we are trees, our branches reach out to each other
our leaves fall into lifes rapid stream, holding onto our stems
we cascade over the waterfall
thrashing about into the vortex we pop up above the mist
and find ourseleves gliding on that gentile stream of life

....No man is an island, entire of itself...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee

No man an island
yet we stand with brand
in hand, waiting
to set set alight all bridges
as we make our stand
for ourselves
over our fellow man.

We stand and watch as
killers ****, then
turn the channel
seeking the next
momentary thrill.

Less and less we involve
ourselves with others
in a meaningful way
we are more likely
to be engaged in
digital play
as we die
a little more
each solitary day

If it sounds
like I am preaching
it is because  I am

More to myself
than others
but then again
perhaps I am reaching
to you and others like
to those who understand

the carillion is a ringing
that, the sounds of bells
are stealing up upon us
as we ignore calamity to play,
tetris and zombie clan

"All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated.**

we the poets of consciousness,  
are the translators ....
of the thoughtless thoughts
and long lost creeds

we are the heart that cries
as this world bleeds
from razors cuts
by the many thousands,

we are the recorders of the deeds
both small and large
important an seemingly insignificant.

scribes and libraians we be both
noting written word and oral oath
we partake, we give to all
but at our best we are the accord
of action and thought, deed and word

so that we reflect upon
ourseleves and others
the joy, the hate,
the hurt, the succour
the wonderment and ease,
the love and loving care
we make the hard easier to bear
we make the horrible, we make crazy
we have the ability to make the hard person care
those in despair hope...those at the end of themself
reach once more for the dangling rope

we are the fabric, the paper
on which this world is printed
we are the old gold coin
and the newly minted

we are islands with bridges between
we are understanding,
between commoner and queen

we are those who stand ready
to extinguish harmful flame
yet we are those to set hearts alight
we are those who call others
away from the game
and into the heart of the heart
into cognizant frames

we are listeners
and bell ringers both
we refine the languages
we create the quotes

we are the fresh morning
we are the new start....

We are everything and yet, only a number.

We are the beauty of the white lies we utter to keep our loved ones' minds at peace. We are the rainy afternoons with latte, a good novel and cafe music. We are the undying spirit, even when the earth shakes and crush us under destroyed buildings, we live on, we build homes again - we forget our pain.

We are the hope we give ourseleves, the rescue of broken hearts and the blind love we thought we knew everything about. We are a war within ourselves, the conflict between our heart and mind, with no one to triumph.

And yet we are a statistic
a "1 in 100 of us will die prematurely because of cancer"
We are a weight, a number on the scales
that haunts young girls till adulthood.
We are an age,
when youth means nothing because to live to old age is itself, nothing but an achievement as suicide rates continue to soar.
We are an exam grade,
when we know that school is simply a race for the stronger to rise over the weak, and friends are only for pretense.

We are everything. And yet, we continue to define ourselves as just a number.

we go now
to the place
of  solemnity
all three
of us
together

we go
to place
memories
wrapped in
flower petals
on the doorstep
of your afterhouse

we talk
in hushed tones
to the motes
of dust that
sparkle in
the sunlight
hoping they
will carry
our news
to you

we water
the grass
that covers
your afterhouse
with salted tears
hoping they will
carry our love to
your landlocked bones

we hold hands
believing that
you see our
togetherness
and take solace
in it...

we go back
to the everyday
leaving you behind
with these little
particles of ourseleves
called sorrow

they are your substance
until next we come

It feels like a waiting game,

there is just,

nothing,

we are all born with a noose around our neck,

the rope woven with exaustion and the monotonous blanket that engulfed us after turning twenty five,

it's pulling us closer to the enevitable - that

nothing,

we are benevolant in it's arms!



What are we doing here?

what are we achieving?

What is the point!

the sheer unimportance of us as a person,

is omnipresent in my mind and i can't cope.



Why do we compete like this to survive,

to fill ourseleves with pretty trials and challenges,

why do we love when it will only lead to heart break?

Why do we awaken when we will only sleep again?

Why do we live just to put off the

nothing.

gaze at the chariot clouds
chasing the venus star
her brightness hypnotize
the particles of the night
vaccum them up
into her shining abyss

the black background
are filled with peering eyes
some wink, others stoic
the slow movement wave
from dusk to dawn
intice the mortals
to their wildest dreams

the certain comfort
of the night sky
the temptation that
fools ourseleves
chasing lust
we hide behind
its misgivings
and **** us
with the morning light

Conquer Invasion
My sweetheart asked me that how I am
I told her that I am not well so on bed rest
She responded that I have state as same
I am broken in pieces no regrets being best
World is a stange place when we are in pain
Then we miserably cry and start complaining
What a process of being sane and insane
We must divert ourselves to something entertaining
At the same time we must be grateful to Lord
We must endure and stand to the occasion
Lord loves us and takes us ourseleves as ward
Our fight for right will conquer the invasion
Colonel Muhammad khalid Khan
Copyright Jan 2021 Love Remains