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I miss thee, I hath to admit
I want to witness again thy stunning smile so sweet
And how th' sun always kindly, and generously, touchest thy dark hair
Then shalt thou breakest into endless jokes and childish wit
'Fore rising a tender smile, as we greet each other by th' circular stairs.

I bet thou art still remarkable and stupendous as usual
Thou whom I'th known since last grey fall
By th' ponderous sleeping lake; in th' midst of a burly night;
Thou stared through me with a pair of unfathomable eyes;
as though thou couldst makest everything in my heart-better and right;
and yon, yon colourlessness of th' night, shinest so beautifully as butterflies.
Thou wert, indeedst, not th' paleness I had dreamed,
thou wert not bleak, thou wert not mean.
Thou still shined brightly though chilled and dimmed,
thou wert damp, but sunny-just like th' nearby shuffling trances
to which I had never been.
At times thou canst seem lazy, ah-but thou'rt indeedst not!
As just I do, thou liveth thy life from dot to dot,
thou leapest from time to time in my story,
thou, though far away, somehow always seem near,
and be sitting here idly with me and my poetry.
Thou might be close not to my ears,
but I canst listenest to thee; as thou eat and pray,
and as thou waketh, to every single inevitable day.
T'is life, which canst somehow be bitter,
shalt at times corruptest thy happiness and thy laughter;
wringing thee into false devotion and meanness,
but be sure, my love, t'at I shalt be thy cure;
I shalt be thy unhealed passion and all-new tenderness.
I shalt be thy first salvation, honesty and satiation;
I shalt be a scarf t'at giveth thee warmth, and thy hated mediation;
hated and dejected by t'is dreadful world, my love,
t'is world which knowest not t'at love is everything above.
And I shalt be thy heaven, and holiness,
and thy greenest grass when it is too dark,
as t'is world hurts and drivest away from frankness;
and within its grim sacrifice, lettest go of its single spark.
Ah, thee, thy innocence is just like my own soul,
but it is what makest thee divine as gold;
thou art ever pure, and incessantly pure,
and thy jokes and ventures and preachings flawless and true.
And in t'is weary life-which is sometimes faultless but unsure,
thou always makest me feel honoured;
makest me feel brand new.

Ah, Kozarev, thou art my immortal twin star,
and thy lips my sophisticated fragrant moon;
thou art my umbrella in yon idyllic heaven afar,
fade away not, but thou drifted away too soon!
My love, but sketchest again our undying night,
t'is time with a new ***** of light,
and giveth me comfort within which,
and flinch no more, for I shalt not flinch.
Thy genuinity is my nature,
thy childishness is my cure;
for t'ere are no more lips as naive as thine,
though t'ey oftentimes seemest spotless,
and t'eir toughness, seemest fine.

Ah, Kozzie, only fate t'at shalt makest out paths eventually align;
fate who hath sent me sweet prophecies, and a truthful bold sign.
Let me be thy grace, and thy sole, immortal lady;
let me be such craze, so t'at thou shalt always be with me.
I shalt be thy doll, and thy very own addict;
I shalt nursest, and cherishest thee every day of the week.
And joy, and its miraculous delight shalt be ours alone,
fallen fast asleep by night, and renewed by upcoming morns.
Together shalt we teasest every passing minute and hour;
and treatest all 'em nicely, just like how we deemeth t'at laugh, of ours.
And when nightfall greetest, sleep, my love, sleep;
thy red, innocent cheeks shalt I kiss; thy greatest dreams shalt I keep.

Kozarev, and fliest me again to th' melancholy Sofia,
wherein our peace shalt dwellest, and be cheered and alive.
But let me first fetch my old, talkative umbrella;
for Sofia shalt be full of rain; but one t'at makest it safe, and thrive.
Ah, Sofia, our little haven like yon nearby oak chatroom,
old as it is, but still-tenderer t'an t'is ever lonely gloom;
I bet Sofia is still warmer t'an t'is fraudulent war of my heart,
though it is, of now, far and sat by a land wholly apart.
Oh, Sofia, in which our love shalt be adequate, but still-inadequate,
for our love is more benign, ye' at times-more capricious t'an fate.
And it is raw, but ripe, like a mature cherry;
it hath neither tears, nor hate, nor brave worry!
Ah, my love; but again fly me, fly me, t'ere-
for cannot I waitest to live my life with thee;
and so promise t'at I shalt not bend, nor go else anywhere,
so long as thou shalt stayest, and liveth thy future years with me.

Oh, and I shalt forsaketh thee no more;
and disdaineth thee no more-thou art my sonata!
My delight liest in hearing thy sonnets be told;
thou sitting by me 'fore moonlight, down on th' starlit piazza!
Ah, Kozarev, please no longer makest my heart sore-
I am sick to death, I detestest t'is grief to th' core;
Burnest my heart's cries, and indulgest me in thy arms,
I shalt brimmest in thy glory; and gratefully lost, in thy charms.

As th' world turnest so weak and rough,
we shalt be th' sole ones to fall in love;
but our idyll is one t'is envious world cannot gather;
as it growest bleaker, as it turnest worse.
But Kozarev, having thee by my side shalt be enough;
and my days shalt be no more sad, nor tough;
Thou art th' candle, t'at lightest up th' life within me,
thou art th' candy, t'at livenest up all my poetry.
My adored one  dwells in my feeling,
I have actually seen that domicile of bliss.
My queen is she, the imperishable
My women is she, the never ending
Only she knows the sullenness of love
She has extremely felt me in her breathe
No one comes nearby me, except you
When I struggle in a dilemma,
Everyone come to share the joy.
Whenever destiny play, a game
Love never shows an outside injury.
But the pain pervades every aperture
I am always a follower of her preachings
The songs of her own naked body and mind
As a sacrifice for me and for others too,
She will live long forever and ever.

By Williamsji Maveli

www.williamsji.com
www.williamsgeorge.com
www.moonmakers.­com
www.kallettumkara.net
www.ipoetree.in
The Kallettumakara Gblobal Association (KGA), UAE Chapter has announced their first poetry award for excellence to Williamsji Maveli's  third  poetry collection   titled as “Arramviralthumbath …”  (On the tip of the 6th finger,  published by H & C Books, Trichur) .The award has been declared  by Mathew David, Chairman of KGA at their Executive Committee meeting held recently in Sharjah Emirate of United Arab Emirates.  The award has  also been considered for his poetic works scattered in his recently published book named  as “Maa Salama."  ( means "With peace"  in Arabic). The poems have been gathered from different desert sketches,  focusing on his real-time life experiences ,while he was working in UAE for more than 30 years.  Williamsji, (Williams George),   former Ras Al Khaimah based Journalist and lyricist of tester-years has been nominated for a literary award for the first time for literature. The Award is being formulated by KGA  (Kallettumkara Global Association, UAE Chapter) for  outstanding contributions to literature  from the native writers  of Kallettumkara,  a village town in Trichur, Kerala in India.  The award will be presented by the KGA’s UAE Chapter on the grand occasion of their 11th anniversary, which is being scheduled to be held during November, this year,
according to Mathew David, Chairman of Kallettumkara Global Association.
www.kallettumkara.net
Anabel Jul 2017
kneel down at the church and hope to God he's listening
****** mary was always crying, always looking up past the ceiling, the choir always singing about cleaning your heart because jesus wanted a clear glasshouse
what's that? is it the beat of my stained heart or the gasps between tears in my room?
my loss of faith only came when a new feeling knocked on my door: love
but it wasn't the "normal" love that i had been hearing in preachings –forget that, it wasn't jesus loving me or some boy trying to get my attention, it was a girl– which was so taboo in my house and school that i didn't even know that was possible.
three words came out of research: homophobic, homosexual, lesbian
I looked past the ceiling when I realised caught feelings for this girl and when she asked me out I prayed to God, the one we were taught about in preachings, that this would be worth it, that this would last long, that this would be supported love–but forget it, he wasn't listening
I tried calling him, i confessed, i mentally and physically tried to clear my glasshouse. I went to church, i got prophecies told by the local preachers, i sang and quoted the bible, where was he? where was he when i needed him when my parents told me to stop loving her? where was he when my depression came around and decided to ruin everything? did he let me down on purpose for not following his rules? and when i found out that other religions existed, was he punishing me for sinning? Questioning his existence under the catholic faith turned him into a deception
And what was the point of that? Teaching me how to be a better human being by punishing me and shaming what i thought was okay? Love is supposed to be okay, love is supposed to be supported and supportive, love is supposed to protect and be protected –and all i get is being thrown out to the curb because i found love? Because it wasn't the "right" kind of love?
jesus, i hope to god you're not listening anymore
lost ideals prompt
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
i'm still working from an example of two words,
lekki and leki (medicine / pills) -
the former better sharpened means
slight, e.g. lekki problem /
a slight problem -
  and because English as a language
does not apply gentrification of words,
quiet like the French where words are either
masculine, feminine or asexual... you get
the 2nd St. Paul in the unearthed
book of St. Thomas...
    you have the transgender movement,
only because there is no gentrification
of words...
                 it's no wonder the Pharisees
were ******* at the idea of fishermen gaining
the ability to write, given the times of 32 a.d.,
and how they were good strong lads,
and how learning phonetic encoding
they had their sphere of dream capacity
stolen from them...
for it would be foolish to think that
He'h-Zeus didn't plan a rebellion from
the bottom, taking those happily engrossed
in a world of labour, attached to
a world of labour and ultimately the highest
health without the learned parasitic counter,
you don't keep a monopoly on something
and expect no reaction... you don't expect
start believing that illiteracy is an ill...
only when you sentence people who are
keen to do physical assemblages while being
taught literacy do you finally get confusing,
people stop being attached to the world,
they stop dreaming, their dreams are uneventful,
there is no escapism for them,
  they start to daydream and do a ******
job on their manual labour...
                      apart from that i'm not surprised
that Christianity sorta unravelled itself
for critique once the nag hammadi
library was discovered in Egypt, and
the historian Josephus wrote of a false prophet
from Egypt...    
         needless to say the νεw τεσταμεντ (yep,
greeks don't know how to woo or say it's small
in scottish, as in wee) - is all greek...
actually, if i remember correctly, two Greeks came
across He'h-Zeus back when the preaching was done...
        sons of thunder: you'd imagine a lesser
case for hot-air balloons... sons of lightning would
have been better appropriated... lightning wit, e.g.,
but no: bombastically thunderous in their preachings...
not too quick on the thought behind
   the empty stomach gurgling in the sky....
but that's beside the point, the one single most reliable
suggestion of embedded idiosyncrasy in a language
is the enforced stutter in Polish...
   i'm sure no one bothered to tell you this,
i mean, Polish, on the global scale that's probably worth
as much as Dutch or Norwegian, or Flemish,
which is why these nations speak better English
than the English... don't take my word for it,
all the history teachers on a trip to Ypres said just
as much... so, let's imagine it differently...
there's a country in Africa by the word of Niger...
a republic more or less...
        how do i understand these two strands of politics?
a republic invokes a sense of
               wizened old men with enough experience
in life who know better, not necessarily seline,
just ready to make a wise decision...
a democracy? bunch of kids running around...
          experimenting with new ideas,
under the motto: what doesn't work, works anyway†;
whatever's faulty, to the majority will be deemed
faultless.
   †because it works for the majority:
it's just a case of quality control... as long as 99 of a 100
people agree, the 1 person involved will become
a burden, either by actually being a burden,
or being an antagonist.
   still... there's a stutter in the Polish language,
it's not exactly popular in wording,
lekki is one example - miękki is another,
meaning soft... it truly is a phenomenon in its own right...
    so where does Niger leave us?
  well, it leaves us encircled by Algeria,
     Libya, Mali, Chad, Nigeria, Benin and Burkina...
i'll post the non-stutter version: for the time is nigh
(yeah, soon, upon us) into the Kabbalistic corridor
    on the g-O-d clock... Egyptian propaganda from
forlorn yore... you sorta see the two interchanging...
or how i discovered that Hebrew hide vowels...
apart from the two Adams (א & ע) - ayin und aleφ...
central to a monotheistic practice of the hijab...
hiding women... obviously the other extreme
is what He'h-Zeus prescribed the gentile women of
the Roman and then later northern barbarian caste...
it was just a question of time before someone
would bypass the νεw τεσταμεντ
     and ask the right questions, and get the right
answers... and say: Malachi's heresy of polytheism
guised in the reincarnation of Elijah...
non-compatible with monotheism...
                                             one of each demanded example.
so like that Polish stutter in certain words...
  people will not even begin to conceive certain
arguments for the existence / non-existence of
     if their vocabulary is constantly scrutinised...
              head north of London and you'll find the
word vermin being ascribed to someone like me?
  what do i do? well i certainly don't create a media
frenzy... given that Niger is actually an African country...
      but it's said: nigh-ger              rather than
    knee-ger.       what's the big deal?
        it stems from Latin negrus, is that worse
than south papa africān blap? i'm going to start
saying that from now on: black blah, black blah
                                              blah blah blah:
yapping in yiddish - mouths that never breath
and yap and yap: ye'h ******, al' ma homies...
whatever that means... champagne at the ritz...
   hanging from a crystal chandelier....
must be French: char shade and chandelier,
                    sipping a shandy, chopping, shooting,
      chrome... the ****? where's the consistency?
  chromatic, chromosome, can you even begin
to comprehend what sort of memory bank you need
to have to learn an English accent?
  you have to remember all these beauty spots...
and all because English is a language that has
an aesthetic that rejected diacritical application...
   and ensured that enough monopoly on literacy
could be furthered in the modern age,
when a plumber is able to write his name,
    as an Earl of Gloucester might... which would
have been untrue 600 years ago.
Gavin Paul Boehm Jul 2013
Lately I’ve been considering clarifying my spirituality while trying to get a hold on my reality. My days are surreal as I peel away from the human race, putting on ratty clothes to save face and change pace to obtain grace in a place where it can only be found in a name anymore.
I’ve been bound to the imaginary floor of my conscious by fending off faith like false accusations. Thoughtlessness is the root of this mess, as I’ve yet to reboot my less than sincere concept of what steers me down the road of apathy and godlessness. It could be nothing more than arrogance that causes belief in the chance that we learned this dance of existence all on our own; but from what we’ve been shown, nothing can be known without a doubt.
So I strut with a straight spine and my head held high, staring into space while glaring at the sky. I shout at the darkness to get out of my substance so my stance can beckon light toward me to explore my soul and implore me to roll my stone away… but it’s grown accustomed to the moss.
Now, accustomed leads to stagnant and stagnant leads to combustion, which is something I can’t stand for; so I strive towards infinity by growing my affinity for aesthetic authenticity at a constant rate.
The debate rages outside my tarnished gates: Religion teaches hate, but faith can be great when man’s meddlings are left on cutting room floor. Love each other. Treat each man as your brother, each woman your mother. These preachings reach to our basic decencies, but detrimental thoughts are spread through our frequencies, interrupting the harmonious symphonies to which our species dances to each day.
Our hearts know the way, but our brains overcompensate for the seemingly irrational, natural compulsions pulsing us towards our actual emotions.
The notion that we were grown out of the unknown isn’t easy to swallow when the thought of being so along leaves you feeling hollow, but I find it hard to follow along when the almighty one smites men for placing their faith in the wrong plans.
The idle hands of man have branded faith with scandalous standards for eternal happiness, which is why I’m happy to dismiss what some call bliss. But seeing as I can no longer identify as an atheist, I want whatever god will listen to understand me when I say this:
We all miss our respective Mimi’s each and every day, and I hope that mine will see me again one day. But going to church each and every Sunday should hold no sway as to whether or not that is the case. Amen.
Kristie Aragon Oct 2015
Don't just listen.
Feel.
Because the answers don't always come
In loud preachings and audible words.
Sometimes they come
In the dark of the night
Brought by the silent whispers
Or the cold midnight breeze.
Sometimes your heart hears
More than your ears do.
Manisha Uniyal Jul 2015
Still safe in soul
locked forever, won't let go

light years to cross
you in heaven, I know

watch for me
and keep me safe
my guarding angel in god's place

following your footsteps
in the sand of time
deeply engraved
your preachings sublime

Manisha
Alexander Miller Mar 2019
The eternal council
A group of black disciples
All knowing
This is why they keep going
Determined and outfit
It’s a common gift
For the people of this cycle
Inter-dimensional at a angle
They see all, They know all
This is why they can’t fall
Always been a part, Always burdened from the start
Celestial glimpses as a art
Frequency is the common key
And this is what they teach
Where the opposed are the decreased
No matter any battle or uncommon disciple
They know whats coming: It’s reliable
Their purpose lacks evil, its all for the people
And any corruption or stolen melanin
Cannot deprive the win from this powerful council
It’s in the nature, it’s a seal in the paper
It’s upon the bark of the brazen tree
Where all the demons flee, where the gifted get their energy
Like the hieroglyphs upon the source
Prepared within the proper course
It’s the preachings upon the stars
Pointing clues at who the true gods really are
Like the truth shown in specs of media
The proof of the visible dominator's
And the majority doesn’t even know her
Just stuck within the grasps of one giant needle
Preventing the truth from being see-able
And yet we’re suffocating in the air we call breath-able
And each day as we unknowingly sin
The real pain doesn’t even start to begin
From the start, they tried to peel us apart
Good from evil, evil from people
But the sad truth is: it’s non-separating
It’s like we’re all bathing in this sad little craving
Of the idea of the “powered” all behaving
Thats why they’re sad, they can’t help us
Because they think saving humanity is a must
This council, this group of black disciples
Does know what happens, while the real ancestors are laughing
Another great reason to be a part of this eternal council.
Mitch Nihilist Aug 2015
at 16 they taught u
s about shakespea
re, how? but now I
realize there was m
ore learned than bl
ank stares at teache
rs waiting for bells
to slide departures
under the doors of
blank minds. balco
ny preachings in fr
ont of loveless tang
ents foreshadowing
the curvature of the
then mindless. 5 ye
ars gone i still find m
yself wandering aim
lessly to the next cla
ss with the thought o
f the useless priors a
nd the books are get
ting heavier
Tommy Dec 2013
sometimes i wonder
is this all we could have been?
this mundane little bubble
and all that lies therein?

all there is to do,
all the places we are needed
all the problems we have caused
and the progressions we've impeded

soothed by the exchange of a small piece of paper
for useless items we're told we need
to fit into an image of a generic person
complicit in a culture we immortalize and breed

or others by their own conviction
in a set of rules older than this
to tell them how to make decisions
and promise them eternal bliss

each taught not to question preachings
or face some form of indefinite sanction
to remain obedient to a master
legitimizing the subsequent action

i don't understand.

how can this be the epitome of civilisation
so full of ignorance and hatred
we fail to see the beauty that surrounds?

how can this be the epitome of human intelligence
that we need glass screens for communication
and lenses to record our every movement?

how can this be the epitome of the human existence
that inequality is perpetuated
and poverty ignored?

one day you will realise what it is you have done
in your desperate bid for power.
you doomed the endurance of your kind
for the sake of one, tall tower.
(or two, but is that too political?)
just in the middle of a mini existential crisis after the realisation that all of the ways in which i may form and express my identity make me compliant  in this system (i know that sounds pretentious, particularly coming from a 17 year old)
Mercury Chap Apr 2015
Stop.
It.
   Mind.
Just SHUT UP for once
Stop the streams from overflowing out from that useless brain
Put on breaks on the car you're driving fast and insane
Mind is stupid bleaming useless rhymes
To the twisted nerves of the twisted inward eye
Unfaithful teachings, Just stop before being taught
Untruthful preachings, it's all a lie but you don't get caught
You're all an illusion
But my thoughts, an addictive dillusion
It's all impossible things I think of
Then it's hard to breathe when I know it's true
That it's impossible to be with you
Just slow down the streams
That flow within me like a flue
Contagious to make me clear to stand away from truth
Stop deceiving me as if I am a stranger
Make things to me more elucid
Instead of pushing me into danger
Because I am a mere innocent kid
Trapped on your purposely slippery pathways
My car to future like this would soon skid.


You are me, you understand?
Stop pushing me and give me your hand
Take me up and up
Higher, I am not a scared pup
I know what you are doing
I am family, don't get me falling
DOWN
  BACK
TO EARTH
You are a part of me
Then let me see
How we could be
When we co-operate together in harmony.

So, brain,
Don't leave me alone
Be in control
Don't lose your track
I am behind your back
I'll be there for you
You'll be there for I
Let's not make us fall into the pit
Instead make the sky a target we should together hit.

Please don't cheat on I
Because you're the last one me trusts
Do never say to innocence your goodbyes
Or else like my words
We'll both be stuck here like
DuMb wOrst bUds.
To my brain. Please, don't cheat on me.
Han Jin Feb 2021
He sat down
by the bar with a bottle of
whiskey.
And while the angels sang
he listened
to the preachings
of a crooked bartender
Whose days were filled with drunk forgotten nights,
and he knew
for first time
that he has
never felt more
close to God.
Samridhi May 2014
I may not have been your grand daughter,
but I loved and respected you like a grand mother.

Every time I visited,
you would rest your hand in mine and say,
When nothing goes right just take a moment and pray,
remember Lord Buddha,
and what his preachings say.

I had just finished one of my exams
and i hear you're gone
i knew everyone wept, wept - a lot.
but I didn't.

as I know,
that you'll be in a better place,
and
that life does not always end at death.
that's what one of Lord Buddha's teachings said.
to the wonderful and humblest person i hardly got to spend time with.
sadly, she passed away today, May 14th 2014 on Buddha Jayanti (the same day as Buddha's birth & death)
Would you remember,the times when
we were cracking jokes?
would you cry over, by reminiscing those days
which I cared you even more?
would you sit there all alone,
and wish,this should be a dream?
would you keep looking me in all selfies we took?
would you take my guitar and,hum my favourite song,
without shedding tears?
would you remove the dust from all the trophies,
which I had once achieved?
would you sleep every night, hugging my pillow and my frame?
would you smell my favourite blue hoodie,draped with my
favourite perfume?
would you miss my preachings,which I had always tried to say,
by walking behind you ,wherever you go?
would you take a look at my diary in which, each page has only
to say about you....?
I was just became curious to attend my funeral.....
Like Manny said to kizi in the movie -"Dil bechara"
Anything wrong with me???
aj Oct 2014
eve
how quick i was,
to bite into the forbidden fruit

o temptress, i will always believe you weren't a ruse

because now he's coming out of the shadows,
and like some false prophet your preachings no longer lead me to shore

so now i am looking for a needle in a rather larger pile of needles, aching for more

the forbidden knowledge i've taken, it's not like you've been mistaken

but now i can't find the key to the door
Love your neighbour
Love one another
But if the music's too loud
Or we are out of tune with each other
We have spite in our eyes
Would rather run for cover
It plays both ways
Randy Bryte Mar 2016
I found myself within us, after searching far and wide
In all the wrong places, motivated and blindly led by the world and all its teachings,
I found myself within us, all those tears i cried
For all those scary places, that I went to in my journeys through self discovery and preachings,
I found myself within us, and something else inside me died, Recalling all those faces, I thought were a window to my soul I could see
But clear not my vision, for I was only reaching
I found myself within us, and from that brand new tide
Came bryte and shiny places, for me to reveal and stare upon
Of the real me when I came to this world, with blood and fight and breaching
Lucy Apr 2016
I can’t live without him
The one who brightens my day
And swore to be forever on my team

The one who believes in second chances
And gives unconditional hope

The one who cut the rope
That tied you down
And replaced it with a crown

The one who wipes your tears
When you felt like no one cares

The one who uplifts your spirits
And promises revival
When all you feel is
Broken
Weak
And ready to give up

The one who promises his arrival
If your heart remained true to his word
And not in this awful world

I can’t live without his love
His grace
From all the way above

His teachings
His preachings
And his blessings

For he knows the plans he has for you
He knows what your heart desires the most
Peace
Safety
Acceptance
And Love
Are nothing close
To what he has planned for you
For your life means more to him
Than you can imagine
If only you would open your heart
And love him with a passion

I can’t live without my Lord
My Savior
My world

I can’t live without him
I simply refuse to
And yes
This is another hymn
For my Lord and Savior

My King
My Shepherd
My life
My world
My light

The one who will forever shine bright
Even in the darkest of rooms
Because not even the night
Can darken his might and will
To fight
For you
For me
My King will fight
Joseph Sinclair Nov 2014
Once upon a time I was a rebel.
It was not what I chose to call myself;
In my mind I was a fighter –
A fighter for freedom:
A counter-oppressor.
Rebels were the others.

I was nourished
on a code of justice;
a racial attribute
taken with my mother’s milk
and reinforced
by family teachings.

Or preachings.
And it did not take too long
before my back was turned
in self-disgust on
what I termed sermonising.
(They called me a rebel.)

It was not what I chose to call myself.
Jalaj Soni Feb 2018
From beyond the infinite nothingness,
to the nothingness buried inside of me

Cast upon the leaves and trees and
darkness that encapsulates this universe like sea

Blooming life revolting gravity and
fugaciously qualifying the test of time

Rustling beasts on terrified streets
going to or coming from their scenes of crime

Evading a revisit to life's lessons
under the weight of experiences

Playing with fire, restrained not by wires,
burning shoots of knowledge, the invincible tree

A puppet to the surroundings and the senses,
boldness and blindness turning men to graves

Quiet witness to the daily murders
while enslaving ourselves to our offspring's existence

From beyond the infinite nothingness,
to the nothingness buried inside of me

I am the result of this explosion,
this heaven is at my call, my feet

All my desires at fulfillment,
all sweet challenges of unsolvable mysteries

Vacuum out there to make more sterile,
this vacuous life that I lead

Thorns of transition,
burst open my silent entitlement

Coalescing my reality with
the all-powerful emptiness

Now I am free from the
clutches of my control

In this fatuous drama,
searching for another insignificant role

EPILOGUE
The role of ancient philosophical teachings
Justifying rapes and murders, through beastly preachings
Playing with the idea of reality and the role of individuals in a group-led existence
Hawa Mar 2019
I miss the places I never been before.
I like the bands which haven't made yet.
I connect with the people I have never met.
I talk to people who are not there.
I can remember the incidents which never occurred.
I hear the noises which were never made.
l forgive people who never ask for apologies. I forgive them for the mistakes they never made.
I try to find the answers to the questions never asked.

I feel guilty about the mistakes I never did.
I fight for the wars which haven't started yet.
I yearn for the islands which haven't been discovered so far.
I worship idols who aren't perfect.
I follow the priest who doesn't preach.
I follow the preachings which haven't been taught yet.
I feel the emotions which haven't been named yet.

I miss the love I never had.
Kaukokaipuu: People of, say, Irish descent who have never actually been to the country of their ancestry may still experience an unexpected ache for it, as if they miss it — a strange, contradictory sort of feeling, as you can’t really miss someplace you’ve never been. But the Finnish recognize that the emotion exists, and they gave it a name: kaukokaipuu, a feeling of homesickness for a place you’ve never visited. It can also mean a kind of highly specified version of wanderlust, a “craving for a distant land” — dreaming from your desk about some far-off place

My poem doesn't necessarily depict the same emotion or may be none at all but this was the word I found to be closest to my poem. If you find the exact name for my emotions help me out and let me know, so that will become my word of the day. ;)
Erica DeAngelo Feb 2017
Fall apart.
As ripped pages,
in the worn book
perched on your shelf.
Begging for mercy.
Pleading,
to be opened.
Unhinged,
the lies pour,
into a bottomless pit,
where mercy is belittled.
You laugh,
because He  
He will salvage you.
The laugh of a scream,
can depict the sanity.

Your sheep,
dear sir,
are follow a flock of knave beings.
Preachings split and unopended wound.
Red,
the whale swallows,
an apple possesses.
The wound is in your mind.
In your heart.
Do you worship a fairytale?
CE Aug 2016
I believe! I believe!
I will believe as hard as I can until it kills me!
God almighty in heaven above, let me believe!
I will dedicate my life to you,
I am prepared to die for you!

even if I don't really believe,
I will in time!

I can pretend for as long as it takes until my faith is true!

I mean,
there are lies that I can sink into so beautifully,
a falsehood that comes so natural that it may as well be true!

so this,
faith and joy,
should be nothing!

I've told a lot of lies,
I've faked a lot of identifies,
true

but this is is something that I truly want to be,

so I will force faith down my own throat until all that comes out of my mouth anymore are preachings

I will force myself to be the perfect god-fearing boy if it kills me

because gosh,

I just believe

so hard
having a crisis of faith.
Manisha Uniyal Jul 2015
Look for me, not near you
in the eyes and the moments that flew
dreams, so beautiful and the words that were true

remember me, not when I have gone
imbibe the wisdom I adorn

be good and always be kind
you are my soul, don't let my preachings undermine

fear me, not when you fail
but when the angel succumbs and the devil prevails

cry for my, not when I die
savour my prestige and keep it flying high

manisha
Mayte Oct 2014
I changed. Sorry. I don't laugh at those jokes now. I changed, sorry. My folders don't have flowers in them, instead band names. I changed, sorry.  My wardrobe is filled with classy clothes that I don't wear. I changed, sorry. Green isn't my favorite color anymore. Black overtook my clothes and shoes. I changed, sorry. I am more open minded. I believe, now, that the world is a not so sweet place. I changed, sorry. My smile brings no comfort anymore. I changed, sorry. I easily get annoyed with preachings and pastors. I changed, sorry. I damage myself instead of damaging my loved ones. I changed, sorry. I don't care anymore.
The ones that don't change are those memories that forcibly replay in my head every minute.
They tell my to leave my past in the past.
But tell me, how can I do that?
How in the world can I forget something that is constantly there?
When I saw you again, my world crushed again.
I didn't expected the feeling of comforting you.
I didn't expected you to hug me.
It hurts!
It hurts to know that everything came down.
It hurts to know that we are strangers with memories.
It hurts to know that I am breaking inside, while you keep rolling with your life.
It hurts to know that you are in pain.
What hurts the most is that I can't be by your side.
What hurts the most is that I am overflowed with internal battles.
Nik Bland Oct 2019
You are as you were
No more needing to be said
With eyes that bore tears in joy and sadness
And heart that consistently bled
And mine and your hands locked together
To brave life’s twisted sense of humor
And I knew that, in that, we’d overcome the world

We were never perfect
That’s needing to be heard
Ever present were these jars of truth
Bitter tasting, well preserved
With hands clasped we understood it could not be fathomed
As we locked eyes, yes, words, yes, but never hearts

Maybe that’s the good in it
A gift in cross’ed stars
The reality of a ever present door
That we both know is ajar
The knowing that the hand we hold can build the other up
With the power that so easily can rip us apart

You were the one I’d always wanted
I was the one you leaned upon
With me not knowing what you were
And your faith in your strength long gone
My love for you unending, understated, undeterred
And your love for me one undoubted, but for me undetermined

Each time you speak I hear you
This world’s distraction become blurred
You serve your homemade truths
And I swallow every single word
Can’t decipher lies because I know only what you convey
And in that, you’re the most honest person I know

Our views of each other work
On the level that was stand
Where we get to choose what we convey
As we offer each other a hand
The preachings of the lying tongue and giving of stolen things
An knowledge of the mystery forever kept

Maybe this is not worth the chance
Our self destructive ways
The pure carnage we could leave behind
In our search to escalate
Satan’s aspirations to rise are what led to the fall
So maybe to stay divine, we must stay content

And so we look, we taste, we hear
And we feel that that’s enough
Maybe in leaving the uncertain just that
The relationship is safe from us
Or maybe this is just the lie we earnestly believe
In fear that the rise will be more painful than the fall
Mark Lecuona Nov 2015
Should I lay my head, soaking in a tub covered in white paint
It is how you think I live, pretending to be a saint
I do not ask, but it is my children who must overcome my teachings
But what should I tell them of another man's preachings?

It is the unjust law that should be buried by glorious upheaval
For no law of despots and thieves knows equity, only evil
But thought repressed by those who will not allow others to speak
Is a law of mad men who would not give what it is they seek

In the judgment of those with too much power or nothing to lose
We are either ruled or blamed, but it is they who choose
I would die on the island of my father no matter the depth of peril
For the blood in my veins is not of the anger in your barrel
Carl Webb II Aug 2018
attach wings to the backs
of me and my brethren
instead of whipping truth
from the cracks of our temple.
the preachings from the center
are supposed to release us
but stakes in our chains
run too deeply . . .

and, here I sit,
locked up in captivity
the prison of my self
it was the truth that kept me down . . .
it is the truth that sets me free . . .

and freedom is key . . .
Daniel Albright Aug 2020
A Poem: A Cry for Love in our Homes*

Picking up my pen this evening
With an overburdened sad heart deepening
My heart rent into two by man's attitude
My face lost its normal sanctitude


Marriage is meant to beget a home
This I know without going to Rome
But my heart bleeds as I look at things
At the peripheral of situations which causes my eyes to sing


Godly homes exist this I doubt not
Love alone can cleanse a dark spot
In how many homes does love live?
Or are we just a bunch of religious fanatics in hypocrisies hive


Does our children see this?
Or are our homes now a place where cry is?
Where our children don't want to stay
Even with your wife, do you play?


I look at my background and I cry
Sometimes in a bid to shove away, I fly
Love missing at every turn
Sorrow filling my weak heart and making me taciturn


From my Genesis, I saw no love
Except for the ******* that gave me love
Husbands, please, I kneel and plead
Love your wives and let that love lead


Our homes is now filled with distrust
Our husbands now possess love with rust
Conscience sealed, harder than rocks
Deaf to the cries of their children even when they knock


Love and unity are sacked by hypocrisy
The weaker vessel, in a bid to understand your devilish, self democracy
Are now stained with your dirt of hatred
That smiling angel has now become a gloomy sacred


I delight not in the handsomeness of a man
When love doesn't live in him, he's not my fan
I delight not in the bank account of a Prince
When love has been caged and dusty without even a rinse


I delight not in the Big Bible you have
Not in your much preachings with starve
When your heart is the seat of wickedness
Your conscience has been buried in its dreadedness


I delight not in your ***** philanthropy
That God doesn't even recognize as a trophy
When your family is starving and lives in povertys punishment
You make a good name outside only, walking in self righteous pavement


I plead with all young men and women
Please allow love, not money, not wickedness, not lust nor treasures rumen
Let love come alive once again in our homes
I plead on bended knees, out of my cry for love in our homes.

© Daniels Pen ™ 2020.
Deovrat Sharma Sep 2019
•••
surprisingly
teachings and preachings
are confined only
upto written, behavioural
audio visual
communication

although
permanently
disappeared
from the
deeds of
human  

being
a good person
though each one
having inside a demon
busy in preaching
evils to everyone

•••
@deovrat 23.09.2019

— The End —