"imitate" poems
Shining upon the rose,
lovely, the sun rises
over the midday sky.
Without a second thought,
the brightest one steps forward,
bends an ear to the ground.
The Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH)
wife was waiting.
He was walking his way home.
Maybe—or maybe not—
one revives from the death-sleep of night.
But hearing the sound
of the beloved’s foot returning,
one cannot die.
The blessed lady heard
the sound of a foot,
and was sure it was his:
“This is it—it’s the man, it’s him!
He is coming home.”
The sun is walking toward the rose;
it will show up
in no time.
Ah—but only to discover:
it was Fathima walking
to her father’s home!
She—a woman—
had the foot sound of the man,
the greatest of all!
The very one no other could imitate—
for he was the masculine original.
Because from the one,
the same circle came
the man and the woman—
maybe with a little gap,
spilling infinite pi decimals,
new days and new nights.
Still, all is but the show
of the one Moon and the one Sun.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
i hate how we can’t ******* hang out without people looking at their **** phones
{except i check mine too}
i hate how technology has the audacity to imitate physical presence by this ******** FaceTiming
{except i wish i had an iPhone}
i hate how relationships take place on the ******* phone
{except if i had a relation, i would do the same}
i hate how we type how we feel instead of just saying it
{except i find it easier to see it in text than to say it in speech}
i hate how we spend time on the computer instead of taking a ******* walk
{except i spend all day on the computer}
i hate this new ******* technologically advanced generation
{except i'm a part of it}
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
We are selfish
Why?
Well,
Because we think this world is ours.
It is ours to run
It is ours to cherish
It is ours to ruin
Why?
Because we think that flowers are beautiful
We pick them, we pluck them
As if they bloom for us
Why?
Because we think birdsong is charming
We imitate it
We sell it, we listen to it
As if they sing for us
Well we are selfish
I am selfish
You are selfish
Don't deny it
We are all selfish
We are all human
We are all the same
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
Flamingo high,
flamingo low,
when flamingo stretchy-leggy, then flamingo grow.
Cheeky beaking, shifty sifting, lifting up a flipper;
notty neck and naughty pecks,
while dancing with a kipper.
Flaming heck and flaming Oh!
Flaming flamingularonimo!
I tango and flamenco
and I imitate a swan,
but this winking pink flamingo's
blinking going going gone.
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC
Organic has touch,
Metal outlasts.
Organic has sound,
Metal just echoes.
Organic has cushion,
For emotions within.
Metal stays strong,
Can take the toughest hits.
Organic has taste,
Depending what it ate.
Metal vibrates,
To try to imitate.
Organic has colors,
Metal has paint.
Organic forgets,
Metal just waits.
Organic fades,
Metal floats in gray.
Organic needs air,
To sustain health.
But Metal stays,
Right near our chests.
Organic craves,
As Metal engraves.
Organic understands,
Metal just learns.
Organic has a name,
Metal has a brand.
But for some reason,
Found more in our hands.
Keep organic close,
And to metal stand.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 11:43 AM UTC
in the middle of nirvana, ashima wakes up
she doesn't know how she reached this sphere
full of silver lights and black silhouettes
everyone she knows seems to be present
greyly shimmering leaflets are floating
through the air, gently, like mist
and red fireflies are clapping their wings
the crowd of shadows is starting to sing:
"ashima, you have come a long way to us
we are the voices of nirvana, listen
nirvana is the deep core of your soul
the land of your most secret wishes
sometimes, in your dreams, you reach out
when you are waiting for a train and the
rays of the sun are reflecting your thoughts
you never find us but we know where you are
you may call us your wishes, we belong to you
as **** as branko and your mom do
are you the imitation of your dreams, ashima?
or do your dreams imitate you, our girl?
certainly, you will become the thing you dread
we know that you took revenge recently
when you were slashing the pedophile's throat
as his blood was slowly flowing into the sheets"
in the middle of her apartment, ashima wakes up
she becomes aware of a crinkled and dark leaflet
it is more than twenty years old, informing about
something that ashima can not read anymore
the letters on the leaflet have become dust
ashima is taking a deep breath and sighs
her pitbull branko is strolling towards her
his wet tongue, ashima thinks, feels cute
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 11:04 AM UTC
If I could,
I would pick up my ink pen
and drown an ocean into you
instead of drowning you in it.
Extract these rotting feelings
for the sake of your ignorance.
Carve scriptures into each delicacy of your brain
so you wouldn’t have to dwell in such misery every day.
Wire faith
to your blemished heart.
Imbue purity
to your sullied soul.
If I could,
I would write you through all depths of insanity
without any harm
so that your
mind no longer persists the thought of death.
There was a time I thought you were dead.
Only you were painted red
in a black and white world.
Like you have been walking barefoot on a broken road
your whole life.
Your demons imitate life
And life imitates the demons.
You are the one being tied down by invisible, nonexistent chains.
So unaccepting of help that has come for you
Watch
the sun touch the horizon
reach the meeting of sun and ground
and
Find further still,
The limits you would like to reach only run from you.
You have such a murderous tongue
for society
people.
But one day I hope to see you write yourself into existence
Rather than to let yourself drown in it.
Why has you dying become something so habitual?
Darling, death is not a friend of yours
Nor are you a friend of his.
But I know of your frequent dates with death
Tell me
Does his neck feel like happiness
And do his lips relieve you of your suffocation
Now
are you lost?
or are you found?
Do you recognize the irony
Of the most terrifying things happening in the most angelic places
Charm yourself upon that bridge
Whose lights light up the city in golden arrays
With a glazed look
you’d think.
In sadness seen go by
You are charmed by either war or hope.
These occurred robberies have taken much
But they left opportunity
Important people
And a moon in your window
A future that only you know the ending of
And a slice of the midnight sky.
So it goes.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
Adapt & absorb other beings,
needs,wants, habits, ideas, beliefs.
Influences, unoriginal.
Metamorphosis,
eternally avoiding the raw,wicked truth of your inner soul,
drop the ******* facade, it is futile and ludicrous.
Analyze,compare, identify, mimic, imitate, copy,shift, evolve.
Perpetual cycle.
Veiled false identities and lies,
layers upon layers, shirk the pale shadows of who we used to be.
Shall we continue?
Contradiction.
Fools, to believe that one can ever change.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC
Mockingbird, mockingbird
Singing all night
How clever
You imitate me.
Your search
For the truth
Of your own song
Seems fruitless
When the phrases of others
Chime loud in your head.
Mockingbird, mockingbird
Silence is loud
And the night
Without music is long.
So we fumble
For voice
In the dark
That surrounds us
Find song of our hearts
In the light of our dreams.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 10:06 PM UTC
kidz are smoking my songs, drinkin' and sniffin'
welcome to the trip-inn, where magic is grippin'
the tragic city, neon lights, neon lights, demon's nights
i'm all in, never ever falling, swirling frisky, like a frisbee
45 to 88, made myself a shake
beat like an earthquake, first take
crying for a remake, dying for a remake
1000 tons of cheesecake, beafsteakz
yummy yummy, my past was slummy
so, you find tizzop where the ice is
my lifestyle is priceless, priceless
i don't care, nobody is viceless
how could one dare to imitate this flair?
i don't say words, i shout "yeah yeah!"
ipod-white teeth, you stop to breathe
and now be good, baby, get on ya knees
Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 7:29 PM UTC
I asked a gypsy pal
To imitate an old image
And speak old wisdom.
She drew in her chin,
Made her neck and head
The top piece of a Nile obelisk
and said:
****** off the gag from thy mouth, child,
And be free to keep silence.
Tell no man anything for no man listens,
Yet hold thy lips ready to speak.
4.7k
My darling.
How exquisite it is that we happen
To exist in the same dimension.
I suppose tonight is one where the emptiness
Has begun its gradual descent
Choosing to take my feelings with it.
How do I feel? Well, I certainly wish that
You could be lying next to me to comfort me
While I float to the endless bottom of this abyss.
I wish for a night with your presence
So close that I can see the graceful
Rise and fall of your chest signaling
The constant of life that we all know as breathing.
But when the trivial task is completed by you
The world in my eyes seems to play in slow motion.
Utterly fascinated by your inner workings and inhibitions.
What ethereal source have you successfully stolen,
To channel the charisma overflowing within your personality
I wonder if you’re aware of your prominent title as my inspiration.
You have a way with the universe that I crave to imitate.
Or perhaps just to steal for a temporary bliss.
If you were next to me, there would be no reason for my
Uncontrollable fear, your wisely crafted logic would leave it behind.
Perhaps the allure is found beyond the masquerade.
The night sky reflects the mystique of your appeal.
Here’s to a beautiful eternity, may it never fade.
May the forever’s be found in the way we feel.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 2:42 AM UTC
THE BEAUTIFUL FACE
MATLOOB BOKHARI
I saw a moving full moon over the sea
Then I saw the face of a maiden
I stopped and said, “Moon is fair
But the sweet magic of her face is
Fairer far, which attracted my eyes
Captured my heart and won my soul.
Moon tries to imitate hr face and
Rose tries to copy her lips in vain!
She is beautiful,she is most beautiful!"
Niamh Dada Land Lovely friend. Many Blessings
Michele Vizzotti-White I totally like the first one, it was vivid and I saw how the rose must have felt, they r both awesome and fanciful, a maiden more fair than the moon wow that is a powerful statement, the 1st one reminds me of a painting the second one a song of love, both lovely though
Demelia Denton Lovely written words Matloob Bokhari
Barbara Shoetaker And is this fair woman still the one who stole you heart?
Semeniuk Carole you know how much I love your poetry . your stories .. the way in which only you can tell it ~~ thank you my long time friend, Matloob Bokhari .. wishing you well .. alwayS !
ina Farnworth What a beautiful verse Matloob, thank you so much for
Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Thank you, for sharing this lovely poem, Matloob.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
At times can be seen melting together
One into the other like a loving couple
At times drifting as a lonely wanderer
The clouds are there to imitate people
It can't move on a journey on its own
Without energy clouds are immovable
It'll stay motionless if not wind blown
Prodding to be productive like people
Some are peacocks parading with flair
Of damsels bosoms as white as marble
Putting air pompous what do I care
Show fame without shame like people
Arms ready for war it's getting warm
They gather warring forces for battle
They march whip up a thunderstorm
Rainclouds hungry for war like people
Clouds can be big cloud can be small
Can be rich prosperous can be poor
Like people accumulate only to lose all
To earn and loss and earn once more
They orbit the earth decorated the sky
Unaware of mortal affairs just rumble
Prone to fallacy or vanity as you and I
Can't help noticed clouds are like people
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC
I don't ask you to be faithful - you're beautiful, after all -
but just that I be spared the pain of knowing.
I make no stringent demands that you should really be chaste,
but only that you try to cover up.
If a girl can claim to be pure, it's the same as being pure:
it's only admitted vice that makes for scandal.
What madness, to confess by day what's wrapped in night,
and what you've done in secret, openly tell!
The ****** about to bed some Roman off the street
still locks her door first, keeping out the crowd:
will you yourself then make your sins notorious,
accusing and prosecuting your own crime?
Be wise, and learn at least to imitate chaste girls,
and let me believe you're good, though you are not.
Do what you do, but simply deny you ever did:
there's nothing wrong with public modesty.
There is a proper place for looseness: fill it up
with all voluptuousness, and banish shame;
but when you're done there, then put off all playfulness
and leave your indiscretions in your bed.
There, don't be ashamed to lay your gown aside
and press your thigh against a pressing thigh;
there take and give deep kisses with your crimson lips;
let love contrive a thousand ways of passion;
there let delighted words and moans come ceaselessly,
and make the mattress quiver with playful motion.
But put on with your clothes a face that's all discretion,
and let Shame disavow your shocking deeds.
Trick everyone, trick me: leave me in ignorance;
let me enjoy the life of a happy fool.
Why must I see so often notes received - and sent?
Why must I see two imprints on your bed,
or your hair disarrayed much more than sleep could do?
Why must I notice love bites on your neck?
You all but flaunt your indiscretions in my face.
Think of me, if not of your reputation.
I lose my mind, I die, when you confess you've sinned;
I break out in cold sweat from hand to foot;
I love you then, and hate you - in vain, since I must love you;
I wish then I were dead - and you were too!
I won't investigate or check whatever you try
to hide: I will be thankful to be deceived.
But even if I catch you in the very act
and look on your disgrace with my own eyes,
deny that I have seen what I have clearly seen,
and my eyes will agree with what you claim.
You'll win an easy prize from a man who wants to lose,
only remember to say, 'I didn't do it.'
Since you can gain your victory with one short phrase,
win on account of your judge, if not your case.
3.4k
I can't wait to partake in things that make you sick.
My stomach stays high tide.
Stay away from it if you can't swim.
My guts are laid out in patterns;
peaches and fruit flesh stuck to fingertips.
**** my **** then give me a kiss.)
I can't wait to imitate art contained in this.
Two figures trapped within an unfinished painting.
Four strokes of inspiration to complete the lips.
A splash of white to end it.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC
Why do I want to live away from boys?
Something strong in me has told me,
You cannot be fully woman in front of man,
They won’t understand, they won’t accept,
They will reject,
Only in front of women will you be free,
With only the exception of God, for he made me,
When in front of man, I must imitate man in certain ways,
Must promote some womanly ways, and hide others,
It is not that I think these are bad, You just don’t understand,
And were taught to shun.
But even I know that some men, exceptionally taught by their mothers,
Are not afraid of Woman.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
A creature not of here or there
With parts that do not fit
Neither fish nor fowl, horse or bear
A bashed together kit
Too many heads, some with horns
Body furred and scaled
Eagles wings and spines like thorns
And as a peacock tailed
Some aspects might bring a smile
While others will repel
One small detail may beguile
Yet another breaks the spell
Each pack or flock it tries to join
Though they seemed akin
And in some facet quite adroit
Another portion can’t fit in
Every time it tries as best it may
To hide an offending section
Knowing that if seen in light of day
The result will be rejection
So the beast remains an alien
Cloaks what's best concealed
Strives to imitate the chameleon
That no misshape be revealed
All creatures hunger for a home
Chimera hungers too
But it wanders doomed to roam
A haven to pursue
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
Close to the woody glade
Hidden in the leafy shade
A smart robin built a nest
Like a cozy little chest
With twigs and leaves, it was made
Within it, four eggs she laid
She sat long brooding in her nest
Indeed it was a tedious test
One by one, the eggs were hatched
And four tiny birds that closely matched
Came out breaking the freckled shell
Making the Mother bird’s happiness swell
The mama enjoyed their sweet company
To her, boredom no more came to annoy
The nest rang with a chorus of song
It was made vibrant with a happy throng
The parent birds fed them taking turns
As they grew, for the sky they began to yearn
At times the fledglings stuck out their heads
Longing to leave their craggy beds
They found the sky blue and clear
Still they were under the clutches of fear
But they knew, outside lay true liberty
Before them stretched infinity
No more did they hesitate
Their mama’s movements they did imitate
They splayed and spread their wings
And into the sky, took off with steady beatings!
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 3:24 AM UTC
The most common magic trick I've ever seen is making a 100mm stick disappear.
It is the oldest trick in the book.
Everyone knows how it’s done but everyone is always never tired of being the audience to it.
Maybe it’s because the audience is always invited to take part in the act.
The trick is always done by a stressed magician,
The trick mocked by kids trying to imitate the 100mm disappearing stick trick.
They hide under the pretence of being stressed.
They disgrace the world class performers that had practiced the routine so much throughout their lives.
Never quitting
And
Always over rehearsing.
The performers would always keep practicing until it becomes its second nature like breathing.
Until it becomes like a habit,
Until they become too passionate to the routine on perfecting the make-believe act.
That they are too obsessed to realized they had become addicted to it.
They had become too reliant over it and that they can't live without it.
Even on their last breath they would attempt to show its final performance and draw its strength from it.
The most common magic trick I've ever seen involves a 100mm stick disappearing.
The trick is like every other disappearing magic act.
First the object is lit on fire with a light,
Second the smoker kisses the object and takes a deep inhale praying the performance would go well.
Third you get distracted by the smokes given off in the exhale
And ...ta da.
While the Smoke rises
It is estimated
14 minutes of the magician's life disappearing.
However the audience is too focused on the main act of the 100mm stick disappearing to notice.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
U gave me that leaf, & said u were never gonna leave, Cause we were meant to live, now I have to Outlive & conceive the pain of grieve,
Who are u to tell me when to meditate? Please go your way and don't dictate, I have been born to innovate, Learn from me and don't aggravate,
Why dig into my past just to excavate things and deliberate , Yet you imitate and commentate and say it irritates, Never hesitate to prostate, Cause it elevate and motivates my innovative.
Even if your silences grieve so loud in my ears, I will never freeze, I will always leave, Because I never lived, I am never relief, I can't be pleased, Even when u sneeze. It only aggravates my pain when I eat, Dats the reason I refused to breath.
How can you call me fake When that's what you are, What you are is what I say , What I have seen is what am saying..
Fake, fake, fake, Fake u are like fanta Colorful yet distrustful Great pleasure Hidden smile, Full of Fantasy, deceitful u are.
You said u were my friend, then why stab me twice and expect me to talk once, U have twined &twisted; me, Enough of the Glossy bossy, mischievous in motivation, Malicious in thought,
Why judge when you can settle to be a judge in a jungle Stop been unjustly, & learn to be justifiable,
Now it's time for u to leave , superstitiously I have lived suspicious u have been, Dangerous you have become, Unpredictable you are , You're definitely a ********* You're never my friend
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
It was a moment so chilling when I realized I had feelings for you again.
Yes, again.
This rotation of endless "agains" has kept me up day and night in anger,
love, lust, but most of all, confusion.
This relation we have is driven by ****** jabs and hurtful comments
designed to inflict the most pain on each other.
This "again" that I feel will fade into nothing more than another hatred for you.
But just like every other time, soon we will both start gazing at each other from across the room
and quickly looking away as though the other hadn't seen our eyes on their face;
We will begin once again lose the offensive spews
and our small conversations will evolve into tense talks with blushed cheeks and hot ears;
Yet somehow, I cannot get enough of this cycle of "agains".
It is addictive like your personality.
It is an obsession like your ability to make me crazy.
I am crazy for you,
but at the same time I fear that this ***** craze with wear off
and we will be left with nothing but silence.
Could this be true admiration for one another? Is this chemical?
Or is this passionate relationship powered on by our teenage hormones and sexually-frustrated bodies?
Just tell me what you want.
If you are happy, I will be content.
I guess, if you look at our situation from afar,
you could say we're in love. I’d disagree.
This is nothing but an infatuation between two people both sharing one common thing:
somebody who they can imitate passionate love with again and again.
I crave your physical touch and your boyish humor.
I need your attention most of all.
You need it too; you need me more than I need you.
How you wish to brush your lips against mine and feel my body and hold my hand and be mine. Nonetheless I wish for that too. Badly.
Nightly I torture myself over what to think, what to want.
But every time this happens, I push you away.
And the cycle of "agains" return, only to ruin us inside even more.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
curling up into all sweet confusions
that trickle down from
your touch,
we become the sky, as birds fall
from above. i lose
a tactician's leverage throughout
this fog; a descension
if you were the moon,
an aberrance,
if you were a single leaf,
dripping from this
tree coiling up to
the lights hung on
netted strings set under
the darkness of the sky,
where-ever you have been.
where-ever you are.
so,
do the stars still shine solely for you,
the nights you most need them?
perhaps i have
gone blind,
just when i need to see you,
more now than ever.
perhaps i've just
been sleeping
a little
too long, inside this cave.
does the sky still divide the sea?
but, undoing the buttons on your grip,
you build declensions on foundations
of realisation: with full authorship of
your motions, you know you could
go anywhere, love. you now know
away from i is any road, every treadmark
save this single one.
and mine is hardly treacherous,
but you'll still only find me in mountaintops,
so i could barely blame you if the path gets
too narrow, or too long-wound.
do the clouds still turn images
in full colour, late afternoon, to
remind you of shapes i imitate
in all fractured disappearances?
i've seen retreat from so
many sides now, the addition of
yours could
hardly make a dent. not that i
would not lament a loss like you,
more than anything.
yet, don't
worry, never
worry, i can still stay in motion.
still, if you see fit to
collect all broken pieces of me,
and build up this cottage, or nest, you can keep
your heart here long as
you like, darling.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC