"marr" poems
Haqiqat hai yaqeen karlo,
Men usko bhool kar khush ***
“Muhabbat marr chuki hai ab,
Men usko bhool kar khush ***
“Badalti rut ki waja se tabyat,
Kuch hai bojhal see….
“Yun mera haal na pocho,
Men usko bhool kar khush ***
“Tumhen kia weham hai kyn,
Raat bhar milne nahi aaty.???
“Aye mere nennd ki paryon
Men usko bhool kar khush ***
“Udasi sary ghar men,
Pheeli jati hai ghum bankar….
“Tum har dewaar par likhdo,
Men usko bhool kar khush ***
Translation to Malay Language
Aku gembira untuk melupakanya
Amanah ku ini adalah realitinya
Dan aku gembira untuk melupakannya
Cinta yang telah meningal dunia
Dan aku gembira untuk melupakanya
Translation to English:
I am happy I am not sad to forget
He is mine, that's reality
and I am glad to forget it all
The love has died
and I am happy to forget it all
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
Baahon Mein Bharke Meri Jaanejaan
By filliing you in your arms Oh! my love
De Doon Tujhe Main Dil Ka Jahaan
I give you the world of my heart
Har Lamha Tera Hi Khayaal Hai
every moment I think of you
Tere Bina Hai Raahat Kahaan
Without you my mind is uneasy
(Banda Tujh Pe Qurbaan Hai
Iss Baat Se Tu Anjaan Hai) - 2
I love you so much but you
don't seem to know that
Sach Kehta Hoon ...Main Jhoot
I say the truth...and If I lie
Kahoon Toh Kahoon Toh Marr Jaaon
I shall die
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 5:19 AM UTC
i sat at her typewriter
wearin’ plain white v-neck,
plaid WalMart shorts marr’d.
i sat at her typewriter
as we discuss’d life problems.
i sat at her typewriter
dividing interest between her and
the powerful feeling received
through uniform ballyhoo.
i sat at her typewriter
feinging, waiting for her
to say she’s too drunk.
i sat at her typewriter
as she went on with her
first-world problems.
i sat at her typewriter
as they exchanged
insults yell’d and
shard’d glass of broken jars.
i sat at her typewriter
as she dispensed her drug.
i sat at her typewriter
when her and the secondary-Virgo
did move to grind.
i sat at her typewriter
as i forged fragment’d
statements to poetry.
i sat at her typewriter
when she had
that look in her eyes.
i sat at her typewriter
as my life end’d.
i sat at her typewriter
after the snow sweat.
i sat at her typewriter
when she snap’d the spine of
her first horse Sassafras.
i sat at her typewriter
when i deluded myself
about loving her.
i sat at her typewriter
never any longer.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 10:05 AM UTC
"Sweet, thou art pale."
"More pale to see,
Christ hung upon the cruel tree
And bore His Father's wrath for me."
"Sweet, thou art sad."
"Beneath a rod
More heavy, Christ for my sake trod
The winepress of the wrath of God."
"Sweet, thou art weary."
"Not so Christ:
Whose mighty love of me suffic'd
For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist."
"Sweet, thou art footsore."
"If I bleed,
His feet have bled; yea in my need
His Heart once bled for mine indeed."
"Sweet, thou art young."
"So He was young
Who for my sake in silence hung
Upon the Cross with Passion wrung."
"Look, thou art fair."
"He was more fair
Than men, Who deign'd for me to wear
A visage marr'd beyond compare."
"And thou hast riches."
"Daily bread:
All else is His: Who, living, dead,
For me lack'd where to lay His Head."
"And life is sweet."
"It was not so
To Him, Whose Cup did overflow
With mine unutterable woe."
"Thou drinkest deep."
"When Christ would sup.
He drain'd the dregs from out my cup:
So how should I be lifted up?"
"Thou shalt win Glory."
"In the skies,
Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyes
Lest they should look on vanities."
"Thou shalt have Knowledge."
"Helpless dust!
In . Thee, O Lord, I put my trust:
Answer Thou for me, Wise and Just."
"And Might."--
"Get thee behind me. Lord,
Who hast redeem'd and not abhorr'd
My soul, oh keep it by Thy Word."
1.6k
***your inky recall
recoils under
my skin
took its toll
in beastly
violent shades
black & blue
darkly drawn
bad blood
crimson oozing
burnt scars
indelibly sunk
into my psyche
encas'd my heart
in ice temples
glass'd apprehension
left its mark
upon the soul
marr'd of spiteful apathy
bane of my existence
retreating behind
secrets of
closed doors
remembrance's***
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
He wanted it and he wouldn't leave without it
I wouldn't give it and tried to push him away
He felt so good in my bed, against me, teasing me
I was given an opportunity and I really wanted it
My morals are as high as the wall around my soul
I have always reacted childish and now in University I chose differently
I'm proud of myself for leaving, for telling him no
Childish teenage boys who always want one thing will always be mad when they don't get it
And now because I stood up for myself I'm punished
Forced to see him everyday, now he chooses to hang out with my friends
Crossing paths is unavoidable
Shame and embarassment marr my face and wreck my heart
But why am I embarassed? Why am I shamed?
I can't answer that question
Would it have been worse if I just gave in?
Yes, I would feel better but my self respect and the respect that others give to me would be diminshed
I'd feel like a ***** a lousy one night stand
Not the way to give up my first
Instead, I sit here trying to convince myself I was strong
But all I feel is weak
I want people to like me and to think I'm a fun person
Is giving it up to every boy who wants it really necessary to do so?
I just want to be there for everyone, be their friends, be a nice person
So, that's what I will do with everyone including him
Everyone has their issues, as I'm most definitely sure he does
I won't let anything happen ever again between us
But I'll be there because I won't hold it against him
And I most certainly won't hold it against me
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
It was October of 1966 and he was 9.
He walked proudly
through the scary Brooklyn streets,
searching for that one corner he saw-
on the ride home from PS 361,
back when he was 8.
An entire 3 blocks from home,
and he arrived at Mamma Rosa’s.
“World Famous Taste."
he would taste it soon enough.
(He didn’t know it, but Mamma’s was only famous
for the pizza grease layer over the checkered table cloths).
He mastered the menu with his 3rd grade reading skills.
The “marr-in-ay-ruh” sauce sounded tasty.
The steaming spaghetti came towards his window seat,
and Billboard’s Top 10 Singles played over his noodle noises.
“Mother’s Little Helper” by The Stones was new to him.
He twisted his pasta to the beat of the sitar.
The spicy guitar chords and zest of the marinara on his tongue. . .
The al dente string
swayed
from his stinging lips and to the beat of the bass.
He paid in three quarters he got from the landlord.
He swept the driveway every Sunday.
It was the best sauce he will have ever tasted.
“What a drag it is-
getting old.”
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
"Sweet, thou art young."
"So He was young
Who for my sake in silence hung
Upon the Cross with Passion wrung."
"Look, thou art fair."
"He was more fair
Than men, Who deign'd for me to wear
A visage marr'd beyond compare."
"And thou hast riches."
"Daily bread:
All else is His: Who, living, dead,
For me lack'd where to lay His Head."
"And life is sweet."
"It was not so
To Him, Whose Cup did overflow
With mine unutterable woe."
1.1k
you're worth much more
than cigarette smoke
the hazy high
of a drug
you're worth much more
than ***** shots
and the cuts that
marr your skin
you're worth much more
than falling tears
the quiet,
wrecking sobs
you're worth much more
than broken glass
the cutting,
harsh cold words
- - -
you're worth much more
than a fraying rope
and dangling legs
over a fallen stool
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
Catch her if you can
but do you need
to marr this beast
of grace and speed
no call to hurt or bother her
on the purple moor
left alone
the right to roam
then springtime calls her down
to run and box
and come so close
as playful as a clown
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 9:57 AM UTC
I will find you
when you are broken like beer bottles in parking lots;
collect the pieces
so the neighborhood children
don't marr their bare feet.
We will walk along the highway,
on the grass-cracked sidewalk
until it is no more.
And then I will spread you
like ashes
because I could never bear to
bury you.
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 11:53 AM UTC
No angels marr my shoulder space
No horns nor wings to find
But yet there are two sides of me
That unkindly cohabit my mind.
Fighting, fighting, constant quarrel,
Both wrestling for command.
No time to take a quick breath in
For loss of reprimand.
A girl and a philosopher,
Not opposites, you see.
I'm in no condition for juxtaposition
Lest subjected to therapy.
The girl is cruel, with a capricious streak,
Unyielding, growling, beast.
Philosopher questions her every say,
Persistant in the least.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
There was once an empty girl
In a too full world, a girl
Who returned to the Sea.
There was once an empty world
Full of nothing
And a girl who was full of wonder, full
To the brim, about
To overflow
And make a mess, about to
Marr the perfection of
Delusional people, who were so
Full of **** and full of
Themselves, full of
Everything and
Nothing at all.
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 1:41 AM UTC
A lament don Ghaeilge
A language
in my Blood
but not - on my tongue.
The prose and poetry of my ancestors
fallen - on deaf ears.
When did we accept this anglicized assonance,
to marr the seanchaithe tale of soil and air?
The Land of Saints and Scholars -
speaking words from others tongues.
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 8:33 AM UTC
Isolated by force
shunned by many.
He is a calf surrounded by wolves.
Vulnerable, weak, and senseless he'll run
blindly towards the sun.
Cuts and scrapes marr his heart,
gashes slice through delicate skin.
A mother pretends everything is fine,
yet her world is hanging by a thin line.
Curled up in his room he writes his final words,
Thanks to you I've never known anything but hurt.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
When I was young
I loved sunshine
So I thought
Sunshine is everything
Later I fell in love
So I thought
Love is everything
Now my love is gone
I realized
Nothing is everything
If everything is nothing
But I still hope
You,my friend
To have something,
Anything
So
Have a thing
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
She's tired of being a doll.
She no longer wants to be locked in a drawer with her pale pink dainty lips pressed against the ceiling of her rose-petal scented nightmare chamber.
She's old news now, Julie is the one to they all dote over, her hair's a shade lighter and glossier and her little boots are a more brilliant pink. Julie's dress isn't frayed like Arleta's, the flowers on the new doll's dress are more detailed and eye-catching.
Julie's perfumed with lemon and jasmine, Arleta used to smell of roses plucked at dawn after rain, now the once-sweet scent is toxic and she can't escape it.
She met a boy-doll once; Marr.. he looked at her as if she was a ship freshly painted and awaiting her maiden voyage over apple-green seas. Her tiny china heart had flipped that day and then never beat with such lovestruck ferosity again.
He'd fallen from a 3rd storey window and had been too broken to be mended, just like her worn little doll-heart.
But if she could dance like the young girls in the village do, in the buttercup fields.. if she could share carrot cake as dusk approached across the river and could sleep the night away in a hot air balloon!
If her legs could run and leap, and her delicate lips could kiss a charming boy..
She holds hope in her chest and crosses her porcelain fingers, maybe luck will fall into her lonely life like a jewel in a hail-storm.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 5:54 PM UTC
sorrow i am with broken hands and cannot mend, i look to myself, in my self and my past within. i see burn marks from fires laid, and cannot un marr the wood, i feel pain inside from debts, in myself paid, from thoughts remembered and what i should have done. i learn and am sad, my flower in the wind. i never enough watered or let sunlight in. i die to think of growing strenght within through insight and how i should have been, but my flower withered by me, will not ever know.
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 10:15 PM UTC
It's a dance I've forgotten the steps to
An equation, a misplaced formula
A melody with lost lyrics
Forgiving myself is as easy
As putting my hand on a hot skillet
Loving myself might as well be
Rocket science
------------
Bitter are the memories
That marr my skin
In unwanted scars
And paint my prose
In purple flowers
Give me an IV
Of rain-soaked November nights
Or dry heat against my skin
And fresh earth between my toes
Or the feeling of a hand
On my shoulder
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
Along my Ivory skin, the drops of cerise spreads - delicate tendrils forming beyond each space,
Words of hate marr my sheet as I press the object drawing blood.
With each laceration forming on pearl, a small tear escapes my eyes. The pain is too much yet I have to bear it to show that I'm alive. And I form the scarlett words on my pale canvas as I cry. My frame spreads with stone, a newly formed statue, as I watch the Crimson ink spreading. As it grows larger, black spots form and visions become blurred. The reality and memories merge as one and I form more words with my pen.
horrible
worthless
liar
ugly
And as I hear each voice screaming in my head, my hands rush as cuts become deeper. A whole sonnet of hate drowns my heart and fresh salt tears are created. Lines tear at sheets, jagged curls are formed. And with an anchor at each eye I look down on what I have made. And my tool of blood, my ebony pen silently replaces the steel knife I had.
And a small smile is shone as I raise my new creation.
A paper full of cuts.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC
The people that know you don't really know you.
Unless you want them to.
Why let in that groggy blur to the clearness in your mind?
Why seep down in grimy mud and force yourself to bind?
That dull ache and restless shake that ponders in your soul,
will only cut you, marr you, rattle you and leave you with a
hole.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
Eyes are greeted with white
Questions and words boom loudly
Eyes flicker shut
“You’re safe don’t worry”
Eyes open again
Glancing about fancy suits appear
One smiles looking at the child below
A white lady rushes in looking about
Beeping echoes through foggy noises
“Dante”
A voice breaks through with concern
It’s a suit
His tie is green
A dark green like the trees
His words flow over the child
Falling on deaf ears
“Did you save me?
The child’s voice breaks the silence
“You could say that”
The suited man says
The other suits stand at the door
Green tie is seated next to the bright white bed
The child smiles
Bruises marr the small face
A casted arm and leg
Tired blue eyes express tiredness
The child falls back to sleep
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
Mana le tu suhagraat ger naal
Kiwe bhulegi oh time mere naal da
Manda hanoh kar lu mere nalo jyada pyar tenu
Par ki tu kar sakegi mere jina pyar unu?
Ro reha ha saari raat da
Eh sochke ki ki chal reha hou tere dil wich
Kiwe ** sakdi he tu ger di
Bhenchod ik wari bi na aya taras mere ute
Manda ha bura ha me
Par ki bewafai de bi layak na reha teri
Isto wadiya ta maar ke chali jandi menu
Ah din ta na dekhan penda menu laash banke
Chala jawanga door jaldi hi tere to
Dunia bi na yaad rakhu
Na hi tenu yaad aau
Marr ke dikhau *** tenu
Yaad bi na aau *** tenu
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
Atje ku jam ë lumtur
Atje ku nuk ka zhurum
Atje ku ka dashni
Atje ku nuk kam mërzi
Sa më ka marr malli..
Familja, shoqëria, rrugët të dashur
Premtoj të bashkohëmi sa më shpejt
Edhe per të gjithë me nejt
Per të gjithë
Kosovë
(Albanian)
Daar waar ik gelukkig ben
Daar waar geen herrie is
Daar waar liefde is
Daar waar ik geen gemis ken
Hoeveel ik het mis..
Familie, vriendschappen, wegen die geliefd zijn
Ik hoop dat we zo snel mogelijk samenkomen
Om er voor altijd te blijven
Voor altijd
Kosovë
(Dutch)
There where i am happy
There where there is no noise
There where there is love
There where I know no sorrow
How much I miss it..
Family, friendships, the roads which I love
I hope we’re able to come together soon
To be here together, always
Always
Kosovë
(English)
Mar 15, 2020
Mar 15, 2020 at 9:30 PM UTC
scratches marr the mirror
rain rivers my window
so much is tangential
in my view.
my yearn is to know
truth
learned from fidelity
what substance have I
when straight ahead is rivered
and reflection scoures
me
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 3:12 AM UTC