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Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
Have you ever felt like a child in the dark?
Where the whispers become thunder and the gods pound in your heart?
There's no sense in trying to quiet the storm
All that can be done is to embrace it with both arms

I feel like a traveller stumbling on a chest
Filled with something familiar but I can't quite place it yet
I found a picture lying in the dirt
As my mind was turned on by the velvet colored shirt

Some time ago, when my hair reached my eyes
I recall a quick visit that seemed to disappear and die
No matter how hard I try to remember
I can't come up with reasons I gave up that cold September

Now, as time's gone by, and things have changed
Like the inflections of my voice and memories estranged
I hear a voice from many Septembers ago
Like a harmony so rich that I can't wait to know
lX0st Jul 2014
The feelings don't hurt much anymore
But the memories are shards of glass
Swirling in my head.
It's like,
I can't feel your touch
But I remember loving it
When you touched me.
And I can't hear your laugh
But I remember how my body
Liquified at the sound.
And I can't see your face
But I remember its beautiful shape
And how you'd smile at me
As I came into view.
I wish I could pretend
That your memory is you.
PALAK-MAHROOM May 2017
Mahrumiyan rahengi sada kuchh bat ke
chalte,
Mukrehuve kuchh faisle-o-jazbat ke
chalte,
Daur ko jana tha wah berukh nikal gaya,
Baqee rahengi us ki jhalak ehsasat ke
chalte,
Aawam ki bari hai ab ye mujhpe hansega,
Bakhshi huwi lamhon ke sauggat ke
chalte,
Nigahon men basa karta tha jo ummeedon
ka jahan,
Sare simat chuke hain ab nuzlat ke
chalte,
Sunna hai mujhe sirf ab sunna hai sabhon
ko,
Taaib hai apne bas men khahishat ke
chalte,
Laut jata *** fir se kabhi us ujre chaman
men,
Kawish bhari zindgi-o-tasarrufat ke
chalte,
Sharm-sar-sa jiwan jiye kab talak koi,
Par jina hi parta hai, hayat ke chalte,
Ab jauon kahan door is halat  se ai PALAK,
Uljha huwa sa rahta *** is halat ke
chalte.
✮✮✮✮✮
Urdu poem in Roman fonts
PALAK-MAHROOM
Gillian May 2013
you insisted that i write my number down on the blank part of a mix tape...you used to slam down a beer like some kind of super hero...saw myself in your eyes and made sounds only you could hear...you'd press your lips into my forehead so fiercely it hurt; leading us deep into your distortions...

witnessed you spilling your soul into empty barrooms where last call came well before midnight...there wasn't any room in there for me...I made forfeit everything to stand in your arms; and how it lost me all I wanted...

I spread my palms wide across your ribs...curled my fingers tightly toward your spine and believed that you loved me...you turned on me and my wit...so you left me...I wanted to clumsily strew myself on your pillows and press my hand on your thigh, kiss your neck and giggle at your sarcasm...you convinced me that the flood of my insecurities drove you away, that i was the author of our demise...

we collide rarely...your eyes are always tired...you've built the Berlin wall around your heart...you have become a testament to the passage of time because I know I will not remember being the same...

you inappropriately love me but will never trust me...

you stand me in your arms, and it is like coming home after so many years abroad; we never will hold each other this way again...
our Rome became graffiti on my bedroom wall...
this undertow of wordshed always reminding me that I am not lost but I am not home...
Michael Solc Apr 2013
I remember you,
when the darkness comes.
The prettiest, blackest,
most bottomless eyes
I’ve ever seen.
The shy smile that tugged
at your lips,
and the tender kiss that followed
haunt me like ghosts that laugh
like breaking glass
while I sleep.
You closed your eyes when
I kissed your forehead.
Before I let myself say the words,
that was how I told you
I loved you.

When the darkness comes,
my hands still feel the warm
curves of your body,
your soft dark hair against
my neck,
and your head nestled against my shoulder.
The fire inside dimmed,
and in your arms a calm
took its place.
You squeezed tighter as I held you,
and I loved you more every time.

The words did not come easily,
but truly,
and when I whisper them to
all these empty places,
they echo like rain on the rooftops.
In the dark, I swear to you,
and pray for day.

Your smile was never easy to find,
you hide it well.
I never minded,
because I’ve been told the same.
And because I knew
that when I found it
I had earned the light in your eyes,
and the music of your laugh.
I was special then.
And so were we.

But lies burn more deeply
than the deepest love.
I was always yours.
You were never mine.

I left the day I knew
you would never stay.
I wanted to ask you to come with me.
I wanted you to ask me to take you.
The silent sadness in your eyes
and the weakness in your embrace
told me I was already gone.
I held you tighter that last night,
then watched you walk away.
You never looked back,
and that was when I finally
let myself cry.

The days are quiet now.
Trains pass by, and
you’re never on them.
The sun shines on,
and everyone here goes on
as if nothing ever happened.
They don’t know what I’ve lost.
I die in silence.

When I saw you last,
you were in his arms.
Your laugh made me smile,
even as I fought back the tears.
I watched him kiss you,
and saw the light in your eyes,
the ease of your smile.
I saw you in love.
And when your gaze
flickered to me,
I saw a stranger.

And I wonder now,
when the darkness comes,
when you looked into my eyes,
who did you see?
Do You Remember Me?

while the warmth of the sunlight's kiss
in the ascent of the blissful morning
approach the beauty of your crimson lips?

Do You Remember Me?

in the rise of the bright moon?
like your eyes when you look through mine
the pair I hope to see soon

Do You Remember Me?

when floods of rain starts to pour?
like my eyes that shed endlessly
with tears of pain I cannot endure

Do You Remember Me?

have you ever even thought of me?
or was I just another moment
to pass on by so carelessly?
Help me remember to forget
Kenya83 Feb 18
I remember you as you were in the heatwave
Cool and light with intrigue
Wide eyed and open soul
And words, words of a man, trials of a man but spirit of a boy
A fire child who found joy in the simplicity of the sun
A softens to your frame, and wave in your hair, like even numbers
The faintest grey lavender fields surround us as the city falls at your feet
I notice your eyes, every time, I notice your eyes
patty m May 2014
I remembered it well

the rich mix of smoke, perfume, and garlic

one could almost taste the absinthe in the air.

Toulouse-Lautrec, was deemed acceptable

as we embraced his artistic vision

singing our Chason Realiste songs;

we are the people, the poor gaudy freaks
traipsing about with drink in hand
sliding stockings down
from thighs, spreading
our provocative
dreams while delving headlong into
decadence and garish night life,
trying to escape banality .

Ah Henri, the prostitutes, and there
were many, Marie Charlet
your first. Even with your genetics
and anguished tirades burgeoning,
she loved you well.

Tremblement de terre, your creation

we too contrive when mocked

to become carefree and

obsessively delusional.


Thin brushstrokes
touched dispassionately
and yet there is sympathy suffused,
a continuum of unarticulated
and variegated respite;
the allure of mouth watering treats
and trollops that take the woe-begotten
to stellar heights.

While we the hangers-on
raise glasses in salute
tonguing the inner sanctum of the Moulin Rouge
our astute imaginings savored while
craving even more of those
***** nights with ******* and bodies
exposed, ******* whetted blown upon.

Then too, our burrowed deep sensations might grind
out torch songs, even as the flames leap higher
to singe us all, we laugh and cry.

Curled flame we toast the unexplainable
creating an **** of molten light,
bodiesof heat brighter than stars.  

Thus we become the false dawn,

stripping darkness from the midnight sky,

an explosion of all we are and have to give

in our life long pursuit of Celebration.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Honest,

that meaningless word left dangling before children,

a damoclean sword held fast in a gordian knot tied with scarlet thread,

finer than the spider's that once tied men's souls to an angry American God,

birthed in Transylvania,

over the woods, and through the dale, no lie

There is a tale of lies told in Nobel houses, never reachin' ground,

Down here, we situations manifested to, vain, again, stem the tide,

We flounder, fish out of water, why are we sent if

wait



he hears, he listens, haps he knows, and

how such as we came

to be here,

Welcome and see, dare ye ask me in? Might I ply you with lies

and you, believe 'em?

I could make a mindless robot out of your parts, but

that would take forever and

that's not how

Wisdom's child would tend to be, for first,

You must believe a lie and I, amusing as can be,

can't tell lies.

Discernment, fine points, per-spicacity per se, the only way.

Good luck (Luc, said luck in many tongues, is said Lose- as in Luc-ifer.

It means light, as in light, regular old granted light.)

Lightifier, good, take some, good light, for the travail, in the night.



You see, not so long ago, for me, five years before I'as born,

my momma moved to town.



What was that like, I axed my old uncle, while back,

movin' t'town, in 1943?

Well, he says,

We had electricity.



USA, 1943, some folks still was poor, and all the good men

was gone to war.

Cities, it was different,

if the movies got it right, Bowry Boys, n'em.



In the desert we did, okeh, in town, though,



we had electricity.



He was ten back then. He'd been huntin' rabbit's,

to buy Christmas presents from Sears and Roebucks,



since he was five.

C'mon, I say. No lie, he say,

BLM or some gover'ment

whatsajigger, was payin' 2 cents a pair fer jack rabbit ears.



'Said he bought Christmas presents for his mom and dad,

and my mom, with his first rabbit money, at five.



Shootin' with a single-shot 22, 12 cents a box,

Jack Rabbits, 2 cents a head.



Three Christmas presents, plus postage, $2.56.

Do the math, I think, and go -



Five years old, at ten, he moves to town, 1943,

we had electricity. That's all.
An older man than me gave a thought to ponder. Thought I'd try to share the bounty. This is read, by me at http://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton
PALAK-MAHROOM May 2017
Jivan ke rangraliyon men kho jayenge,
Aankhon se ojhal sare hojayenge,
Ye apne, ye mausam, ye rut pyare,
Hoke juda ye phir kabhi na aayenge
Phir na aayenge, ye phir na aayenge,
Aankhon men, rut ki huliya rah jayengi,
Ye jayengi, suni galiyan rah jayengi,
Phir Isme basengi yadon ki ve saughaten,
Jo jati huvi lamhen de jayengi,
Chhaye hain jo rang, ye phir na
chhayenge,
Phir na aayenge, ye phir na aayenge,
Tujhko niharon, ya dekhun teri surat,
Aankhon men guzre pal ki parchhaie hai,
In viranen rahon men, fizaon men,
Sang hain yaden, phir bhi ik tanhaie hai,
Guzre pal dil ko dukhayenge,
Phir na aayenge, ve phir na aayenge,
Basti rahe, har bar khyalon ki Duniya,
Chalti-chale har bar ummeedon ki duniya,
Mit-te huve sanshar ke sang mit jayenge,
Phir na aayenge ye phir na aayenge,
✯✯✯✯✯
Urdu poem in Roman fonts
PALAK MAHROOM
Spencer Craig Dec 2016
Being just friends is not something I prefer
To the lack of intimacy which now is deterred
But to me this relation has been so instrumental
I needed this... a force rough, yet gentle.
Viola you appeared, to ally all my sighs and moans
At these feelings you jeered, even with my barren tones.
You would put a smile on my face just by poking.
I don't bathe much but I let those moments soak in.
I don't remember every conversation but I know how I felt.
I remember when you'd hold my hand I'd melt
I remember the tingle I got with your hand in my hair
I remember staring and thinking how such a fair
Smart, comforting woman could find me appealing.
I remember... that you were the first person to return my feelings...
You and me is still the favorite of my ships
The way you make me feel... you just can't buy this
No amount is enough to pay so
Offer me a thousand planchas DE queso
Or An Emma Watson, one or two
But no matter who we chose to pursue
At the very least i can say that we knew
That both of our skins were both very blue
igc May 2015
Remember me as a Letter
Carefully written in order to best explain
Everything it is I couldn't seem to say
               write me easy
               write me deeply
               write me only once.

Remember me as a Love Song
Structurally crafted lyrics filled with melodies
Sweeter than the first time we met
               sing me to your mother
               sing me to your lover
               sing me to your children

Remember me as a Poem
Metaphor coloured emotions
Putting together moments amidst events
That never really happened
But we would swear over and over
That actually did
               colour me purple
               colour me blue
               colour me Red

Remember me in your Nightmares
Think of me on those nights that simply closing your eyes
Causes fear to prickle on your skin
And adrenaline to race through your veins
               close your eyes anyway
               embrace the feeling of helplessness
               let it help you remember

Remember me when you Don't Want To
Promise to think of me in those moments when
Remembering numbs you more than feeling nothing at all
               love me easy
               love me deeply
               love me only once
Steve Page Apr 2017
Remember to think better,
think further,
think deeper
and with vigour.
Pepper your remember
with colour,
with light,
with friends who delight.
Boost your remember
with story,
with histories,
with cramped group selfies.
And remember your remembers
whenever,
wherever
you drift off centre.
And there you'll discover
your defenders,
your never surrenders
against all contenders.
Then you'll remember
your forevers.
Remember -
it's your best self defense.
Remember.  It's the best self defense.
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