"milo" poems
Maybe it's the way the national flag flies so high
Despite the country's imperfections
Maybe it's the way we're united
Not separated, despite the difference in cultures,
Believes, traditions, languages
Maybe it's the way you see an Indian eating with chopsticks,
The way you see a Malay in a saree,
The way you see a Chinese making ketupat's for Hari Raya.
Maybe it's the unity you see,
Maybe it's the goosebumps you feel when you say Merdeka,
Maybe despite the hate you have towards history,
Deep down, you know how grateful you are to be Malaysian.
Maybe it's the way you walk into a mamak,
And say
" tauke tapau roti canai 1 milo ais 99 "
And maybe,
It lies in diversity,
Beyond everything else.
Malaysia, tanah tumpahnya darahku.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.
She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.
Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.
A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.
Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.
Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”
The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
TOH ZINDA ** TUM.....
I feel like falling in love once again...
When I listen to this song...
I feel like a teenager again..
When I read the lyrics line by line...
Dilon mein tum apni betabiyan leke chal rahe ho.Toh zinda ** tum!
When you carry restlessness in your heart,
then you are ALIVE
Nazar mein khwaabon ki bijliyan leke chal rahe **
Toh zinda ** tum!
When you carry dreams in your sight,
then you are ALIVE
Hawa ke jhonkon ke jaise aazad rehna seekho
Tum ek dariya ke jaise, leharon mein behna seekho
Har ek lamhe se tum milo khole apni baahein
Har ek pal ek naya samaa dekhiye
Learn to be free like the swaying air around you
Learn to flow like the tide flows with the water
Meet every moment of your life with open arms
and experience newness every second you live
Jo apni aankhon mein hairaniyan leke chal rahe **
Toh zinda ** tum!
When you carry wonder in your eyes,
then you are ALIVE
Dilon mein tum apni betabiyan leke chal rahe **
Toh zinda ** tum!
When you carry anxiety in your heart,
then you are ALIVE
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
Tuhade bin sannu sohneya koi hor ni labhna,
Tuhade naal hi saddi rooh nu sukoon milna.
Tussi saddi jaan ** mahiya,
Pyaar kardi haa tuhanu inna saara.
Aawe tuhanu jado hichki,
Tuhadi jaan tuhanu yaad kardi.
Har vele har dua ch tuhanu yaad karde,
Har janam tussi hi milo ohi mangde.
Saat janam ki assi hazaar janam lave,
Bs sadde utte sirf tujhada haq hove.
Warna koi Zindagi na mile sannu jide ch tussi na **
Tuhado baajo hor nahiyo chahida koi,
Ye mahiya har janam sirf tuhadi layi hoyi.
Saddi har peedh da ilaaj tussi hi ne,
Rooh muskandi saddi jado tussi muskande.
Sadde har nakhde tussi hi jhel sakde,
Har duavan ch sirf tuhanu assi mangde.
Jeho tussi khayal rakhde ** sadda,
Tuhadi rooh da karun mai sajda.
Ankhiyan ch ankhaa paake jado dekhde,
Chand di Chandni hi hi feeki dasde.
Inni khubsurat hai rooh tuhadi,
Dil jeda saaf tey saccha utey mardi.
Sab tou sohna sohneya mileya mainu,
Jachde ** tussi hi jaan Meri sannu.
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 2:06 AM UTC
Head
tilted to the side.
She blushes;
She's clay to the touch,
Flesh to the mind.
My fingers,
like passengers aboard the Santa Maria,
explore a new world-
Every inch,
Every crevice,
Every curve;
She's the Venus de Milo-
Timeless.
Classic.
Delicate
like a ribbon
fluttering downward,
pulled from her hair
by lover's passion.
Her ******* are molded-
islands along the ocean I swim-
and an art form is born;
The simple movements:
Up,
Down,
To-and-fro.
Well thought out,
but not choreographed.
Color her
like the Roses on my tongue;
Entangled and Infatuated,
They speak of Youth,
Naivety,
nervousness....
Step back
and She blossoms to life.
A monument lays before me;
the mortal
achieve immortality.
Perfect
from her
Head
to her
Toes.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
Alone, as it started, as it should be.
Into his hands i pass, gently.
His sand seeps into my eyes,
gritted and foreboding adventures await me.
18, the number of adulthood,
but never yet have I felt more a child in an adults world.
Judged as a mature spirit, that still heaps milo with milk,
and i sit, as the last hours of my childhood roll swiftly away,
tumbling, slipping through my open hands.
It pangs me with a sudden sadness that, I
finally an adult, have no constrictions to surround me,
only a number of roads, on which to start my adventure.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
Would you sing to me? Your voice calms me like the sound of cicadas in distant summer/I listened to the album you made me over and over, the way your voice glides into the notes, weaves itself into my bones/Your hair looks so beautiful in sunlight, soft sandstone red/ I love to see you smile, your secrets behind your teeth/Get dressed up and let me show you off, wear the dress that gives you Venus de Milo shoulders/I just can’t take my eyes off you, a rare star, unbridled constellations of your eyes/ let me draw you, capture your life in this small moment, paper and pensiveness/I just want to hold you, feel the needed press of our bodies/I need you right now, you are not my breath but I breathe easier when you are here/I’ll come over to your place tonight, I know you must be tired, I see the way the world wears us, slow drips of waxen time against our skin/I found this flower in the yard, it reminded me of you, the petals delicate in their sweetness, the strength in the roots/I love your family, their warmth a hearth fire, always returned to/Would you make some art for me? I see the way you pull beauty from the wound in your side/Read me some of your poetry, what does your soul sound like?/I wrote this poem for you, you are written on my soul/I wrote a song for you, words were not enough, here is the sound of us/would you play music with me? Let the harmonies carry outside our bodies/I carry your heart with me, I carry it with me.
Nov 5, 2021
Nov 5, 2021 at 5:23 PM UTC
Ab Teri nazron me
Mein firta raha
Yunhi zulfon se khelta raha
Kabhi Teri narazgi
Kabhi ishq e aashiqui
Yunhi waqt e haqeeqat me dhoondta
Dil se dur
Dil ke kareeb
Kaisa yeh pyaar hai...
Gazab sa ajab sa ishq hai
Khawaab e kaabil ghumne chala
Manchala mein
Manchali woh
Dono Milo dur
Waqt ko waqt banate hue
Bewaqt ek wajah se bhagte hue...
Nayi raag me
raah e jindagi banate hue
...
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 5:16 AM UTC
The Louvre would have been better had I
come here by myself.
I know why you’re here.
The Mona Lisa calls
your name, coy and quaint
eyes glazed with lacquer
beckoning
behind the bulletproof glass
that curdles her beauty. You want me
to see her with you.
Don’t you?
But clouded eyes watched
as you passed
The Winged Victory
Liberty Leading the People
Venus de Milo
Six Raphaels and a Michelangelo
just so you could catch a glimpse
of her smirk
behind a masterpiece of spines
and cameras.
So go ahead, call me
stuck up
I don’t mind.
I’ll admire all the beauty you missed
along the way.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC
people's eyes are like constellations, wherever you go
they will be there during sunlight and sundown,
picking out flaws like they pick out food on menus
finding the crack in the liberty bell, finding Venus de
Milo’s lack of arms, like flowers, we wilt without
rain, and we are so ashamed of being imperfect,
but why do we run from the rain? can we not accept
reality and believe fantasy is a much more powerful
sense of comfort than believe in the bizarre judgement
the earth has provided for us, the most grandeur
hearts are the heavily scarred and bruised, because
what are we without our flaws? we aren't boring.
- kra
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
if i could paint like michelangelo
your beauty is all that i would draw
if i could carve you out of marble
venus de milo would blush in awe
god was definitely on his a game
when he graced the world with you
angels peeked then hid their eyes
unaccustomed to such a lovely view
in you they’d see their imperfection
and fade to a pale and envious green
picture the most spectacular sunrise
or a lush and lovely tropical scene
i’ve searched to find a lovelier vision
but clearly nothing could compare
my love, your enchantment has no rival
a flawless diamond would be less rare
your beauty defies my feeble prose
your lips sparkle like the finest wine
shakespeare’s pen could not describe
the joy i feel in knowing you’re mine
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
I want to kiss the sleep from your lips in the mornings before your morning coffee, tea or milo in winters. I want to run my fingers through your hair just before a passionate kiss. I want to wake in the morning from you moving slightly and my body feeling a slight cool breeze where your body used to be, I want to fall asleep with you entangled in the sheets after play fighting or nice intimacy. I want to feel your fingertips giving me goosebumps along my sides as you run them up and down I want it all
(j.a)
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 2:34 AM UTC
i found 12:41
revelations
milo and quantum
physics
i couldn't pass chemistry
in 11th grade
stuck in the act
of balancing equations
too much o2 taking
up all the space in
the air where
words are supposed to
form and make
things easier
pure scientific intelligence
the art of descerning
the oil on
skin leaving fingerprints
on the surfaces of things
only surface-level
too afraid to go any deeper
i want you on all levels
in all aspects without
limitations
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
*her
alabaster
beauty
has
****** charm
an elegance and a
myst ery which she uses
to your harm.
she is lithe
and supple
attracts men
in swarms. but
she has a heart of
marble. so you'd
best stay calm
she taunts you
and she haunts
you. she will make
alarms... but she
cannot hold you
because she
♡has no♡
♡arms♡
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 9/23/2016
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
Pancakes and Maple Syrups
Sunshine and Light Blue Sky
White Clouds and Golden Hashbrown
A Round Sausage and Chilled Milo
Red, Chilli in my saucer
Red, they are in my eyes
Red, they are burning strong
Red, is my tongue and my taste bud
Loving it
Yellow is only when "you're loving it"
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
1.
Dear Penny,
Today I saw two sparrows playing underneath a tree
that is still naked from the winter. They hopped an
chirped and pecked at each other. They had no
worries, no cares in the world. I was envious of
them. I wished to be that free. I need to get away
from this place. It makes me hollow.
Always,
Milo
2.
Dear Penny,
Do you remember that night when we were in San
Tropez? We'd had too much Bordeaux, and found
ourselves laughing at the moon in the middle of the
night. We saw turtles laying eggs in the sand, their
progeny made to wait until being birthed back into
the sea. Why do turtles always do that? Is it
fate? Is it futility? I think it's because of fear.
Always,
Milo
3.
Dear Penny,
I'm sitting in a coffee shop, trying to relax. A man
sitting at the table next to mine has a tattoo of a
clown on his forearm. It is very intricately drawn.
But as I was looking at it, the clown shifted its gaze
and started to laugh at me. It has since stopped
laughing, but no matter how hard I try, I can't get it
to stop staring.
Always,
Milo
4.
Dear Penny,
Let's face it, all hope is dead. Free will has led to
abandonment. Good people go hungry, the troubled
are revered. Love has no bounds, adultery is
standard. Since we have fallen from the pedestal of
the scarred, fear lies in the hands of the just. Who's
to say why we were. We just are, and I'm tired.
Always,
Milo
5.
Dear Penny,
Consider yourself lucky you're not here. The
streets have become a fetid barrage of scrambled
and frantic contemplations. Am I a rogue, in search
of vigilant prosperity? Or does my face just lack a
certain boyish charm? I blame the church and its
benign stance on water purity. Nevermore...
Always,
Milo
6.
Dear Penny,
Please excuse my attitude in previous
correspondences, as I'm sure you noticed an
abrupt change in my demeanor. Sometimes I feel
weak. Sometimes I wonder if thinking is the right
thing to do. To act would be an adventure. But
worry not; the doctors have given me a clean bill of
health. I remain.
Always,
Milo
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
I am from my father’s warm cooking,
From my mom and grandma’s baking.
I am from the soggy, overdone noodles, that, though disgusting,
I was proud of because I made them myself.
I am from lemonade stands with my sister,
Keeping careful watch to see that she didn’t run into the street.
I am from drinking most of our product that we were supposed to be selling,
And making my mother pay twenty-five cents to do the same.
I am from lights on my face as I slipped into the life of another person,
proudly singing a song.
I am from “break a leg,” and “you can do it.”
I am from dancing badly and the music that compelled me to do so.
I am from Emergency Room trips,
From falling and stumbling and crashing into things.
I am from the bonfires at the camp I hated
(sparkly, mesmerizing, didn’t feel as nice as it looked)
I am from Ernie and Bert’s pointless arguments,
From my old fears of
Cookie Monster,
and crying when he came on the television.
I am from June and Mortimer’s branch.
From the crazy heritage from my dad,
and the Native American woman and the English man
who are my great-great-great-great grandparents.
I am from the chemotherapy and radiation that
didn’t work,
and crying when I heard that the boy
I had never met had died.
I am from Milo and the Phantom Tollbooth,
From the adventures that I enjoyed with Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
I am from the books that I read at a very young age
that made me love the letters on the pages.
I have boxes, filled with memories.
A birth certificate,
shoes that barely fit two of my fingers.
I am from the stories that were told,
and the unwritten tales
yet to come
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
mutant mannequins
stare from the shop window
visions of Venus de Milo
awaiting the hour to come alive
indecipherable simulations
anonymous
yet they have about them
a lacerating urgency
an elliptical and oblique
consciousness
that emits the light
of relative thought
establishing a symbiosis
of non gender
that stimulates the color of dreams
in unleashed silent appraisal
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
Speak to me, Ariadne.
Lay with me, Amilova.
Be my Piper, be my Rane,
Be my Theo, say my name.
If I were to love you, would it be because I made you?
If I told you you're mine, does that mean that you'd stay?
I brought you here so you could see my face,
And see the world, this wonderful place.
Oh my Nero, oh my Milo,
I brought you here, Shale and Shiloh
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 4:08 PM UTC
our suffering was human long before you
tried to “humanise” it,
give us the kiss of life,
i am not your wife, i am not your sister
i am not your ******* daughter, sorry to break
all this water
on the embers of you
deigning, for once, to give a ****
what your friends do to us
by imagining we belong
to you — i will demonstrate
how little you know of possession
as i run
my keys along your car
til your mouth unlocks, drops open
and i dive down your throat, walk around
in you, the cage
of your ribs more spacious than
my own, two sizes too small,
zero, counting down to take-off, space
for my heart all taken
with the frenzied tango
of me watching you watching me, behind
my eyes, all winged
and no less trapped for it
vandalism is not violence
i would have snapped
your wrist when you tried to kiss me
just to see if you’d curse quietly
about your shattered iPhone bones
pick up, dust off, shrug shoulders
cold and solar
your belongings increasingly disposable
so when you love me because i could be yours
don’t flinch when i spit
in your eye, scream, cry, take
your name in vain
to leech from myself the pain of your basilisk glance
turning me into rubble, eroding all
the toil and trouble or whatever it is
you fear in me, petrified
perfect specimen, cut and dried
venus de milo on a pedestal
armless, harmless
all legs and bust
soft hewn and lunar, gathering dust
i am not your medusa
victim, your rock, your ***** girl
grain of sand to make a pearl
i am fire, water, air
you cannot hold me
don’t stroke my hair, don’t ******* touch
me, yeah, my fingertips
may turn you to gold
but i’m not here to spin your straw
neither am i some unrefined ore
for you to forge into a wedding ring
stone is bitter cold as metal
though it makes a rougher crown
don’t worry, though, my darling,
the chill will hiss and dissipate
when i come to melt
you down
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
☭ ⛧ Ⓐ ⛧ ☭ ⛧ Ⓐ ⛧☭ ⛧ Ⓐ ⛧ ☭ ⛧
Incensed by mighty Milo, you act brave
then rage and bludgeon, shutting down dissent
while Mario Savio shudders in his grave.
Behold: another shameful sad event.
Youthful useful idiots on the attack,
pawns of global capital dressed in black:
Bernie's Berserkley: raze it to the ground
and Donald will be twenty-twenty bound.
Georges Sorel, amused, looks on in silence
at your half-baked proletarian violence,
infantile intifada, civil war,
a glimpse of what the future has in store:
you are the fascists you've been waiting for.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 5:08 PM UTC
A long time ago in Sleepy Eye Minnesota at Christensen Farms Feed Mill, a boisterous young pig named Ralph was waiting for his brother, Milo. Ralph hadn’t seen Milo in almost three hours, because Milo made a SLANDER against Ralph. So, Milo had went off in the big truck SAGELY with Farmer Tim, so he could avoid Ralph’s BRUTALITY. Ralph thought that was PRESUMPTUOUS and he was TRUCULENT. Ralph will soon live VICARIOUSLY through Milo’s stories once he returns. Once Milo returns Ralph corners Milo. Milo backs away from his angry brother's bared teeth, then he slips. now he’s hanging off the cliff holding on with only his front hooves,with Ralph's hooves pressing down on his. Ralph lets go, and says with great EARNESTNESS; “have a nice fall!”
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 11:03 AM UTC
He makes me feel beautiful. Not Vogue beautiful that can be washed away with soap and water. No, he makes me feel Botticelli angel beautiful. Venus de Milo. Starry Night... He makes me feel like art in his private gallery. He looks at me with all the wonder and amazement children have before the world turns them cold. I am a fairy tale and all his wishes come true. A fine wine to be savored; taking in all my subtle notes with each sip his eyes take of me...
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
Truth lies like a truncated branch
blocking the door of a junkyard mouse's flat.
That is a very jarring notion indeed.
Hesitant to staying truth, hesitant to lodge;
the informed call on past gaze and past phase
for their feeding, the new individual
perfecting a new utility belt.
The new individual may be simple and torn.
Torn, because what is considered simple
could be pooled in the gap between the wedges
at the bottom of the Milo milkshake tetrapack
which the straw cannot find no matter how meticulously you jiggle it,
despite its stark authority, and you're undecided on
whether you should throw the packet away.
Simple, because your motor function,
simply put, needs to be less awkward.
Does not make my cluelessness at functioning any less true.
I was struck immobile because I almost got run over by a mouse
(or a rat, I have not googled their difference),
but I admire the schoolishness of that terror,
its being real.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC