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Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!

With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!

It has the plethora a room for everyone
and time for timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?

You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
You may have by now
seen women million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one!

Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Inside the great
big global village
not everything is rosy
even a cat knows it
a leaf can sniff it.
The Moon shines
not in every night
nor God promised
always a blue sky.
Still the roses bloom
Cinderella has the lot
the reasons to groom.

The richest among the folks
turns philanthropist in the globe.
The wisest among the men
celebrate the era for it’s
the civilisation at its peak.
Hooray what now triumphs at last
is the wisdom and humanity!

Really? O please tell me?
Not very far, nor for much,
just because some differ in faith
mothers and fathers left in pain.
Not because they are to lose
Rohingyan sun nor the land
beneath their feet but in no time
their sons and daughters
can be put to death into fire
that too before their eyes
before the silent established world!
Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
I will be honest like every time or at least most of the time
I do not even know where to start or begin

I rather to say I do not know where this journey would end
The graveyard or the warm heaven’s arms

I still do not know if I want to fight and hold my weapon high
I am still wounded from some of previous fights

I am currently kneeling with my sword exhausted and tired
On my knees scarred because of battles only god knows

I’ve a feeling that I want to stand up with my sword raised up high
Turning obstacles and differences into triumphs

What a strange feeling I get when we are even a little apart
A feeling that motivates me to pick this novel fight

Not sure if I’m trying to build a one-sided bridge between hearts
A bridge with destination of nothing but a pool of fire

Everyday I wish for hints, clues or whatever helps
I just need to know that this is not just a vacation’s play, cause I'll pay

There will be no hurt feelings every journey has it own lessons
Things that need to be known in the beginning of every such journey
More Love Jul 2018
This blank slate
Of soul, of flesh
Becoming what it is
Long overdue
Listening, waiting
Wanting more

Truth and Faith.

Courage at our core.
It burns away
The capes and costumes

Curtain open & collapses down

Cast steps forward and bows
Nervously waiting for the raw applause
of its long lost Love

To be seen in flesh, in form.
To feel
To be alive

And what hope there is
in this pause.

And by God's great glory,
simplicity,
and the logic that supports it
that reveals what we are,
all of us together.

Curtain down, we bow.
And receive fully the divine applause of our creator

to be-
to be seen,
heads hanging together
is enough for him to rejoice.

And his rejoicing song lifts our faces
to be truly, fully revealed

All we are, our mistakes + our triumphs,
standing strong together

The purpose of our being.

To be revealed, humbled and uplifted in truth.
And to let the light of his applause wash over us
As we all bow down together.
"One lie weakens a thousand truths."

"Time heals, steals and reveals."

"Karma finishes what revenge neglects."

"The future is uncertain, but we play a part in its design."

"Help when you can, pray when you can't."

"If your life is out of focus, it's time to change the lens."

"Honesty is in the alcohol."

"The only thing better than a second chance is never needing one."

"Sometimes the most valuable company is yourself."

"Instincts over impulse, always."

"The greatest comeback is the one least expected."

"Fear is a light sleeper."

"You can't change the past, but it can change you."

"Some are born with a silver spoon, others with a pitchfork."

"Even the smallest of pebbles has its place in the sand."

"The humble voice resonates the loudest."

"Write your failures in pencil, your triumphs in ink."

"Scars speak every language."

"Two things you should always trust: your gut and your God."

"Every tear leaves something behind."

"Courage brings you to the fight, wisdom wins it."

"Relationships start and end, but the lucky ones get to begin again."

"The devil doubts. The angel accepts."

"Biggie makes you dance. Tupac makes you think."

"Justice is money green."

"The only thing better than good friends are lifelong ones."

"I'm in a fight with life and I'm losing on points."

"We are remembered for three things: the times we did good, the times we did bad and the times we did nothing."

"Every underdog wants to be top cat."

"Love never travels alone."

"Dreams reveal what thoughts conceal."

"The problem with the world is the wolves outnumber the sheep."

"You can't spell tragedy without rage."

"Focus on the valley and the hills will disappear."

"When you ignore pain, it ignores you."

"The past and future are distant cousins."

"Hope is always listening."

"Moonlight is for lovers and devils."

"Nothing will get you in better shape than a breakup."

"Time is a tattletale."

"Sometimes all that's left is a penny and a wish."

"There's a special place in heaven for those who suffer on earth."

"We are connected by smiles and tears."

"The mirror mimics what the mind imagines."

"If infidelity was a crime they would have to build more prisons."

"What the blind man sees, the sighted man seeks."

"The ego is a phony friend."

"Luck will take you as far as fate allows."

"Two things that never forget: elephants and broken hearts."

"My train of thought has no conductor."
karin naude May 2013
Once I as young and very impressionable
Ii became part of the hip and happening movement
Loving revered to as youth
What a sham, no-one has the resolve to speak the truth
Being youthful and energetic is tough
Too much responsibility rest on my meagre shoulders
Eyes and mind demand change by my soft un-scaved hands
Half the time I don’t know what I am doing how are my soft hands to bring change
Feelings of betrayal and anger from unrighteous treatment
Grow in my veins toward the elders
They followed their own corrupt greedy souls
They dare to blame my dramatic future on their ambition
No one asked what I wanted they just shipped me off to school
As an adult i inherited a land ripe for a new sun
To be achieved with ******* young people
Who soak their sins in strong alcohol and smoke their ideas away
It’s easier to muffle the pain and internalise the screams
South Africa is democratic but no freedom is lived
Yes no one can disappear without a trace
Yes you can no longer just be beaten without recourse
But the soul is tied down with inhumane heavy chains
No moral fibre left to hold on to
No moral light to follow
The head of state is leading example for all
I end with words of wisdom
Evil triumphs when good men do nothing
meGaThOr Mar 2018
Billionaire: I were

                    been Corollary,
                       at the party,
                                and petition,
                                where populism,
                            there is no discussion,
                                   and abolished
                                   
                   ­                   and the average,
                                       the epicurean scenes,
                                        
                ­                          beloved my testamentary,
                                               and I partisan,
                                                  and                            raw balance of my profits,
                                                 and       my diploma,
                                                        ­ my university triumphs,
                                                       ­       I am the planetary star,
                                                           ­    skin and clothing
                                                        ­          
 protozoan,
                                          ­                       
   
                                     ­                                             
                   ­                                                      Legionnaire­
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
The poem was inspired by a particular photo of the WT C, and after that by my first visit to the 9/11 Memorial.  On the day of 9/11, I was working about a diagonal mile away, and from our windows, we could see people jumping to their death.

Open sky annulled
to bordered lines of
uptown edges,
worldview momentarily
forcibly redefined by
memories of buildings and sadder days,
recollections of pillars of biblical smoke rising

A photograph
makes me look up,
and sit down historically,
need to catch a breath,
to rest mentally,
upon a storied small bridge's steps,
that I well recall,
a disappeared street stoop.
all were rubble then and once
upon that day.

Wear, tear, and older eyes distill perspective,
but the hardy heart is hardly stilled
by the recognizable gray upon
bon vivant gray reflective surfaces of
memories of buildings and sadder days

So today, on a reborn street,
I rest upon reconstituted speckled curbstone,
the city's lowered down ledges,
the city's lowered down-town boundaries,
constantly redrawn, but
nonetheless, always rebuilt from their own
regenerated stony compost,
and the NY passersby doesn't even notice
a man, head in hands,
silently weeping, thinking that:

We throw away so much we should have kept.
We keep so much we should have thrown away.

Lose keepsakes, but keep our mysterious sadnesses
locked away in compartments that open only to
benedictions uttered in ancient tongues.

Make your own list,
be your own curator,
catalogue visions of sophomoric triumphs,
museum mile pile
those early poetic drafts,
be unafraid of memories
raw and ungentrified,
overlaid, buried underneath
postmortem of dust-piles of senior critiques

Finally went downtown to see
where the blessed water falls
into catacomb pits that once
were the foundations
of buildings that ruled the cityscape,
downtown anchors
for a modern city that exists
only because it was built on
million year old granite bedrock

Stone monuments are stolid, discrete.
Memories are of grayed, frayed edge consistency.
Negatives resurrected that survive digitally,
all blend synthetically, layer upon layer,
essence distilled in a single,
black and white photograph
that serves to
disturb complacency,  
awaken stilled pain,
reflections suppressed,
are restored
Written August 2013
Jaden May 2018
why am i to spend 12 years of my life
learning the same history 12 ways
each year getting more into depth
about how straight, white, and cis,
"all" of history just happens to be
when in reality anything that was ever
deemed abnormal or harmful to america's image
just doesn't get taught.

all these years of being sheltered from the truth
about america the great
has left me with questions i'm scared will go unanswered
and so

I'd like to know which group of old white men
decided erasing history was a good idea
If i'm stuck learning about these so called achievements and revolutions which only came from the self proclaimed superiors
i'd like to know whose idea it was to forget about
The whips cracked in to bleeding black skin
Making it known that my ancestors were no more than a tool
No more than what white men, white masters made them in to
No more than a slave until 1865

I want to know who made it possible for my history teacher to ask me what my opinion on slavery is since i’m the only black kid in sight
When will they teach me why it’s okay for the 20 white kids in my class
To call me their ***** but it’s not okay for me to get mad about it

Please tell me how these people figured out
who all they should kindly choose to silence?
maybe they thought it's too much to cover in class
Since we have to have time to be taught about manifest destiny
And how Americans had every right to take land and lives
Because white men deserve to take what doesn’t belong to them
or maybe it's been deemed inappropriate
because they're too scared to admit
That America would rather hose down black kids
waiting for our skin to become clear and
praying for our melanin to wash off just so they would stop having to look at the skin they deemed sinful
than admit that America loves to make black people fearful.

When are we taught about who chose to write about all of
america's triumphs and good times but
somehow seemed to forget about the scars passed on to me from over 100 years ago
But didn’t know i had until i was ten years old.
And honestly that no longer surprises me i mean
America only speaks of cishet white guys.
and I bet you didn't know about very first gay pride.
It was a series of riots started because America decided
Loving who you want makes you unequal
And the only way to fix that is using force that’s lethal
Force that would leave lovers lives laying in the street like the never even lived
Force that led to June 28th through July 1st becoming riots that didn’t need to happen but the police couldn’t keep their privileged fingers off of gay people
But it’s fine because ignoring that part of history has become an American steeple.

At this point I know all the answers to every test asking about the history you feed us
In attempts to hide the truths of this country that wishes it never freed us
so stop teaching me the same
cis, straight, white history I've already
been taught 10 going on 11 years of my life
because i don't care about the men who wanted to keep my ancestors bound
Or the country that keeps trying to tell me that my love isn’t allowed
i care about the history they'll continue to ignore and erase.
i care about the history America begs me to forget.
Jamie Lee Oct 2018
In the first appearance,
of those piercing blue eyes,
my world expanded,
as you so selfishly loved me.

Without any understanding,
of my own selfishness,
we took our first steps,
into a new adventure.

Challenges and triumphs,
we faced them both;
yet it made no difference,
when the end arrived.

Three years of memories,
lessons, and growth.
You have changed,
and I have changed.

Our time has come,
to take our own paths.
Our shared journey,
was that of its own.

The absence of you,
within my life,
will never exist,
within my heart.
ryn Aug 2014
Many a time I've thought long and hard
Long have I picked at this stabbing splintered shard
Is He here or is He just an idea that's been long embedded
If He's here, then why do my eyes they both seem covered

Many a time I've questioned why I don't want to see
Because I really feel like it's only happening to me
I've pondered and tried to view for many different lenses
I've wondered aplenty why I haven't come to my senses

Many a time I've reassured myself with the following
That He does not give when you know you're not deserving
Challenges for you He does not wilfully make
Only those which He knows you definitely can take

Many a time that I've asked if I really do believe
When my discontentment triumphs and over it I grieve
I know that if in my heart I want Him found
It's time that I finally pulled my head out of the ground
gith Aug 2018
Life is unfair and very unkind
I wish things were different
I’m crying  
I can’t even write
I’m drowning  
I wish I was never born

I’m sick

of gasping at the surface,
so finally, I'll drown.

I’m ready
to embrace my death
When silence triumphs sound.
Nico Julleza Nov 2017
On this very hour— in four corners
Upside feelings, the doubt of those at by
Some shackled your ability to sight
Some did they have to do but you fight

With blind uncertainty, an innocent child
Either your true— nor unright
No one dares for all of you might just air,
Breathing in, then vacate for no one cares

The snow and gail might over flail
With mocking questions from quo's
You are forced to be reckoned with— But
Only your heart answers where you can go

You might be an oblivion wondering
Or someone hated who you really are
But to only hover the truth
Wake up! They're just unwanted scar's

With all the wrongs you bestowed
With all the steps— you skipped a row
Dear self-remember this,
Everything triumphs, that you must know

Heavenward, Face above, you’re a diamond
Your eyes only possess— true as gold
Know you might crumple and even fail
But your dreams are more than all remains
#Heavenward #Faith #Believe

A Good Start to Inspire..

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Noah Clark Jan 28
My sadness triumphs because
I long
For the one thing
I know I will never have.
Vijaya Balan Jul 2018
Things happen, moments are created, faces are remembered and feelings are tightly grasped within the dry skin of our cracked hands,
Cracked hearts too maybe?
Where do we go but forward,
Remembering absent friends, lost loves, broken dreams and a hope to bury it all in that dark backyard behind our weathered but sturdy home,
We will move on, forge new paths, break new barriers, repeat a thing or two,
but oh well,
We all have some familiar cycles in our life right?
We are resilience built on the foundation of faith and belief,
We are unwritten pages, with past chapters that can fill a library, a library that none might visit,
And we will still go ahead and do everything that we want to, regardless of what anyone else ever said,
We are beings with a field of uncertainty surrounded by determination at the most unexpected moments,
Love and let go, love and cherish, love and be broken, love and not expect anything in return, love and be loved back a 1000 times,
We are the sum of billions of atoms,
We are the moments we create and the things that happen,
We are the beliefs of more than thousands of faiths in this world,
We are the tragedies of past, the conundrums of the present and the triumphs of tomorrow,
We are able,
We are capable of all of them,
We are capable and able.
Inspired by a mixed heavy week in July 2018. Death of a good friend, my 2nd year wedding anniversary, and 2nd year death anniversary of my mum. Love and death.
Nathaniel May 16
Lucy wears many faces
Her most vile is deception

This paradise she's offered is a hoax
An illusion sewed for mankind

His home in the sky is limitless and pure
You may not yet fabricate its likeness

Resist Lucy's temptation and live to see
A heaven that triumphs euphoria

Be humble and blend yourself with reason
Cast away your pride to the ocean

Know your limits and love them
-Selaphiel
In continuation of "Oh! In the Cave There's Comedy!".
Elisa Holly Nov 2018
I sit on her couch
Sipping *****
from some mixed concoction
Scrolling through the social media experiences
meant to be a self reassurance
of how good we have it
when it’s just so
******* hard.

These little positives accumulated
to remind myself
that even in the midst of my hardest trials,
don't get caught in the failures
but relish in the triumphs.

I don’t even look at the other feeds
so self absorbed
at reminding myself
that each day my hustle
will be rewarded with the ultimate win: love.
But success isn’t love... or a like
and every minute I spend self absorbed on what I don’t have
I miss out
on the minute to minute love
I receive with each interaction
from people I share space with.
Life isn’t a feed.
Life isn’t happiness every day.
Life isn’t measured by the have or have nots.
Life is this moment.
Life is this experience
and the decisions we make in them.

So I closed the phone
and listened
to her
sing.

She wasn’t doing it for the hashtag
or the like
and I listened.

Sipping on my *****,
closing my eyes.
I didn’t care what was seen
as long as she kept sharing
this moment with me.

The feed.
Social media
nivek Dec 2018
Straddling a yesteryear and a new tomorrow
facing many challenges, holding onto triumphs

We hold our breath ready to say goodbye
and open our arms wide with a welcome hello.
KAVI Sep 2018
For all the times we have forgotten to thank you
For all the special little things you did....

For all of the words that went unspoken
For all the kind support throughout the years
For sharing our triumphs and tears...

At times we might have seemed ungrateful
But nothing you have done is forgotten
For all that times we need to say....

We will miss you
We will miss you
The cogs screech from the clock.
Calendar entries hit terminal velocity.
The mantelpiece cracks and decays.
Alive in lost living, dreaming life away.
The crude tally on the kitchen walls,
A barometer of  missed encounters.

The whistle through the window
Which ripples through the curtain.
The tap of water from the sink
Makes me feel uncertain.
The world is utter chaos
Until you bring me peace.

The friction of a page turning
As you smile to yourself
Even the clock is unwinding
After a series of sudden judders
Each tick of the minute hand
Longer than the last.

One minute of stillness triumphs
A year of overwhelming noise.
The chrysalism of your company
Is worth a hundred years of thunder.
And through all this I anger fast
Because you leave me still.
Joel A Doetsch Jan 2012
He was definitely dead.  That much could be gathered.  He was standing over his own body, sixty feet away from the car.  fifty-nine feet away from  the telephone pole.  The pool of blood on the blacktop was rippling from the sheets of rain that were piercing it.  The rain bounced off of his lifeless eyes, staring on into the cloudy sky.   His shocked expression was forever frozen on his face.  He walked around the corpse, both fearful and excited.  He was dead....He was DEAD!  He was on the other side!  He looked around, searching for the 'white light',  but all he found  was a man dressed in a ratty  trench coat staring directly at him.  Rotting teeth smiled at him under a grungy  Fedora in a way that reminded him of a jack-o-lantern carved into the likeness of Indiana Jones that had been left out past Thanksgiving.  A withered hand beckoned him.

He was not hesitant.  He was not fearful.  

Those were emotions controlled by a brain that was currently about as useful as a bag full of gelatin.  He strode forward and took the man's hand.  It was neither hot nor cold.  They were no longer in the rain.  They were in a room with a large monitor
sitting in front of a station of various knobs, buttons, and switches.  A large leather chair apathetically awaited use .  He was aware that none of these objects  actually existed, because they were in the place where things don't exist.  Still, he sat down
and turned on the monitor.  He looked at the labels.  Some were obvious, such as P L A Y,  P A U S E, and S T O P.  Others were strange, like the ones labeled F I R S T S and L A S T S.  He pressed the former.  A list appeared with items as simple as "Kiss" to ones as specific as "Sprained Left Ankle in November".

He chose the former.

The screen went blank, then a video appeared.  It was a boy and a girl lying on a hill on a blanket at the onset of dusk.  The boy he instantly recognized as himself. The boy brushed his hand against hers.  She let him.  Fingers now entwined as they stared at each other.  At the time it had felt like hours, but it was less than a
minute before lips pushed apart to make way for tongues.  His first kiss.  It didn't take him long to figure out how the machine worked from that point on.  

He spent years going through every second of his life and reliving it from a new perspective. It didn't matter, he had all the time that never was and never would be.  He saw his mistakes and his triumphs, his loves and his heartbreaks.  Finally, he decided he was
finished.  It was time to go.  The man in the Fedora smiled.  Smiled that Cheshire smile

They were in a hallway.  It seemed to stretch for miles.  Every twenty paces or so, there was a person, standing on a platform, obscured in darkness.  He walked to the first one.
A light flickered on.  It was his mother.  She looked like she did when he was a boy, vibrant and full of life.  She never lost that, even as her body aged and her health declined, she always had something to smile about.  He talked to this apparition of his mother.   They talked for hours about his life, of random topics.  Things they had never had time to talk about when they were both alive.  After some time, she gave him one of her wry
smiles.  He nodded and made his way to the next person.  His father.  

He continued this for quite some time.  He talked to everyone from his brother to a guy he used to get high with in college.  Years passed as he said his final goodbyes to all the people in his life
that he had ever known.  All of them were happy for him.  All of them had something to tell him that he had never known about them in life.  None of them were real.  When he was done, he turned to the man in the fedora.  A smile.  A smile that had a personality all its own, a smile that simultaneously showed compassion and seething hatred.

The last room.  No one said it was the last room, but it had that feeling of finality to it. It was spartan, nothing in it except a marble floor that seemed to stretch for eternity in every direction.  It probably did.  In front of him were two pedestals.  On each of those
pedestals was himself.  The one on the left was wearing a fine tailored suit, had radiating skin and a smile that cameras feasted on.  The one on the right was a stark contrast.  The teeth he had left were hanging lazily from the roots.  His hair that he had left was thin, oily, and ridden with lice.  His mouth turned upwards in an insane grin that was only
matched by his thirsty, bloodshot eyes that seemed to bulge from his pockmarked skin

                                          They both spoke at once.

You were born on                                           You were born on
July 3, 1985.  Your                                           July 3, 1985.  Your
parents fed your                                         mother died when you
curiosity at a young                                     were 4.  Your father
age.  Your passion                                   turned to alcohol.  He
was art.  You painted                                 took his pain out on you.
your first work when                                     You dropped out of    
you were nine.  By the                                high school and moved
time you were 16, you                             as far away from this
were renowned as a                             life as you could.  You
artistic prodigy.  You                      quickly discovered a bad crowd.
attended the Art                                     You met a girl, Cindy.
Institute of Chicago                                       You got her pregnant.
on a full scholarship.                                   You started selling drugs
It was there that you                                     to make ends meet
would meet Claire,                                       for your accidental family
your future wife. By                                       It wasn't long before
the time you completed                                     You made a mistake
your school, every                                             and ended up in jail.
museum wanted a                                        years later, when you
piece of your work                                       were released
hanging in their gallery                               you found that Cindy      
Your work would be                                       had killed herself
remembered for                                                   and your son.
hundreds of years after                                       You had no job          
your death.  You had                                                 no skills
a wonderful family,                                        You spent your days
fame, fortune, and                                          doing odd jobs for
everything that came                                   money.  Money that
with it.  You lived                                           You spent on drugs
until 89, where you                                        Until the age of 45
died peacefully in                                       Where you froze on a
your bed, surrounded                           street corner, surrounded
by loved ones.  This                        by human excrement.  This
is your life's best                                           is your life's worst
possible outcome                                         possible outcome



He nodded, then looked at the man in the fedora.  That smile crept up.  A smile like a hyena. He snapped his fingers.  Two doors appeared.  One was Oaken and battered.  The grains of wood barely visible over years of neglect.  The other door was new and had just been  painted with a fresh coat of sky blue paint.  

The man spoke for the first time.

This is the last decision you shall ever make.  The door on your left will lead you to the  afterlife, and the judgement that awaits you.  Whatever is decided, that is where you will spend eternity.  The door on the right will allow you to be reborn as a new soul.  This one will no longer exist.

He gave it a good long ponder.  Had he been good enough in life to pass the judgement?  What if he ended up in a hellish nightmare for the rest of eternity?  Could he do better
if he started fresh?  The thoughts swirled about him like a whirlwind until finally.

Years later

He chose.

The man in the fedora smiled.
I'm aware this isn't a poem.  It started off as one, but then I kept writing.
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