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"peccant" poems
In the swirling zephyr, The grass dances weakly I heard an escort,– Awaits my way to the Wolf Hall. A triumphant sinister;— My broken pleasure,— How lovely to see thy scraps again.. Such a bounty hunter What the gods want now? Doth not turn me around!— Doth not hang me! If thou loose my ties,— Thou wilt be a murderer of all vines! Spare me!— I am not thy prey; I am not one of Greek's peccant, Please, off loathing my purity! This predator devoured me.. The ****** of his dark matter, stabbed me.. The mob held me captive,— by net traps The culprit lies next to me— Acted one alike raw; then I was sacked, I felt the bethel was mocked,— But my Lord won't despise me. A paralyzed arrest screeched me I was stroke— by a vermin quenched for meat.. Thou art the most cherished It is still me.. Scattered with mud, Dressed in a blanket; Hoping to kiss thee Bend for belief,— and not forgiveness Wherefor thy body shivers? Thy cup is condensing, Lips ill-looking; Red flames changing blue— Am I still the hue? I sensed— Thou fell into the pit My shreds, thy lust The roots art on the tip of thy nails! An ancestral plague poisoning whoever sits,— And bridesmaking is a promiscuous habit— To grasp a braided hair,— for an accessory Behold, the lineage of romantic paintings, Whence the bonds turn to heist Looting innocence and staying in history...
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May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 4:13 AM UTC
"Resurrection"– The **** of Thrones
Extravagance is amusing But oh! Mother Glamour can never out power Thy love, so sumptuous Thy hugs and kisses Have brought my peccant soul Back to the place of its origin I beg thou to pardon me And consummate me With your embrace, so sweet The svelte Modus Vivendi In which I was occupied Its fraudulence I have realized Oh! Dear father I do not care about Those puffy cushions And velvet blankets All I want is thy forgiveness That’ll spread fragrance of bliss Across my soul For I have returned to my home, Come rejoice As thy daughter salvaged Herself from a path Laden with sinful gold Sailed I have the sea of redemption But my resolve would not Purify without thy acceptance Save me! My Guardians And let me end my repentance With the touch of thy affection. ~Manu M.
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Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 6:06 AM UTC
Prodigal Daughter
Satan is on the hunt; And a man peccant. Treading path of sufism; Man nescient, ignorant. First learn the shariah; And then tread this path. Or else you'll be a loser, On you Allah's wrath. Satan will bridle your nose; And put reins in your mouth. Drag you wherever he likes East, west, north or south. A true Sufi is righteous; And follows the prophet(SAW) A false Sufi goes astray; And is satan's puppet.
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Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
Ignorant Sufi is tool of the Satan
Love is united, yet individual. Love is kind and openhearted, standing strong amongst the peccant world. Love is timeless freedom unshaken by the winds of transgression.   Love is knowing yourself by knowing another.  Love is unwavering trust and faith in another to make choices in your absence and on your behalf.  Love is eternal, extending beyond the temporal and into the transcendent.  Love is everything that all else is not.  Love is.
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Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
Love is
i aspire to be a kaleidoscope, a useless commodity, many bits and pieces merged together harmoniously. the vessel holds sturdy, regardless of my peccant deeds to have you glance inside of me, observe all of my colors bleed. see easily my artistry, view the roots surround my arteries painted with every color of the palette of sublimity, forming iridescent trees of immaculate coruscation, appraising the vestige of my aberrant nature. everything i will ever be is dripping down like watercolour, pastels falling off the page and landing on another surface. i beseech your ardor and tendency to be besotted, but omit your yearning to examine my detachment. i am corroding under your duplicity, sinking in your inertia drowning in your astringent disorder of ignoring my existence. you attempt to dissimulate the deterioration of your artifice and ruminate the feasible consequences of mild adulation. what do you envisage as you imbibe from the silky waters of my fluid emotions, and my convoluted pantomimes? my enigmatic essence is slowly decomposing and hovering intermittently in detrimental cessation. you constantly contravene with the archfiend within yourself and wage onslaughts in your mind on your impertinent abstractions. and i am afraid it is interminable, but i will still hold dear my sanguine complexions and continue to hope for auspice. you articulate your pronouncements with ease, and implore that your austere endeavors are deeply earnest, but the significance of that word unravels on your tongue, and is meaningless, turning to ash in your mouth. i supplicate for waves of benevolence, ardent winds and ingenuous conversations. anchor me, or disengage.
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Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
Untitled
i aspire to be a kaleidoscope, a useless commodity, many bits and pieces merged together harmoniously. the vessel holds sturdy, regardless of my peccant deeds to have you glance inside of me, observe all of my colors bleed. see easily my artistry, view the roots surround my arteries painted with every color of the palette of sublimity, forming iridescent trees of immaculate coruscation, appraising the vestige of my aberrant nature. everything i will ever be is dripping down like watercolour, pastels falling off the page and landing on another surface. i beseech your ardor and tendency to be besotted, but omit your yearning to examine my detachment. i am corroding under your duplicity, sinking in your inertia drowning in your astringent disorder of ignoring my existence. you attempt to dissimulate the deterioration of your artifice and ruminate the feasible consequences of mild adulation. what do you envisage as you imbibe from the silky waters of my fluid emotions, and my convoluted pantomimes? my enigmatic essence is slowly decomposing and hovering intermittently in detrimental cessation. you constantly contravene with the archfiend within yourself and wage onslaughts in your mind on your impertinent abstractions. and i am afraid it is interminable, but i will still hold dear my sanguine complexions and continue to hope for auspice. you articulate your pronouncements with ease, and implore that your austere endeavors are deeply earnest, but the significance of that word unravels on your tongue, and is meaningless, turning to ash in your mouth. i supplicate for waves of benevolence, ardent winds and ingenuous conversations. anchor me, or disengage.
Continue reading...
30
I wish, I’d learned infinities’ cost. Controlling the acts stemming from my fear of loss, Social norms that create false identities, My self~restraint and I have yet to exchange pleasantries. ~ Frost of my words taint the glass of your heart’s window pane. While I ignore your deigned mein. Bent conversation continues to escape my mouth, Foreshadowing their pending drought. They just trickle off the tip of my tongue Racing me to the end of sentences as if such, would keep the night young. First to complete a thought; my acts so non~vatic. Sorry does not permit this crime The right to be committed time after time. ~ Time not to be precariously lost or surrendered unto pragmatics, Every second wasted lay vulnerable to the peccant of plausibility, Exhausted you crush them into pieces, justifiably, Underfoot as you walk away from me…… PFL
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Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
Pick up
unnamed guilt, my friend not peccant, but always accused thought i could handle blame
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Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 7:14 AM UTC
haiku; forty two