Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
I
A flower that smells of pure bliss keeps an ear to the ground
It's a serene one sitting beneath the stars down on earth
The moon, far, far, seven seas away, loves to drop into her lap.

The Bay of Bengal billows, music has gotten beneath the skin.
The leaves furl out off the deep wood with the birds
singing out to the top of the trees, rhyming with the leafy dance.
Heavensent, that was in one sanguine day in the spring.
The Mother’s Language Movement in 1952 sprouted like this
on the eighth of native Falgun month—oh magic did it unleash!

On that day our beloved brothers were shot dead
They could swallow the bullets with smiles but won’t give up
demanding the official status for the Bangla mother tongue.
Angels wrapped round the martyrs amid lamenting mothers
Laid them on Falgun’s perfumed ground bleeding corpses
Seas of roses bloomed and blew them out red, red kisses!

They are gone not the stone wall of consciousness they raised
Ah, at the sprout of the spring what were they echoing?
Ingrained deep in the soil the pre-designing voice in the planning?
Who can tell? The world gels on February 21 in celebrating!

The angels then snapped up our martyrs’ souls off the land,
placed them on a piece of Heaven where they can hear the jingle.
Down on earth, a nation springs up, has gotten its wake up call!
Stepping on the sweetening arc of the mother tongue melody
the stone turns a flower, all in a butterfly moment soaring to victory.
Thanks to the movement - Bangladesh itself later comes to be!

II
The sun comes down to the rose painting on the land
In the heavenly Falgun hues it nibbles some wild summer dreams.
“Serene songs of earth stirring the water,” like it comes into play,
rowing the cloud bubbles singing in southern breeze.
Ah, a walk on the sun-kissed kaleidoscope land is a pure bliss.  
Every blossom spray of the wind is soothing sweet
Hop on and play straight to the ruby heart, as if it's a flute.

Mother tongue means speak free, fearless, in full streaming.
Speak the heart to the world without the fear of losing the cloud
that will listen, bouncing back on the brink of the sky river.
Then what did one say, hear, or was awed by in the blooming Falgun?
Could it have been the spring humming in her native lingua
or King David singing in mother tongue by babbling brooks
what in any other language, even with a silver tongue, isn’t possible?

Allah has listened to our martyrs’ crying mothers and fathers
The martyrs’ souls whisk through the galaxies and starry fair.

Soar high over the clouds, take the rainbow's pot of gold away,
Like a hue turns 360-degree in the colourwheel bask into the colour.
Still, dip the toes in Bangla mother’s soil salted with perfumed art
Like Himalayan water swirling down melting deeper deep down
This magicland is polished for everyone be it you, a fairy, a star
or off the ploughed-out barrow a walked out wonder!

A pristine voice duo’s voiceprint gleans to the spring in muse,
Pops in a beauteous scurry and speaks in the mother tongue!
Hidden within the earthy depth, only emerges with time,
only dances in tangent, that day slipped out with the butterflies.
And finally the blue nymphs take the plunge drop down the sky  
That day the mother’s voice triumphed, whose is the most original!
I was thousand kilometers away from you,
when a stranger bumped into me
he asked me where I was heading off
he asked me if I'm lost by the dead end

I remember answering that nothing to worry,
as I used to go solo and travel alone
'though he offered me help, I refused
it's the kind of kindness I can never repay

Years passed by until it comes to my senses,
how could I ever grasp his helping hand
while your fingerprints are still all over my skin?
while your voice still resonates down to my toes?

Youth was all we ever had, and
no matter how far I've come to walk away
every time I wander it goes directly to you
—I am running in circle
Jay 6d
Soft wet sand squishes under my toes
Cool water soon laps at my ankles
Telltale signs - the crowing of birds,
The laughter of children
The seabreeze at my nose

The water invites me in. I wade
Through every choice I thought I made.
Through time itself.

Clouds blanket the
Sun and I see myself in the sky, drowning,
Words from a script caught in my throat,
The water, the sand, they force me through it.

The curtains hiding the truth fall
Darkness seeps through the seafoam
I see the meaninglessness of it all
My reality is not my home

I want to turn around
Go back to what I know
But the water takes me by the leg
And little fingers of sand pull me on
I hate this life and I hate this place,
hate the terrible truth I’ve found

The fingers have become hands.
They do not let me go,
The waves bubble a lullaby, a dirge
“Bring your body closer still, with great care
We will keep it.”

Faces in the waves call to me,
The water croons its song
With the sun, wit abandoned me
And so my feet march on

I stay awake at night
Humming the ocean’s tune
Counting the stars on my ceiling,
I try to convince myself
Reality is just my room

The gentle fingers of sand are teeth now
Gnawing, gnashing, scraping teeth
The ocean screeches and howls a sound
Like playing a vinyl on a pizza crust
Like playing a knife on a breathing rib cage

Under my pillow lies
A single, sandy tooth. But come the dawn
My hand, hidden under the cushions will be withdrawn
I will awake, soft wet static under my toes
Cool delusion soon laps at my ankles.
Telltale signs - the taste of bile,
The script starving my lungs,
The water caught in my ears, babbling in my head, the
voice I’ve always known.
This poem was about my own struggle to be my authentic self, in the face of what my body and the thought process I had been conditioned to have told me.
Ashley 2d
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but I have already masturbated twice,
thinking of us;
jammed,
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace,
its hot,
where glued we jerk into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other:
my mind in reveries,
crowds,
filled with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a white reposed mountain.
You,
murmuring desire for me.
Fuck!
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep;
you have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
the oiled bulb at the end of a finger,
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that with pointed elegance,
like a dancer's,
touches);
as my penis couches,
quietly rocking us inside,
moving you,
moving us,
warmly enveloped,
diffusing into each other
like the early morning brew.

Lust and love,
closing-in,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
days,
hours;
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to penetrate your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tendernessness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful china bone face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded up,
in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
where they run,
flow rather,
down inside your thigh;
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of enveloping you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
Come!
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay naked to me,
flesh,
sinews,
everything,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ejaculate over:
wash their smooth surfaces with my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain semen on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we fuck,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath
from full lips:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

There,
Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
lusting after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me,
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting,
making me pop,
squeezing my cock in your palms;
running a curved finger over my nethers.

Lying,
lying,
side-by-side,
lying prone,
lying fucked,
never unconsumed,
because,
please,
please us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
doing nothing more than sleeping and carousing;
barely enough our sustenance to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
Oh,
God,
throw the fucking comic at me,
will you?
Fucking beat my flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your white naked glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a fucking puppy!
Beautiful long-haired,
skin tight,
upright,
wise,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my cock into your cunt -
where I love it best.
H J St Apr 9
Finishing off a hot brew @ 5am before jogging to the gym.
Better yet ...
breathing in your morning dew
tracing your curves slumbering
between soft white Pima layers
spurred by your dreamy smile
your fingertips dance
atop goose down clouds
shifting closer
to align our curve
toes tangle the cold
quiet eyes embrace
to awaken our space
seeking new warmth
nerves tingle and shift
aligning our navel's view
and falling in
to our fold.
... and then a hot brew for 2.

Taking in the day’s treats
as we stumble over its gift of time
and your full body shine.

Easing into moonbeam’s slumber
exploring intimate space,
unknown intensity
with a slow ease
of letting go
to move on.

...
Whew, wait, what was the question?
Sorry, I got lost in there, for our moment.
Thinking of no one in particular
H J St May 10
Finishing off a hot brew @ 5am before jogging to the gym.

Better yet ...
easing awake slowly
breathing in your morning dew
tracing your curves slumbering
between soft white cotton layers
spurred by your dreamy smile
as your cheek slumbers
atop goose-down clouds,
shifting closer
warm fingers search
cold toes tangle
backs arch
hips align
quiet eyes
embrace
to slowly awaken
our quiet space,
lips speak
of softness
cool whispers
and
warm currents
as nerves tingle
and shift atop
our navel's view
as we fall deep
into our fold.
...
time flips
as we slide
to sip
our hot brew
for 2.

As our morning roasted scent
glistens in the sun
we skip and stumble
through the day
sipping its treats
its gifts of torrents
and waves of time
to taste your full body shine.

Your whole body blooms
as you smile bright
your petals expand
eyes swoon.
As your smile widens
lifting you off the ground
tendrils shiver
fingers flicker
slivers of light
reveal what’s found.

Our touch tightens
as we enter the night
a moonbeam smiles
winds drift blue
skipping into slumber,
your tired eyes float
smiles relax
your body slows
knowing it’s comfort
exploring our intimate space,
its unknown intensity
a deep hue blue
of letting go
and holding on.

...
Waiting for her ... to cross my path ... to feel her essence ... and share this perfect day ... with me.

The question was:  Describe a perfect day.
i love you so dearly
but you are dying me blue
from the tips of my toes
to the tears you make me cry
i know you’re too clueless to understand the emotions of a hopeless romantic like me
but i hope you can understand one day
that i am doing this because i love you too much.
for so long i never understood why people left the ones they loved
“Why do such a silly thing to yourself?” I would ask the stars accompanying venus
but now i understand that the silly thing would be to stay
because as much as i love you
i need to love me too.
so for now i’ll sail my ship far away
and maybe one day you’ll grow up as i did
and love me as a love you.
and it pains me to say this
this pain is like no other
i would rather take a bullet straight through my head
but we all have to make sacrifices
and so now i will take a bullet straight through my heart
goodbye.
~to G, you know who you are. i love you too much to stay. i hope you can forgive me but for now let me forgive myself.~
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