"inhibitor" poems
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When you smile with your heart
Your blood flush your cheek red
Do not allow any inhibitor
To inhibit your easy life flow bed
Better adaptation to the constant change
Which brings heaven and earth under our head
Pretty dear ! My Universe Beauty ! Never wonder
Where your cosmic eternal secret lies
If the life on earth is temporary dew drop
Let your rainbow fragrance dissolve in the sky
But you are here with divine abundance
To freely hold, embrace and fully open
To receive your heat beats in radiance
How much blessed you are my beloved
To discover each potential new day
To have living sensitive opportunity
To watch warm sunrise together
And to fall in love with you in moonlit night
Without any pride, prejudice , and illusion
Without any pain, insult , and confusion
Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 3:24 AM UTC
that place with comforting as theme overriding,
essentials of dream, complex, shelter, cocoon,
which/whether, almost irrelevant,
if and or,
don't matter when you are at home,
light, fierce sun rays eyes filled,
moonlight stars invading one's composure
now!
time
to alight, feet on the grounding,
rain,
pelting, not an inhibitor to the poem
in me, its resonating drumming me up,
to a beating, a lyric, a thyme of rhyme,
fragrantly repeating in my head, home,
home is where the flagrant poems are
born, delivered by no midwife, from
the ***** of my entirety, all five sensoria,
commanded by multiple generals on
different battlefields, coordinating a
battle plan, exhale, attack, coordinate,
brain, eye, smell, movement, urgency,
taste, words gushed, light emitted from
the fingertips, you cannot write as fast
as required, you, self, afired, and afeared,
losses will be greater than expected, but
no matter when we carry the tide behind
us, sweeping the obstacle of ego, pinging
pain, the hesitation that collapses courage,
oh god, oh me, be brave, lead me into the
breach,
the hole, the aperture that will allow a totality
of me to exit, to escape, to compose, p r o p o s e,
the confines of my uncontrollable uncontained
unconscious natured being and fervent annouce,
on this day,
*this poem shall be
written in its fulfilling, exiting fulsomeness,
&
entirety,
and let me rise, raise up, lift and shout,
one more last time, like the first time, praise and glory,
hallelujah to the parts of me that gifted me this
poem in-the unity-of-unison, uncensored, un~
inhibited and finalized momentarily perpetual,
with an amen amendment offered up too all and to
me…
amen, amen, amen
and let us rise up to morrow and once more,
write up to ride to birth the essentials of my next
homebound
be-ing
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC
I find it hard to sleep
I find it hard to eat
I find it hard to think
I find it hard to speak
I wonder is this love
Or the use of a Serotonin–norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor?
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 1:39 PM UTC
Jeg frygter fremtiden,
at fortidens spor, der er i dag er
altafgørende
alt vi gør er at kæmpe for at eksistere.
Smagen af verden ændrer sig,
og hvor skal jeg gå hen?
Weekendens distraktioner bliver en inhibitor
der holder fast i glasøjne og naivitet.
Jorden er sort og jeg ser mine organer blive
gennemboret
af snefnuggene, der falder.
Tankeløst.
I et splitsekund,
forstår jeg uvisheden, om måske aldrig at møde dig.
Mit hjerte falder ud, og lander i dine hænder.
Ud af min blodsprængte øjenkrog skimter jeg kaffen.
Jeg kan se mine lunger punktere
og skyerne kommer nærmere,
og jeg ser det falde, nattens blod
eller din sjæl?
og orkesterets toner spiller kærlighed under min hud,
men intet kan jeg mærke.
Jeg smadrer min hånd
Et antiklimaks af ferskenhud og fløjlstårer.
Når du siger mit navn vokser der universer på min krop
"månen er død" flyder det ud af din mund og intet kan jeg stille op.
Man skulle have været barn af en anden tid.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
My plant is dying.
Her long chlorophyll-filled leaves
drooping, sagging, lacking.
The sun barely shines on her anymore
as the shadows claim her
in the corner of my windowsill.
The only window in my tiny room
and it receives the least amount of light
due to the angles of the sun—
an inhibitor of her vegetative maturation.
As it is there’s hardly any daylight
left to give.
Winter is drawing near, and I should
learn to close my window
so the cold can't creep in—
but I open it anyway,
afraid to let go of any residual summer
that might still litter the increasingly frigid air.
Where did the time go?
The cold doesn't agree with her,
despite being a succulent—supposedly hard to ****
so I trim the broken, withered limbs,
break them off so the plant can breathe again.
The now bare stem looks lonely.
So I water the dry dirt in hopes that
she’ll grow once more.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
No matter how hard you try, it is impossible to teach creativity.
Society tells all of us to be creative and original,
That we all shouldn't be afraid of expressing ourselves.
This all holds true,
For we should be proud of who we are.
However,
How is originality possible when we are taught to conform?
We're taught from day one to only use certain colors.
To read, write, and think a certain way.
If we don't adhere to this "certain way,"
Then we are seen as wrong.
Unintelligent.
We're all expected to be this one, cookie cutter student.
A one size fits all type of person.
What happened to our originality instilled deep down within us?
There is no wrong way to express YOURself.
The education system is the great inhibitor to our creativity.
Creativity may be impossible to teach, but it sure is possible to unteach.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
Inhibitor and catalyst;
A look can do either.
I always wonder what,
Goes on behind those brooding lips.
Are words locked between your teeth,
Unspoken on your tongue?
I wish I could taste and see,
And steal such words away.
But words unspoken, that greatest sin,
Rest on my tongue as well.
Oh what things, what things,
Might have been,
Between we silent obelisks.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 4:01 PM UTC
It swallowed a dictionary..
It did, it was a hexagonal lexicon,
It got stuck in the oesophagus of the great white whale.
He choked and choked deciding that he needed to clear his throat,
It was getting quite distressed,
Poor thing.
Threw him a packet of PPIs (proton pump inhibitor's,
(Rennie or the like)
Have you ever witnessed a whale ***** before?
The whale's throat was rather sore.
Sea dogs and skippers hold on to your hats.
There's a tidal wave coming and that's about that!
Watching the whale a rumbling and grumbling,
"Below decks the captain said"
The vessels rocked and rolled,
Tossed on the swell,
Good gracious me,
What a terrible smell.
The sea subsided,
The whale felt better,
The crew came on deck.
No need to get wetter.
The sea dogs all shivered as they looked at their boat.
The paint was all stripped off from the juices as noted.
Needed repainting saved them a job.
Gastric juice of the whale had finished the task.
Sick whales are most useful at times,
Especially in one of my little rhymes.
(C) LIVVI
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC
Freedom.
Empty fields, growing grass, and sprouting weeds. The freedom of the weeds is inspiring. Nothing holding them back, no groundskeepers spraying anti-weed spray or ripping their world apart at the roots.
The freedom to grow.
Free to grow however they please; however God intended them to grow.
There's no inhibitors. Just freedom.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
Spit it out. Let it go. I am screaming, pleading, wishing the words would come. Yet they don’t. The page sits empty. Blaring white into my eyes as if to say “you’re not creative.” I want to say I am creative. I am supposed to be creative. However, when I thought I was creative it was chemically induced. So where the chemicals creative? I think about those old mixes of Carbon, Hydrogen, Nitrogen, Chlorine, and Oxygen.
C16H13ClN2O was my writing partner and my best friend. We went through so much together, though I’ll admit I was a bit clingy. These chemicals blended like warm water through my veins. Like a cool breeze on a spring day. My chest fills with Helium and I could float away. Milligrams pass through time; the words just fell onto the paper. The letters rained down with tears and blood until the sun was rising and I was no more found than before. The venting was relentless and filled no more voids than it created. The rhymes were so easy, the stanzas formed into beautiful verses of a lost soul with too much weight of the world crashing down. I wasn’t spiting it out, I was throwing it up.
C17H13ClN4 was the voice I never had. It was the confidence to tell anyone to **** off, and that meant everyone. When this chemical melody was carried throughout my bloodstream. The only creative thing it brought out of me was my creative ways of finding food in an empty kitchen. This re-uptake inhibitor was just the pill to get me through the day in a world that I hated. It was the personification of my hate. I literally was spitting my words into the universe. No paper could withstand.
C11H15NO2 was the lover you wanted to cook you breakfast, but ***** on you instead. And C18H21NO4 was the catalyst to the end. All these blends changed my mind in many different ways. At times they made me feel like an author, at other times they made me feel worthless.
Years later now and the sober me enjoys the absences of these chemicals for I like the natural mix that is me. Though, I do crave the words. I lust for the flow. Creativity is a luxury of the depressed. Because now that my life is happy and settled I can’t find anything prolific to say. I have much to say but no way to spit it out.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
METABOLIC LOVE
Behold the strength in your weakness
Which is capable of giving vigour to my membrane
Chlorophyll in chloroplast makes the green plant blossom
You make the smile on my face radiant
Come, let's mix the right nucleotide sequence of our desired RNA
And build the sequence of our desired protein
So that the expression of our gene
Will be the desire of friends and relatives
Amidst thousands, you're the only one I chose
Your hotness could denature enzymes
There exist a thousand of competitive inhibitor
But by the words of my mouth;
None would fit to my active site
I want to fly on your wings to the horizon
Regardless of the barbaric thought of men
For I know;
All unwanted functional unit of life
Will die by apoptosis.
-'Bintan Ola
[email protected]
Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 10:32 AM UTC
(the pleasures of daily life are free
are you kidding? nothing is free)
the monotony of the everyday is included in your life (experience not required)
the thing is, if you want to forget the responsibilities of the daily tedium,
if you want to become numb from your reality, on most occasions there is a price to pay
whatever you desire, there's a bad habit for that;
alcohol, nicotine, amphetamine...
take a chance and indulge yourself
in your favorite inhibitor for your inhibition
(just don't let yourself fall into submission)
∞
*your face, illuminated in the firelight of the Bic
held tightly between my blistered and burned fingertips,
radiates before the flames as they reflect the fire in your eyes
igniting the deepest desires that lie beneath mine*
the flickering flames fall dim
& I see nothing but the silhouette of him
outlined by the glow of dashboard light
while I wait for the moment our lips reunite
I watch him close his eyes as he takes flight
*now, inhale
& let yourself set sail*
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
*your eyes, they're filled with stars
so why don't you talk to me like your mind is on Mars
because the world, it's much too far
from the privacy of your car*
where we sit in silence
as the clouds begin to surround
us without warning or sound
& we become enclosed
in a thick cloak
of blue smoke
swallowing us whole
/ *exhale
let the fumes feed your mind & fuel your soul*
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 2:06 PM UTC
I thought I was.
Sure, the separated interactions remain.
Merely a work in progress.
Outside my own actions remain quiet
Courteous.
No more feelings of nonexistence.
Stepped outside of the fence
Prematurely erected out of anxiety.
Nevertheless my steps are as careful
As they have ever been.
Regardless of what strides made
My face carries the same expression.
My eyes carry on intently at a distance.
The end of the day sees
The Same. Rhythmic. Insanity.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
I’m over here spending twelve stupid years
Becoming a parrot who repeats what she hears
It’s not for the learning, it is for the grade
So I turn off my brain seven hours a day.
I’m wasting, I’m wasting, I’m wasting my time
Even that phrase is a waste of a line
And I’m sick of all of these definitions
Pressing on in, getting marked in red pen—
What am I doing here?
You convinced me there’s answers for everything,
Unvarying, black-and-white lettering,
Supposedly bettering, more like you’re fettering
Me like a prisoner, mental inhibitor
Wish you were valuable, you little swindler,
I’ll play your game, ‘cause that’s all that it is,
A paper to frame, that is all that I get
But if I’m wasting away at this desk,
Forced in the system, then I’ll be the best.
Sep 4, 2024
Sep 4, 2024 at 3:35 PM UTC
about ten thousand images
i whirled
like a madman
and here, i am
crying with my lost soul
knowing not--whats the real and false of me
i know not
of any whereabouts of my dwelling
and of my mind
about ages and craving of heart's despair
i longed for images
that locked my heart for ages
and like a ruthless spirit
my mind seeks you
imagining it's the heave it sought
in a moment of pure complex
and divinity
i looked for you
not knowing its my heart
where you lived--
like a real inhibitor
and about here and there
i went
my mind found peace nowhere
but at remembrance of yours
in each bits
i drew circle and circles
without knowing
i'm the one revolving around these
without you being there.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
{i. Synapses}
A moment’s unfathomable pause;
Drifting in polarized rows of orbit
As the planets vibrate autonomously.
Set courses of motion to fall;
Deities of amber marked with gradience
In columns separated by generations
Of the science of religion;
Unbound and with pure neutrality.
Neurons connected by stardust mildew
On the cosmic breeze of a comet;
Sailing by the passing galaxies
To the cerebrum of the universe’s
Central nervous system.
The bridge between logic and reason
Is built for the sparkling atoms of thought;
Purging doubt and mystery
From the corners of our minds,
And eliminating the inhibitor of
Satanic, and Godly free will.
{ii. Purpose}
March to the sunrise
With the rhythm of a supernova,
And rejoice in the lunar light
Away from the solar cataclysm.
Ritual of space;
Thermonuclear, beautiful grace
Of the genesis fusion of hydrogen
To ultimate iron.
Smothered in subatomic promises of creation,
The journey of light to shadow
Is split apart to reveal its voided entrails
Of fractured physics;
Never again to show remorse
For simply being the messenger
Of purpose.
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 2:07 AM UTC
i can’t peer inside my brain to check
whether my neurotransmitters make the long jump
or simply retreat back home.
but the dizziness, nausea, and exhaustion
tell me what i need to know.
i want to live in the moment.
i want to taste joy on my tongue,
not oval-shaped white chalk,
the clinical blandness of a waiting room.
i want the uncontrollable racing of my heart
and the shaking of my hands
to happen when someone gives me butterflies in my stomach,
not when the prescription isn’t strong enough.
$28.35 and a few pitying looks
are not a bad trade-off for all the answers.
or so i thought.
but this plastic bottle holds no answers,
only the capsulated remains of who i failed to be.
maybe i am my own inhibitor.
is there someone who can tell me,
before i swallow the next one down—
where do i end?
and where do the pills begin?
are my thoughts even mine at all,
anymore?
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 10:27 PM UTC