distinction and no response I could not think
With no recompense or recognition I felt my larynx shrink

I was only dumbfounded so I took to my reflexes
Handpicking a numb tendency to fill my recesses
But it only drains you and me and leaves a hole behind
I'm nowhere near magical so it's power cannot rewind
If so inclined I'll tap my spine and steer it all back
But I don't feel you anymore
*Only this heart attack
This poem is dedicated to anyone who loses a piece of themselves every time someone truly special walks away.
Aditi Uniyal Oct 2015
As the sun embarks
Upon a journey
To the hills that it
Insolently calls home,
It becomes a painter-
A wild one,
And splashes its colours
Carelessly,
As if purging them,
And creates a pristine
Melange of dire shades
And a melee of
Cacophonous hues,
While writing a vague
Amphigory,
And swirls the clouds with
Its sugary, yellow fingers,
Like those of a gluttonous child
Who spent most of his time
Handpicking his favourite candy,
But as the clouds perform
An elegant pirouette
And make merry for the world
To ogle at,
The dreary eyes of a young girl
Find solace in the daily atrocities
Of the endless sky.
Alan Browne Jul 2018
The Nettles and Ivy lay hand in hand,
Mingled with the garden flowers.
Kindred and cosy in their patch,
While luring prey to their web.
The creatures with a thousand faces,
Welcome all into their acre.
Handpicking the ones that will serve them best,
While discarding the eels from their rod.
They lay in wait for their golden goose,
Then contemplating when to slaughter.
Brazen faced to no extent,
A  mere vacuum behind the eyes.
Superlative to all, but to themselves,
As they live to serve just one master,
Morality and trust are merely tools,
Cunningly used for a just occasion.
The exception of which is commission based,
Shortly before an evaluation,
The question lays to you in wait,
Is can you hear the sound of thunder.
Gigi Feb 2020
When I realized that love is about moving things around to create space in my heart
For someone else to reside in
De-cluttering
Unleashing 
Clearing out the closets
When I realized that love
Is not just about making room in the back laundry room or on the ragged love seat in the garage
That its not about rearranging my bookshelf to make room for a literary recommendation
or about leaving an empty page on a sketchpad for a portrait
When I realized that love isn't
Handpicking moments of vulnerability with the same intricacy I use to pick tomatoes at the vegetable store
Making space
But not making room
Inviting one into my day
But not into my heart
Hearing, caring, and then disappearing
Fearing the consequences of my oversharing

When I realized that love is about inviting someone all the way in
Breaking the walls and the cages, false images and plastic impressions
Into the silence and the speechlessness
Past the uncertainty and doubt
Past more doubt
And more uncertainty

When I realized that love is about making space at the dinner table after a long day
where the mind races with worry and  arguments sprout
That its about making space in the mess, the chaos, the clouds of constant confusion
And the thunderstorms
Space in the bed when the nightmares begin and when I begin question over and over again
Space where the blood starts pumping
Where my life begins
And ends
At the same time

When I realized that love is about raw honesty
Exposure
Trust
Allowing someone else to strum my strings
Even the weakest ones
The strings that haven't been tuned in years
Letting someone make music of my weaknesses and tunes of my uncertainties
And certainties
If I ever had any

When I realized that this is what love is really about
I shrunk and disappeared into the backroom corner
Head in lap, eyes closed, containing all the feelings

Im sorry
I guess I panicked, Im not sure I made the space yet
For love
and I fear, I'm too small, too scared
To try

— The End —