"loophole" poems
Alexander of Macedonia this time
won’t U-turn from the might Gangaridai.
At the bubbling edge in the Indian subcontinent,
one would dare, taking his last plunge,
believing it here the proverbial Well of Life!
Yet Al Khwarizmi will discover the algebra,
drawing from ‘nothing,’ purely untouchable:
The Zero from the Indian pole.
Not a digit, not a number on its own, yet it’s all.
Every number jumps up in the zero loophole!
Then the whole number bows down into decimals,
escalating the hunts of the 1.618 golden ratios.
Plough through at your own pace
for the uncharted water, for ab-e-hayath.
Sip in a drop of elixir in this secured zone.
Sylhet is in the core, is written in stone.
What do these mean? I too wonder
down the line, I was intrigued by the Arab
and Indian tectonic plates’ slow dance.
Both rolled out, hugging each other
Then the Makkan soil lying at the heart of earth
gets exposed, with Sylhet’s soil it pairs up!
360 Sufi dynamos, mathematically a perfect circle,
find the match giving a perfect heads up
laid on the nine yard show the whole box of wax,
simply inking the vivo jump on the storylines.
What’s under the tectonic-rug at the bottom of the earth?
Shush softly, whisper—the heavens might hear it out!
Hold on to the least bit, it could be all one wants.
The earth, the ocean, all started with a drop of water!
Let alone any well, which way did this original matter,
the first, primeval drop of water stream down
Has this alleyway been exposed here, or in Paradise?
Then how can we say we don't have a secret for Paradise?
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
Peoples’ lives are dying in consistency;
Greed in their pedestal has corrupted this world’s societies.
A fruitful opportunity, a gold rush was encountered!
Underlying the main ambition of many unfortunate ambitious desires.
Persistently seeking an object of materiality,
Children have become contracted to labor endlessly till mortality.
The corporate pose has overshadowed humanity,
Predetermining existence through living in a vision of obscurity.
Freedom has evolved in many attaining their dreams,
Yet, failing to realize their limits in overstepping boundaries.
Morality has been compromised to new opportunities.
Ultimately, corrupting one’s essence in living spiritually.
We have eluded to perceive the subtle communication they have established you see.
Projecting honesty while planting a seed, they enrich themselves invulnerably.
Enabled through the loophole of ignorance attracted by social mediocrity,
Revealing a battle between each other secretly disguised as insecurity.
Asking how do I seek success, freedom, and happiness endlessly.
Indubitably, the answer relies inside, secreting awareness internally.
Discovering that the war begins within may end the violence indeed.
Extinguishing eternal destruction of the world through peace and harmony.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
"America used to be the land of passionate, skilled Labor
then it degraded into the land of exploiting that Labor
and now it's simply the land of Exploitation."
"Y'know, that seems pretty true;
it is a stereotype that Americans just exploit whatever it is,
whether it's the Japanese man's politeness when we bastardize the eating of Sushi
or a legal loophole a corporation finds and uses to maximize profits with minimal morality."
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
I could never finish writing off your name, with your strawberry scent vibrating towards mine and your hooded eyes that covers the wrinkles and your cheek dampens when you crook a smile, I could never stop writing you.
Maybe I was just drawing a thin line with heaven and a tightrope with my eyes close and hell bent towards the unending loophole of my forsaking fantasies, I guess I might stay here. There was something about you that I cannot forsake nor repaint with foreign colors and another texture — you were as a majestic being in my lucid dream.
That even though I cannot recount my fingers one or two or five or ten, I can picture the deepening hole of your dimples whenever you give the world another unbreathable cheeky beam and I sulk here, waiting for another neon glow of that majestic world in my dreamlike prophetic future.
Something told me it was you. As I bear witness another beauty in the realm of my alternative home, maybe then, peering at the sky while I was on a tightrope is worth every penny of sleep and drowsiness gulping another 90's wine.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 5:29 AM UTC
I am from inconsistency,
forced adjustment,
eternally molding in a feeble attempt to appease my demanding environment.
I am from the loophole of the universe with no purpose,
few absolutes,
and a limited amount of time.
From laugh tracks,
reminding me when to laugh,
and for how long.
From the boredom at the bottom,
I've been Thriving in the *** trough,
endlessly scrounging for solutions and temporary entertainment.
From redundant ideas and places,
stale bread,
flat coke,
familiar situations and words.
On a screen in america
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
Rive! Split apart,
up and down
circle both ways.
Let the pearl be
down the sea
and the star
up on the high
find the sky.
Not a perfect circle
yet to scoop the last
decimal of Pi
it's fine.
Let a loophole be
only for an eye!
Jun 21, 2022
Jun 21, 2022 at 4:56 PM UTC
The door was shut. I looked between
Its iron bars; and saw it lie,
My garden, mine, beneath the sky,
Pied with all flowers bedewed and green:
From bough to bough the song-birds crossed,
From flower to flower the moths and bees;
With all its nests and stately trees
It had been mine, and it was lost.
A shadowless spirit kept the gate,
Blank and unchanging like the grave.
I peering through said: "Let me have
Some buds to cheer my outcast state."
He answered not. "Or give me, then,
But one small twig from shrub or tree;
And bid my home remember me
Until I come to it again."
The spirit was silent; but he took
Mortar and stone to build a wall;
He left no loophole great or small
Through which my straining eyes might look:
So now I sit here quite alone
Blinded with tears; nor grieve for that,
For naught is left worth looking at
Since my delightful land is gone.
A violet bed is budding near,
Wherein a lark has made her nest:
And good they are, but not the best;
And dear they are, but not so dear.
2.3k
I need a wishbone or a loophole
sick of you and this old soup bowl
I thought this plague would fade away
I thought your chest was my favourite place
tarot cards led me astray, I guess
I try to never compress, I try to focus on my dress
a ring that makes me smile or a vibrant hue
anything to forget about you
how about when you made butterflies erupt in my stomach
how about when you made me think I knew what love is
floating on the shipwreck waiting to be brought to shore
these moments allowed me to process and plan
for my next project, my next attack
you thought you could beat me down
think again
Apr 15, 2022
Apr 15, 2022 at 5:15 PM UTC
lately //
i’ve been making a noose of my own heartstrings //
but my father is a fisherman who taught me that the best knots don’t slip //
so i carry a bowline in my pocket for security and a tangled mess of forevers on my sleeve.
But I’ve also been tying anchor bends since i realized my grip was not equal to atlas’ shoulders.
And what a cruel paradox that is //
to think that a god can carry the earth beneath our feet but our hands // molded from clay and mud in the same image //could never be enough of a last resort to anchor our hearts in our chests.
so the loophole here,
so to speak,
is the anchor bend knot //
but! //
you know what’s funny about loopholes actually?? // you see, they were made to allow arrows to be shot from an opening // but the structure of that opening prevents counter arrows from being shot back in.
such an invention is why it’s always been nearly impossible to storm a castle’s wall and my, // have many a noble men fallen at the feet of such entrances.
so nowadays, i carry my trusty bowline //alongside the endless loopholes of those old-fashioned anchor bends.
however, I’m sure you know that the bowline is regarded as “the knot of all knots” right? it’s good for tying just about anything without give.
but the first time i ever went sailing // i learned about the round turn and two half hitches. this knot is pretty cool because the more tension you apply to the rope, the tighter the knot will get //
highly reliable for most things.
i guess the irony here is that // i am personally, most identifiable with this knot.
i don’t really ever use it. i am not a sailor or a fishermen. but i do have a really bad tendency of fastening myself to things that have a lot of pull.
the tightening tension of it
is similar to the mythical 13 knots in a hangman’s noose and what an incredibly genius stroke of engineering.
to think that the masterful art of knot-tying comes down to the basic idea that a knot will hold under tension is simply and utterly graceful without fault.
but here’s the thing;
as soon as i learned to tie a knot that won’t slip,
i taught myself the hangman’s knot:
a knot that essentially slips, but still holds merciless tension around its victim.
i’ve been tying nooses with what causes me the most pain.
with what bleeds the most love //
but as the one and only descendant of my father, the great fisher king,
i am starting to learn that if the knot slips,
you cut the line and start again.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
I was on the way to pick her up,
was just about to cross a slippery slope
on the front yard of my in-laws’ home.
Forget how long it took me to cross,
Huh, I had to solve a riddle.
A Moon pops up halfway through,
right in my way, it just won’t move.
I said I don’t need any horoscope,
already married, I am not a groom!
She goes, I too don’t fancy fussing about.
The riddle I got is only an easy-peasy one.
Just tell me your W duo—Where and When
did you take your first breath?
I laugh, isn't it the mum who can tell best,
who saw it first when I was born
but I can't go back and ask her,
she won’t show up
unless I return home, picking her up.
I said to the moon, o dear,
never did I say you got a scar,
that a spot on your face is cute, fair,
is only a cool shadow of one’s
deep-rooted fine lock of hair!
I then ran to the expert scientist.
He said it’s all vibrating but knows not
where the heck, if ever the spin might stop.
Again I ran to knock on the Sufi’s door.
He seemed to know why I went there,
And said in a deep voice, “as far as I know,
you don’t have a sister-in-law!”
Again the moon asks, in a heavy tone
“Tell me the truth,” before it's too long,
I said you’re in my way,
“I am not asking for an acre of moon.
Spare me a digit gap if you could.”
Unlike how the lands on earth, she tells,
keep changing the hands,
owning the ultimate plot is still one’s dream.
But no space is left unmeasured in space.
You miss by a hairbreadth, no matter how tiny,
and you might as well miss it by the eternity.
So zero space can I spare says the moon
This is it, the dead end, no more room to move.
Still, even a closed circle can’t be close,
the smallest atom is not the smallest to be closed.
The constant spin inside it constantly finds
ever more space to move on, because the root
pi is cracked open, spills out a new decimal,
though none can pinpoint, in this finest loophole
the sky can sway and earth finds a mouth to jingle!
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
I’m so tired of being the one on the ground,
With so many people surrounding me, yet nobody noticing I’m there
And then just stepping all over me, and not even apologizing once they’ve stepped on my insides.
Now I’m internally bleeding.
I'm tired of crying an ocean.
Then when people go to the beach, excited to splash in the water, they don’t.
Because they get scared of the monsters in the water.
I'm tired of screaming my lungs out for help.
Because whilst I’m pleading for help, everybody hears
Silence.
I'm tired, I'm so tired of nobody listening.
I have cried out too many times:
“Please, I need somebody!”
And all you do is walk along.
To you this is just writing, a poem, literature.
To me? It's me pouring my sorrow heart out
Hoping, with the last grain of hope in me, that somebody will listen.
I don’t need you to understand what I’m going through.
I don’t need you to understand my pain.
I don’t even need you to say anything in return.
I'm just...
So tired of cutting my arms and legs for other people
And not even getting a thank you or a nod of the head.
I am not asking you to rip your heart out your chest
And replace it with mine,
Because that will never relieve the pain buried into my soul.
I'm just asking and begging
Please just listen,
Just listen…
The unhappiness inside me is getting to my head.
It’s controlling the monsters I’ve been wanting to drown for so long.
They found a loophole and now they’re swimming in my mind.
Some have escaped my mind and are whispering in my ear.
Telling me to let it be.
I don’t want to let it be!
Please, I just want to be free…
I could rip your ears away from your imprudent mind
And pour my heart out until your eardrums can't take it,
And you would just go with your day as if all there ever was
Was silence.
The pain is there,
Even though I smile.
But the beasts do not want that no longer.
I just need somebody
To please just
Listen.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC
Death is a funny thing. You know it's coming and you know it's inevitable, but you wish it wasn't. It's twisting and malicious and casts angry shadows among the light. It fills us with anguish and runs our veins cold. Death is a funny thing. You know it will happen eventually, but you live your life everyday anyway. And I think that's what it's all about. That's the loophole in death. Even though you know it's coming, you stare death in the face, fiercely, and let it know that it's not going to stop you. You're going to live your life every single day and you're going to soak up every moment and opportunity you have. Death cannot sink it's claws into you or tear you down. You are invincible.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
*Skim milk masquerades as cream
Wolves self-ordain themselves as custodians
Of the “good” of sheep and that they’re a team
In the quest for universal good, poor proletarians.
A fattened up emaciation
That derails the pursuit for accountability
Paving way for many a loophole
A stranglehold on emancipation
The sheep simply merely sign a treaty
With fate to elongate their back breaking life before taking a stroll
In either heaven or hell, that’s if an afterlife exists.
The wolf menace is thus a malignant cyst
To “body politic”
Posing mind boggling potential harm, worth incisive critique.*
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
I might leave my thoughts and reinvent myself.
Does desperation or envy get you killed faster?
Going back 200 years ago, it would've been depravity
If you re fortunate enough to have your basic needs met, you can indulge in diving deeper than thoughts, deeper than body and mind, further down the loophole until you reach your soul, primal and emotional state of living.
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 1:22 PM UTC
I am knees deep in a quick sand
designed for people like me
by a system that thrives
on a climate of fear
Obtaining knowledge while selling my soul
Profit driven suits,
splurging words about our rights
and our duties
Camouflaging their own self-interest
Playing monopoly on knowledge
Convincing us,
that chasing that silly piece of paper
is the only option
Concealing the true cost that
comes with knowledge
One most of us will never be able to afford
An ocean of debt,
one I will surely pay until I'm dead
Behold the loophole though,
silver spooned fed mouths
need not sink nor swim
That hollowed shaped silver
holding them high above ground
While the rest of us sink
limb by limb
into a quicksand that was designed for people like us
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
Honestly,
people have been telling me my whole life about **** I'm going to have to do.
Exercise, eat right, good grades,
hard work.
And you may call it weak or cowardly, (though, I do prefer the term loophole), but I gave up a long time ago on doing any of it.
I gave up on life, and I've never felt more free.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
It's all I could ever do to read this
informative wall scrawl, idle
eyes hiding from peripheral refuse
scripting lines in lines in lines
the lines
engulf and then recede at light speed
inverted to white on black as the last night's
last bright stars erased over our expanse and
while I continue to dig, I await some conclusion or loop
wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait
while I continue to wait, I dig at conclusion or loophole to return
I find only my positive proof to the absolute
Did we move?
I never did
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
How sad it is to create a world of fantasies
that you know **** well wouldn't happen in real life
But somehow along building that dreamlike catastrophe
you see yourself slowly wandering in a world of bliss
in a world where you are the lead character
and every trees and every clouds are smiling at you
And you know **** well you'd never cry the way you do
no thoughts of quitting
unloving
hating
leaving
pain
it's all a loophole of sunrise
almost ending with a gorgeous sunset
and with you
hand in hand
is someone you badly wish
to be madly in love with you
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 2:25 AM UTC
The laundry mat, a necessary evil,
If you have no washer or drier,
That's where you go.
Clink clang, quarters fall out of the change machine
Only to be taken by the washers and dryers
In and out, people being loud
They come inside and then leave
Beep beep beep
Buzz, buzz, buzz
Washers and dryers crying out to be switched or
Started up again.
Heavy baskets of laundry are transported from place
To place.
Someone always leaving a sock or a pair of underwear behind,
Later curious as to where it went.
Many don't understand why people use the place
But when you are poor or don't have a place to put
A washer or a dryer, that is the loophole in the world of
Washer dryer ownership.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
Maybe tomorrow
or the next day
the next?
Possibly I'll find a loophole
to avoid getting this fixed.
And next week I'll crumble
from neglecting my head,
next year there is a chance
that I'll be bled out and dead.
Hell, an hour from now
a plane might fall
dive into my building.
I wouldn't mind if a disaster
accidentally killed me.
Tomorrow or the next day
or the next day or the next.
I'll never get it done, I know,
I'll never be my best.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
Why am I here?
Am I simply a placeholder
Sitting
In hopes of a way out
Maybe, no, yes, I'm just a placebo
Easing my way through a loophole
Accessing every cheat code
Now it seems I've run out of cheats
Taking them for granted to complete
Task after task after task.
Or, have I just run out of luck
Dreading this day
I guess it has struck
Even though I've been waiting for it.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
/ you sure that there's an actual vinyl
revival?
it's stirr-frying my testicles
back in england
and vinyl is on the comeback?!
**** yeah!
i tried interpreting an ancient egyptian
concept of a fanning / ***** police
for days on end...
newspaper? no...
saturday nespaper magazine?
no...
c.d.?!
no...
impromptu napkin
"loophole"?
nope...
vinyl?!
oh **** me!
i own a vinyl sgt. peppers'...
don't really want to listen to it...
but, vinyl, within
the framework of a revival?!
july sunday pants...
you can fan me back and
forth, back and forth that
elongated into circular *******
liquorice...
finally! vinayl has a secondary,
degenerate purpose...
fanning equippment!
spread the air...
unless you're me
lodging a ******** imitation of
a ******** with
ice-cubes dangling in front of a fan:
spreading nothing,
but hot air...
honest to god, in this weather:
the beatles' vinyl?
means as much crock-shit
as i'd really love for a
nefertiti:
"woof"...
or a...
wave of air...
a bellowing bull
with rotten breath...
but at least we found out that
vinyl is useful afterall...
way past the newspaper...
or a pigeon flapping,
or the comment section
that's coorporate...
vinyl?
perfect flapping equipment!
disperses the air...
like sinatra disperses
bad singers...
drunk and...
'opely 'opefully on to "it".
is that like: the dead come (back)...
and then we hit karma redemption
with reincarnation?!
limited contra dough-dough-deep
state affairs?!
new delhi ***
new york?!
no wonder i can't stop laughing
as if that could even be translated into
slavic languages!
you pompous
anglican-integrated-inbred...
****** english women...
you?! you?! you?! you want
to dictate, rules for me?!
****** now i want
to fight your side's resemblance of goliath!
i've petted an alsatian and a dobberman
up to the age of 8...
i think i'll manage...
shit-fisting your granny's egotism
rooting for: ahmed no. 1.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
What have I done?
what's happening to me?
Am I diseased with
the sickness that's infiltrating
the whole nation
A nation of pill popping zombies
that has addicted itself
to the loophole
of "a pill for happiness"
"a pill for desensitization"
"a pill for nerves"
"a pill for life"?
Why have we become a generation of junkies
whose drug is legal
inflicted on us
but degree holding powers
because "they know better"?
Is it normal for humans like me and you
who feel
who see
who taste
who hear
who smell
to be controlled by a singular button
to be confined to a manifesto
of the "latest trend"
Are we all hypnotized
into morphing into the
"perfect body"
"10 ways to get smarter"
"look like this, don't eat"
is it a blueprint set by a superpower
to transform us to identical robots
to make it easier to control us?
Are we slowly walking down the path
of being identical?
Are we losing the only essence of what makes us human?
Are removing our imperfections
and surgically implanting
"my lips should be like this"
"my thigh gap is a must"
"my brain should have a set of guidelines"
What has become of us?
I pity the fish that
flow with the current
I cry over the youth today
I mourn the artists
of yesteryears
I grieve with the widowers
of lost souls
There's still hope
or so I try to believe
and encourage
the dying breed
of
perfectionists
the humble ones
those whose kisses only
land on lips
and not
*****
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 6:57 AM UTC
Among the brainwashed, cooing roasted pigeons, in the silence condemned to silence, I will rather be a walking Jonah, who lives comfortably in the stomach of a giant whale, since Socrates' admonitions seem to have been wasted long ago these days, because the whims of great, unknown scales of burdens must not only be borne, but also known to be carried. Because the vulnerable human soul is both a low point and the bottom of the sea! Let anyone say anything.
In the mud of the sea, it would often be better to wallow vilely like a pig, perhaps even to humble myself a little, that they did not shut up my sharp mouth, with which I complained not only to knowledge, but also to reason - but what use is it to the **** of human wrecks, who constantly damage, break, crush, or make their own by plundering.
Sooner or later, I will make a soul-break in my inner Self, where no one can follow me faithfully; because it would have been good to hide a little in a cowardly way back into my snail shell, where no one disturbs me, and from there, hiding, to observe and contemplate the wretched state of our affairs. Perhaps no one has yet thought about what a real thing it is when spiral circles close for good above a person's busy head, and not a single, orphaned loophole can remain, which would show new paths with its compass, I am preparing to languish in the depths of my vulnerable cells for another thousand years. I will keep the personal experience of "thinking more" to myself.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 12:24 AM UTC