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Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
I
A flower that smells of pure bliss keeps an ear to the ground
It's a serene one sitting beneath the stars down on earth
The moon, far, far, seven seas away, loves to drop into her lap.

The Bay of Bengal billows, music has gotten beneath the skin.
The leaves furl out off the deep wood with the birds
singing out to the top of the trees, rhyming with the leafy dance.
Heavensent, that was in one sanguine day in the spring.
The Mother’s Language Movement in 1952 sprouted like this
on the eighth of native Falgun month—oh magic did it unleash!

On that day our beloved brothers were shot dead
They could swallow the bullets with smiles but won’t give up
demanding the official status for the Bangla mother tongue.
Angels wrapped round the martyrs amid lamenting mothers
Laid them on Falgun’s perfumed ground bleeding corpses
Seas of roses bloomed and blew them out red, red kisses!

They are gone not the stone wall of consciousness they raised
Ah, at the sprout of the spring what were they echoing?
Ingrained deep in the soil the pre-designing voice in the planning?
Who can tell? The world gels on February 21 in celebrating!

The angels then snapped up our martyrs’ souls off the land,
placed them on a piece of Heaven where they can hear the jingle.
Down on earth, a nation springs up, has gotten its wake up call!
Stepping on the sweetening arc of the mother tongue melody
the stone turns a flower, all in a butterfly moment soaring to victory.
Thanks to the movement - Bangladesh itself later comes to be!

II
The sun comes down to the rose painting on the land
In the heavenly Falgun hues it nibbles some wild summer dreams.
“Serene songs of earth stirring the water,” like it comes into play,
rowing the cloud bubbles singing in southern breeze.
Ah, a walk on the sun-kissed kaleidoscope land is a pure bliss.  
Every blossom spray of the wind is soothing sweet
Hop on and play straight to the ruby heart, as if it's a flute.

Mother tongue means speak free, fearless, in full streaming.
Speak the heart to the world without the fear of losing the cloud
that will listen, bouncing back on the brink of the sky river.
Then what did one say, hear, or was awed by in the blooming Falgun?
Could it have been the spring humming in her native lingua
or King David singing in mother tongue by babbling brooks
what in any other language, even with a silver tongue, isn’t possible?

Allah has listened to our martyrs’ crying mothers and fathers
The martyrs’ souls whisk through the galaxies and starry fair.

Soar high over the clouds, take the rainbow's *** of gold away,
Like a hue turns 360-degree in the colourwheel bask into the colour.
Still, dip the toes in Bangla mother’s soil salted with perfumed art
Like Himalayan water swirling down melting deeper deep down
This magicland is polished for everyone be it you, a fairy, a star
or off the ploughed-out barrow a walked out wonder!

A pristine voice duo’s voiceprint gleans to the spring in muse,
Pops in a beauteous scurry and speaks in the mother tongue!
Hidden within the earthy depth, only emerges with time,
only dances in tangent, that day slipped out with the butterflies.
And finally the blue nymphs take the plunge drop down the sky  
That day the mother’s voice triumphed, whose is the most original!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
Hussein Dekmak Aug 2018
I closed my mouth,
and spoke to you in the language of the rain drops,
I whispered to you in the language of the flowers,
and chanted 'I love you' in the language of the melody birds.

I  closed my mouth,
and voiced my feelings to you in the language of the ocean's waves,
and delivered my message to you in the language of the Wind breeze,
I conveyed my feelings to you in the language of the twinkling stars,

I closed my mouth,
and spoke to you in the language of eye contact,
and expressed myself to you in the language of smiles,
I shouted to you in my sacred language of tears,

I closed my mouth,
and whispered to you in the language of heart,
and recited to you in all of nature's implicit language,
I spoke to you, softly, in God's silent language.



Hussein Dekmak

Copyright.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aaT3NfuM5Y
mariamme Aug 2018
speak to me in your heart's voice
the words are your blood
your home, your first love;

the way the words come to life
in the rushing of breath against wind
voice stolen by the air,
mouths open into emptiness.

as bodies on the earth take root
their tongues shape the sounds
of their surrounding colors;

when home is turned to hate,
the air stealing voice and
replacing love with wounds

and bodies traverse the earth again
searching for safety, for a voice
to flow from the breath in their lungs

there is a cheapening of words;
tongues take the shape of fear
replacing the first love with a shade

still words, still voice but not the same.
displacement causes the tongue to take the shape of alien surroundings until the home inside the roof of your mouth, your first love and language, is pushed out into the emptiness and shrinks in favor of communication.
Andrew Jun 2017
Some people just can't handle driving
Everybody goes mad on this road at one point or another
The consideration is to keep the hatred within your own car
There are tools to be utilized
The escapism of music for one's health
The catharsis of muttering to oneself
Nobody should hold it against you
If you scream inside your car
They should understand
If you wanted to express yourself outwardly
You'd just flip them off
The abbreviated visual version
Of attempting to insert negativity into someone's life
It's healthy to be hurt
Your heart telling your mind that their hatred isn't normal
It is now on you to let sleeping dogs lie
And forgive those that trespass against us
Humor is my exit off the frigid freeway
Children in grown bodies
Their clothes are too big on them
Clearly confused about how to act
Taking every side road that catches their attention
That's funny enough for me

I've never flipped anybody off on the road
I learned from my father's story
She gave him every excuse to be angry
And he expressed that to her
The intended effect was reached
Her susceptible emotions were breached
Leaving a wise man to question his own actions
What was the point of that again?

That's why I try to keep an even keel
While sailing down the highway
There will always be people
Who honk at you for driving down the middle of the road
Remember to let those sleeping dogs lie
Or they'll be roadkill
And it's not nice to laugh at little people
But no one will know if it's from inside your car
And you can cozy up to the comfort created
By the signs on the road
Warning those people
They're driving in the wrong direction
arubybluebird Apr 15
I want to learn a new language that I can forget you in.
Lurid pressure in perfect hiding,

Heat rises amidst quiet timing.

Covers conceal fingers,
And skin conceals-

Well,

Only from the blinded.

Flitting breath from lungs to neck,

Begging tongue,
And baiting breast.

Tentative flesh,
Upon tentative flesh,

What comes next?

Anything I want,

If this is,

Yes.
Don't judge my #'s
Myth

"Observable phenomena's effect on the human condition."


Mythology

"Utilizing knowledge acquired during human existence to better understand the inexplicable through language."


History

"The perception of past events or knowledge altered by the present human condition."


Technology

"Mankind's attempt to eradicate God and Nature in order to determine whether or not there is life after death."


APOPTOSIS

"Programmed Cell Death."
"I Think I Love You"

So swiftly these words, these human words
(so dense in Nature),
Ensconced--in a language,
Made an escape,
through those scrumptious lips of yours.
Not realising,
that these beautiful-eloquent words,
You doled out so uninhibitedly(in a single breath),
Had rolled themselves up,
And breached,
My opaque atmosphere
in the form of a meteorite;
Colliding with this surface,
and Cratering
this isolated heart;
Which
shall be forever visible
within the Cosmos--
of my eyes,
Which shall hence be named after your vivacious soul,
Which shall indelibly be located within the latitudes and longitudes
of Earth's time;
And,
Always be scouted--
by telescopes of ephemeral Love.
Anne Molony Oct 2017
I’m learning the new language of love
It’s cloudy and I’ve only
broken sentences
already-fluent in the tongue of
drunk hook-ups and
meaningless touches and
compromised endeavors and
disguised intentions

I have never felt what I was promised
I want to bathe myself in it
showers
pools
seas
of infatuation
if it exists

desperate for affection
addicted to the idea
that a soul could long for me

craving something
anything

unreliable arousal
am I unfairly deprived?
Pyrrha Dec 2018
I want him to become so dizzy with me that he forgets what language he speaks and has to make up his own

Starting and ending with my name
Marla Nov 2017
Feeling
Is difficult to express
In words.
Yet I know
What the horn player
Means
When he plays his chords.
Pain can't be made
Plain to those
Who don't feel it,
Yet I know why
The pianist sobs with
Eyes that are dry,
His fingers moaning
A cry of mourning,
Filled with dread.
Until his fingers
Are the ones that
Sob instead.
ethan gaskill Jul 2018
to the girl
still picking up
pieces of her heart
like books dropped
in a hallway

"hi, my name is ethan
i'd like to love you
if that's okay with you"

your heart can be kintsukuroi
we'll fill in the fractures
left by some past fool
with gold

because what better material
to rebuild a broken heart?
than the material from which
knock on wood
our rings will be made?
Ezra Yelverton Oct 2018
We were standing still, you armored in my arms.
The stage in front of us was brightly lit
but the faces around us I could not see;
we danced while the world revolving around us changed.
I whispered song lyrics in your ear and
your body language prompted me to hold you closer.
So, I did.
For a moment I was sure you were in bed with me
because the air around me smelled of you.
Lost in your fragrance,
I didn’t notice the scene around us change.
Even in a new setting the only person
my eyes could adjust to was you.
Beautiful Woman.
You turned to face me and lay your head gently on my chest.
All while I wore a coy smile.
I felt your hand on the back of my neck
as you raised to the tip of your toes to kiss me.
Just before our lips met, I woke up.
You make me nervous, even when I dream.
How is language used to cast judgement,
Determinations, reflections?

What of the user, signator,
A logical individual?

How does lyric evoke qualities that differ?
What contributes to meaning?
Why should words grant us such freedom?
Janelle Tanguin Aug 2017
I've learned my ABCs at one,
learned to read by four,
constructed my paragraphs at six,
a know-it-all reciting parts of speech by seven.

Letters assembled themselves ready for scrabble.
Rocks, paper, scissors,
I never learned to let go of the paper.
And grew up with dry fingers caressing books.
Breathing in language and literature.

They say you can only love something so much
until it leaves you empty.
But I've only ever truly loved a few things about life,
and first was how words strung empathy.

The way I wrote about tying yellow ribbons on trees for a hero at eleven,
wrote about anything that won me passports to a passion I had to sacrifice a few years later after fourteen,
wrote about the boy who broke my heart at seventeen,
wrote about the monsters in my head at nineteen.

I don't know how words always found me
whenever I tried to run away from the world;
how they kept my sanity along with melodies for as long as I can remember,
and made countless others feel less alone.

What I love is a weapon
that has sparked revolutions, waged wars.
What I love is art that built acropolises from embers
and most the world's wonders.

It rushes euphoriant through my veins as much as it does through yours,
yet it is neither blood nor oxygen.
It is all the words burning as we keep them hidden,
dying for us to give them meaning.
shamamama Jun 16
I know you can hear me
I saw you in my dreams...
When you lived on the terrestrial plane
I think we both spoke different languages.
Both about love,
Just about different ways of loving...
................Just so you know..............
I love you so......
Even if before you turned to fine dust
You never really
Got to see and feel
The depth of my

          I      

    l  o  v  e    

  y      o      u     

Written
In the language you spoke.
a message to my dad.He passed away two years ago, and he has visited me in my dreams.
Kaavya Jul 2018
i’ll say it again. this is the only
time i write with music. listen now and i’ll spin
the wheel again, an ocean is no excuse for a tipped balance. trace
origins back to சாதம், வீடு, பறவை. tip-toe to reach the top half of the
stove, where the stories and the music are, but hand on head, not quite there yet. in the meantime, i hope my hands become as fire-glazed as yours one day. listen now and i’ll tell you how to live a life in compromises. here, come help me with my சாறி, no, i don’t have flowers for your hair, because there are are two different languages
in this house. inhale savory vowels and lives rolled into the sun, exhale தயிர் without salt, a theoretical childhood, heart with
half  the guilt. listen now for something i told my அம்மா:
travel eight thousand miles by foot and open one eye,
make a phone call and taste dew- glittering நெய்
தோசை. listen now for a final time. when
there are not enough unfurled petals of
this world, look up and find the
பௌர்ணமி in a hidden
corner of your heart.
blink once to skip time
zones, twice to remember the
promise of a thousand locusts and monsoon rain.
Glossary of தமிழ்/tamil words (in order of appearance)
சாதம்/saadham: cooked rice
வீடு/veedu: house
பறவை/paravai: bird
சாறி/saree: traditional clothing
தயிர்/thayir: yogurt, curd
அம்மா/amma: mom, mother
நெய் தோசை/ney dosai: rice pancake with ghee
பௌர்ணமி/pournami: full moon
Skaidrum Jun 2015
I am fluent in
the tongues of
    my lost willow language.

No one can remember
what patience has done
to my
forbidden
filthy
tongue.

So let me be your kindred scribe,
let me endure the ******* eternal wrath of taming a demon such as the one that runs like the Volga river in your honeysuckle veins,
I'll die trying,---  
  for you.

“Ahkira, I'll set this mirror up for you--"

"Lycan, it'll skew my beauty."

Quote on quote you howled the December
lyrics & spun my name in the elements of the atmosphere &
Aurora borealis.
"I promised, didn't I?"
Etching your voice in the hollow
drums I call my
mind & skai.

It's always been there.

Eyes catching the coals of
Jupiter,
foam and lust
driving your
shadow-bitten sanity.

Hostile under the wax of the moon,
burning like matches you stumble
in my constellation.

   "i spy
lovely sleeves of poetry
raindrops slipping into weeping veins
lungs of january
& silver bucket eyes."


You tattooed this on your arm,
Lycan.

“It’s the moon that pulls our waters,
distance doesn’t count.”

    
I tattooed this on mine.

Arching up the sky ladder
I'll climb it to show you
I'm worthy.
.
Movement No. 3.
Written on June 8th, 2015.

I'm struck by the
beast staring back at me
Let me stargaze,
It's always been you.

© Copywrited.
FJ Davis Oct 3
The purest
most impactful poetry
is virtual soul-speak.
دema May 19
I think I love
with every cell of my being,
with every drop of soul in me,
with every breath that visits my lungs,
with every fingerprint I’ve ever left,
with every laugh that parted my lips,
with every language my tongue pronounces,
with every way I know how to love,
with everything, yet I end up with nothing..
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