We met in the middle at half past noon on the road that led to nowhere. I could see the stars were shining a little more bright on this cold December evening and the snow beneath are feet kept us dreaming of warm honey and lavender tea. Sugar dropped from the trees onto our minds full of dreams of what we could be. We met in the middle at half past noon on the road to nowhere and I don’t know my way home but I’ve found you now and I’m tired of searching for a we everyone told us we could never be.
Lavender tea
Path Humble Jun 20
left my phone unlocked
on the taxis back seat,
won't be the last time

called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up

he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was now headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office

and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,

we met on the street,
he rolled down  the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
handed me my phone

I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my hand  
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,

"No sir, no no, not necessary!

Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
  no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"

to which I replied,

Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"

and with an equally, beaming smile continued,

"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was

Inshallah!" ^

something he could not dispute...

  we parted ways
   each believing,
   each receiving
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the
supreme taxi dispatcher
Arabic for ^"God/Allah willing" or "if God/Allah wills," frequently spoken by a Muslim

^^a meritorious or charitable act in the Jewish tradition

NYC taxi cab drivers are suffering economically by the explosion of ride hailing app cars, many unable to pay their bills, earn a living, have committed suicide over the past few months

true story, poetry is there for the taking
gracie Jul 2017
Perhaps we never truly met
until I heard your voice of flowers
spill hydrangeas across the carpet
of my bedroom at 3 am.

Those whispers of nothingness
that smell oh so sweetly in the night
begin to wither away as sunrise creeps in
through the window I forgot to close tight.
Shashi Jan 2017
It was a moment of destruction,
that created something beautiful.

When your eyes met mine,
for the first time

Love was created,
and the heart....  destroyed !!
Short Tales of Love #1
Rings of sleep met my hands, and promised
to wed my lashes, to close. The moon's pupils
acclimated to dusk's orbit, poisonous cycles with
durable antidotes. Starlight circulates death herself,
inaudible, a sobering shadow.
I've lasted by her words progressing,
as I'm no longer here. I faked debt with
her, to try and feel my 'normal' a belted, altered
maker of happiness. They aspired plastic sapphires,
chipping diamonds and bluebells for graves, they took
a dip at my faltered breath- and wanted more, a suicide
note bolted with fantasy;

"The poetry is beautiful,"

"But I just haven't died yet,"
Lots of people love my poetry. And tons of people say they want my gift, but, I only have this because of all the bad stuff I've been through. You want something I'd give up in a heartbeat- trust me.
All feedback is welcome
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