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Atul Sep 16
Happy days are here forever to stay,
Always by our side find them we may,
Parting ways is never a thing to say,
Practically we are fitting each day,
Yolk of ours is getting prepared.

Best of both worlds are we two,
Imagine a life together with me,
Rid yourself of that negativity,
The space here is for all lovely,
Happiness will always come on,
Delayed it may be but surely it comes,
Always remember that I'm here,
You wanted a mother again, I'm here as your lover.

Thanks for sharing your life with me,
Over the decades of my caring, healthier you will be.

Yes, we shall complete each other,
Of phoenixes you will be a mother,
Up next is just Love and only Love.

Part ways never with me,
Overcome health issues,
Overcome them with me,
Just absorb all of my love,
And all imagine only Love.
On 15 September 2018, Pooja Shah completed 22 years of age.
My HP Poem #1722
©Atul Kaushal
English Jam Feb 27
She is a ruler, proud in her glory
Sets hearts to flame, turns lovers to screams
Her nails alone are ripped from a story
Reduces soldiers to men without mean

Eyes marble-black, with sharp slits in the centre
Red glistens, and penetrating observations enter
With hair that waves as though in water
They know her tales, but none have caught her

What she requires - they all deliver
Her voice is a choir - that makes all shiver
She doesn't walk
She struts

Bends over in a seductive style
Caresses villainy in her seat
Crooning, intentions hidden all the while
Inaudible but the tread of her feet

March, march, march on to the drums
The Dark Majesty never forgets
Absorbing herself in hymns and hums
Oblivious to drunken admissions of regret

Queen of tyranny will never rest
But for serenity - she fails the test
She's majestic
But joy eludes her
There's a song by Queen (the rock band who did Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You) called The March of the Black Queen that was the chief inspiration to this. Give it a listen, it's simply amazing.
TSPoetry Aug 18
Heading away time turns
the corner as visions rewind
frame by frame ticking

feeling out the feelings
once felt before

emptiness echoes
filling out
a blackened soul

light flickers
and tragedy triggers
past supposition

stuck and awkward positioned

I listen as nothingness roars
running out of time
the blindness soars
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!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breaths and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard, except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a shed and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, able to accept a momentary peace.

A possible misstep now turns this peace on end with the sharpness of broken leaves. The once relieved brow beckons their wild eyes towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, that formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole and pans over a sated forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.
The only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.
Just something I had fun writing, figured not posting it would be a waste despite it not being "poetry", just an experiment I guess. I feel like it would be good, in like, a high-school, short story competition. lmfao.
Cné Jul 24
Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away

With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise

Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand

Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek

Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to prick and blind the eyes
Amanda Sep 26
If you only understood how dear you are to me
How much I've discovered about the world
You could show me it jn reality
Slowly explore sure planet earth as it twirls

Distant corners in tucked places
Because I need to escape
If have you close instead of blank spaces
Can hide in the feelings taking shape.

Fear growing into hope
This may be what I have waited for
All that time I couldn't cope
And the nights spent crying on the floor

Love you for taking all that away
Emotions I couldn't erase on my own
You helped tear apart dismay
Made sure I didn't fight demons alone

You are there to lead without question
Willingly sacrificing your hand
Many times pulled out of depression
Supported two legs until they could stand

Rainfall pours down heavier now
Swirling and spinning in wet assault
To you surrender, my head bowed
Journeys diverging and it is my fault

Thank you for lovely time shared together
Our paths will always intersect
I'm grateful you threw to me a line
For our two hearts to connect

The colors in your galaxy
Fade, in your arms become blurred
Tonight the first page of our story
Presence told without one word
This isnt my favorite piece. What do you guys think?
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.
Cné Oct 2017
The surf provides lullabies
as ocean echoes roll.
Too soon, the sunlight glitters
as the dawn turns gray to gold.

I wake and I rub my eyes
beside the sandy beach
My love beside me, languid lips
within an easy reach.

I whisper, sweet good mornings
as your dreams I brush away.
You stretch and yawn, responding to
requests to "come and play".

Lingered memories caress,
of last night's rising moon
with silver waves and ripples,
beyond the dark lagoon.

In shades of colors that mix and smudge
you take your time, no rush
My nipples tingle, at the thought
upon my skin, spreads flush.

In reverie, flutters reminisce,
your wanton body on mine.
Whispered moans in my ear, you thrust,
"I'm yours", I hear on rewind.
When last night's... turns into this morning's
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 heap
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!
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