Marco Buschini Dec 2016
Into the wonderment of your autumnal mind.
Where the skin of your grief sheds its leaves.
Is the song of your sea bound into colourful light?
The Shepherd breaches the flock of your dreams,
And the pastures breathe a sigh of relief,
As your tears of morning dew
Glisten the parched landscape.
Does your bouquet of pubis
Lay wistfully in the wilderness?
The skies of blue that reside in your eyes
Serenades the coming of the tide,
Harvesting the fruit of our labour of love.
Is this a wind of smile that turns into a voyage of valiancy?
A flock of thoughts liberated with a cry of exclamation
As your fears of autumn blue
Are exiled into the rapacious wind.
Shofi Ahmed Jul 12
My sea is far away
let's meet under
the one same cloud.

My blue water
is for the sun.
I sing beneath the wave.

My rose
is for the show
I am imbued
in the fragrance.

My sky is open
hugs the earth and afar
beyond the rainbow
beyond the peacock's eyes.

Catch that too!
From beneath the blue
slips out a butterfly.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
Art, a smile like the one
on the face of Mona Lisa.
Curved like the waxing moon
above the sea.
Light a flame before a face
yet to be seen.
What will it prevail,
will it show once for all
a slow tilt on the smiling lips
—a curve softly locks on
a rose from the sun,
or a shadow beneath the moon?
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
Just a dew drop, let alone the sea,
and a handful of earth, not the Planet Ge.
Not a shade of blue, save the rose for bee
Purely a clear drop didn’t spill in the core,
because the whole sphere feels the pinch.

Singing chorus rains down, bouncing back
to earth the only open-through planet.
No black hole is as deep as the sun jumps,
dives in the dew on every flower they wet.
Every bird in the trees sings and tweets,
yet one is stone quiet, shouldn’t even hiss.
Shh! shh, the sleeping beauty is sleeping!

Cut above the rest, the unique earth
brimming with the infinite finishing line
by design pans out to the transcended pi.
Pure spring, the waterfront by the Moon,
untouched, unspoiled is her swimming pool.

How she goes by, wetting her virgin toe
Only to bubble high up the transcended circle
If only the sun could rise high in that pole,
for the rest of species could sneak a peek.
She’s there with the capstone of the pyramid!

Shots beyond the fixed circle, netting the eyeballs.
The stars, the Moon on the move for pure freedom.
The thrilled earth did come out, smelling of roses
Off the golden cut pi-decimal-abyss digital spring.
With a handful of earth and a drop of water dew
This is a pure mirroring thanks to the original, you!

At the end of the string apt you took her by hand
She took it in emptying her heart and soul
Earth is now too thin on stock, she is no more
Just a shadow, a 360-degree hollow flute!
Oh light at the end of the tunnel shine and show
Play in like in the Night of Ascending once more!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
lX0st Nov 2014
I'm drowning in your moans
Every word that melts from your lips
Floods the room about us
Suffocating me into believing
That I would be satisfied
Spending my last moments
Staring into your eyes
Breathless
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
As wide open as the sea
as resonant as the waves
splashing on the beach.
For a moment or so I was
pondering so full as the sea
what has it left to tally
with as empty as the the beach?
Traced eyes with circles,
and a headache, she forgot
all she used to be

replacing nights with
sobbing, she took all she had
and soon went missing

A backpack full of
her blighted heart, taking the
corruption away

Scattering it on
the beach, the tides replaced them
with nothing but shells-
It's like a story. She leaves with a broken heart, scatters the pieces on the beach, and they're replaced with nature.
CK Baker Jan 2017
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  .
~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  

what about the gull
                          with a wayward splash
or the balanced blend
of cirrus and ash

foghorns throw
the pock wave
sewell stragglers
and bonny boats
earn their keep
i.
you were petals i once tossed to the sea –
in fistfuls i let go, in sighs that i set free;
i was born drinking the sky when the gulls called morning,
left to wonder when the water would call you home –
“the sea is much too old,”
i had heard someone once say,
and the wind has forever left salt in my wounds and on my brain;
darling, i was raised on thunderstorms,
but you brought me summer rain.

ii.
my ribcage housed a tempest, warping my sinew,
and in this broken home i am homesick for you,
missing the concaves of your collarbones – an anthology;
and this cold coffee has never before tasted,
so empty,
so weary,
so forgotten,
so much like:

iii.
this galaxy – you should try it sometime,
lost in starless starry-eyes,
an astral tenderness, soft in sleep,
a cosmic romance, your white bedsheets,
and constellations – like the ones you used to trace,
love notes left on my starlit waist;
you used to tell me stories of everything & nothing & skin
                                                            ­                               & skin
                                                            ­                               & skin.

l.a.c
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