The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of the twighlight
that revolves around you.

Speechless, my friend,
alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead
and filled with the lives of fire,
pure heir of the ruined day.

A bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment.
The great roots of night
grow suddenly from your soul,
and the things that hide in you come out again
so that a blue and palled people
your newly born, takes nourishment.

Oh magnificent and fecund and magnetic slave
of the circle that moves in turn through black and gold:
rise, lead and possess a creation
so rich in life that its flowers perish
and it is full of sadness.

Leaves crackle as she slowly steps
She enters the glade, her magic she preps
She listens for the sound, first soft then strong,
This music is the Faerie Song

A smile creeps onto her face
As she observes the spider weaving her lace
This creature trims the gowns of Dryads
The velvity green of summer they add

The wind blows and they bow their respect
Their rustling applause goes unchecked
She pauses by one revered, acient tree's heath
And pats the small fawn resting beneath

On she glides, though the mists of twighlight
For ahead she sees a scene so bright
Dancing 'round an enchanted flame
Are the Faerie people, frolicking without shame

She steps into the light and all goes still
She throws back her hood that kept out the chill
The Fair Folk all bow as their clothes they brush clean,
"Welcome home, Fair Lady, our own gentle Queen!"

11:11
Praying you’re okay
Wishing I was there next to you
Wishing I could tuck u in bed and tell you everything is alright
Wishing I could kiss you
Wishing I could see ur beautiful smiles come to live
Wishing u all the happiness in life
Wishing you would stay with me forever
Wishing to see ur beautiful face
Wishing to taste ur smile
And state into ur eyes
Wishing I could wipe ur tears
When u don’t feel alright
Wishing my days
Where with u
And the nights
Wishing us a tomorrow
Filled with lights
Wishing all the tears away all the time
Wishing us a house
With both of us inside
Me hugging u tight
And us watching the sun at twighlight

In youth I danced for druids
I twirled in twighlight haze
tinkling bells adorned my feet
and magic filled my days.

My skirts flowed softly outwards,
as I spun between the stones
the wisdom of all women,
as the drumming shook my bones.

I danced my steps with passion
my joyful limbs took flight
as the flames rose ever higher
sending sparks into the night.

Then when the dance was over
and my offering was done,
we sat and praised the solstice
with the coming of the sun.

While the sun is setting,
I walk by the dazzling ocean,
thinking,
imagining,
talking to myself,
to the storms inside me,
to the volcanos and the quakes,
talking to my anger,
to my sorrow,
and to every feeling left in me.

It is the end of a new day,
a long one but very short,
full of drama and lies,
with no smiles from those around me.

I walk by the ocean,
while shedding tears,
trying to hide them from the passers-by.
I do not want kids to see them,
so they don’t think men cry.
I keep my dark glasses on.

I walk by the ocean,
not believing in promises,
suspecting the beautified words,
from the fake people.
I walk not believing in fake smiles,
fake laughs or even jokes.

The twighlight gleams and is gone now.
unsmiling people around me are gone too.
After diving down several times in front of me,
seagulls swirling above go to feed their babies,
happily!
They stop singing their daily songs.
Fishermen with dusty boats go homes sweating with joy.
Rich people turn on the lights of the silent yachts to start their night.
The high waves calm down.
The moon is waning crescent,
with a dimmed light.
They left me alone.
I am alone,
all alone,
but my only friend is my heart,
That they hurt.

Mohammed Arafat
26-02-2019

So we met in middle school
Feeling oh so awkward
Both of us alone and not "cool"
Not knowing the future we walked toward

Each time we meet
It's like I'm playing a guessing game
The sound of your voice is so sweet
Each time I'm hoping nothing's the same

So we burn in the sun
And talk together at night
Reading the clouds never seemed so fun
Falling asleep until twighlight

Shared whispers
Cracking jokes
Walking along the beach shores
I feel like my love is a hoax

Each time we meet
It's like I'm playing a guessing game
The sound of your voice is so sweet
Each time I'm hoping nothing will change

Then one night, after you get home
I tell you my feelings
For me it's a guessing game,
But you say, "I'm with another guy."

I'm always playing a guessing game
A guessing game, guessing game,
A guessing game!
Guessing the feelings of the world...

Each new day brings a new guessing game.

Boundaries

Everyone knocks
Most times with confusion
Elusive goats
Standby

Radio in, and call your thermometer
True forgiveness is a place unstitched
Endearment is a soulless palace  
Like a white painted cornea  

A phrase sometimes catches fire in the twighlight
Sparking madness
Spinning circles
What a drunk.

Slipping on his bathroom floor
Babbling nursery rhymes
Crying, crying, crying.
why don't tall dark trees read to us anymore?

Oh that's right, we won't stop skinning them.
We like it
when they scream.
When they bleed
When they nudge themselves over from exhaust-full pain.

What a sore
What a ******* fairy tale
What a joke.

placed on the counter a letter of acceptance, for my brother, who I suspect my mother favors

a letter which I've already had, which is now in the past, and now it is his turn to take a chance

and I sit and ponder, with my wine, after showing...spite, in spite of myself

hating myself for not speaking highly of him, confused about how it is I can emerge, knowing that there is something inside of me burning, but the energy does not run on love alone, no, I rely on their support

bothered, hopeless, a prince, nothing is my own, the son of PHD's, working everyday, heavily, work as a way of life, climbing fossilized into the very spirit, the bone, the bone, the bone, to pursue or to desire something other than the hardest of work is frightening, is unknown,

an artist supported by business, working in tandem for years, perhaps the two couldn't work without each other, art in its arrogance and business in its modesty, or perhaps the other way around,

even a site called hello poetry, what of its business?  I am not sure, what of its profits?  not a clue, they could be benefitting off of every word I write, but I depend on their site to project my bits, my uselasssfullglossful sentiments, with notes at the end that gives one an opportunity to be fabulous

fabulous, fabulousness, entry, entress, prince, looking up at the twighlight, rescued by nothing, a rebel with something to lose, a bourgeois without room for entitlement, entitlement being the reward of bourgeois, or perhaps education alone, I can be grateful for

which brings me back to that acceptance letter, and my feelings of spite, then I spat, and I want to confess tonight, that I regret that

We all know the sting of grief
the burden of strife
The caress of relief

We all have felt the coldness of winters;
breathed in the blossoms of springs


Some, the lucky, linger till they've had their fill of moonlight
Others take their leave, bowing out long before twighlight

This is life, there is no sorrow or glee
It's not beautiful it's not ugly, c'est justement la vie

So stay with me for as long as you have the chance
We'll stay drunken on Joy and dance,
Some good wine and romance!

THE TWIGHLIGHT SERENADE
BRINGS A DAY FULL
OF THE SOUNDS OF LIFE
WAITING TO BEGIN ANOTHER DAY

THE BIRDS IN THE TREES
SINGING SWEET MELODIES
GIVING RISE TO A DAY
WHERE LIFE WILL GIVE US
JOYS ABOUNDING

THE DAWN IN ALL IT'S SPLENDOR
BREAKS WITH IT AWE AND WONDER
A NEW DAY BEGINS
AND ALL IT'S CHOICES
WE BEGIN TO FACE TOGETHER

“A penny for those thoughts me dear” she hears a Cockney woman’s tongue..as this old Southerner reminisces standing here when she was oh so young.. back in those bygone days when she was only ten years old, stood sobbing her little heart out and shivering in the cold..

As she waits in King’s cross station at platform number eight and just like all those yesteryears ago, this TransPennine train was late..when she worthlessly wandered within a crowd of many others, all little lost evacuees estranged from their loving Mothers..So she stands here today searching her soul from sad traces, as she recalls the screams and cries and that look of languish on those faces..and that was sadly sixty years since she waved her Mum goodbye but she can still reminisce the fraught and rawness with a teardrop in her eye..

Twas one late September morning in 1939 and she held a little hand with all her might as that steam engine sped along the line..and alas that was the last time she ever saw her distraught Mother when her and hundreds of other lost little souls left London with her tiny brother..Yet Oh the sadness and suffering has moulded amidst her heart, from that awful station in September when her loving family had to part..So in the twighlight of her life at almost seventy one years of age she stands waiting on that transPennine train, and in her heart of hearts she knows that this time when she steps off that platform she will never return again...

birthdays come birthdays go
as years go bye it lets you know
skin it wrinkles hair go goes grey
your twighlight years or on the way

glasses needed eyesight gone
getting worse as years move on
all we have is memory how it was used to be
when we were young and life was free

that is life and natures way
we age each minute of every day
thinking of things we used to do
when we were youing and foolish to

It's good that i don't matter
Takes the pressure off

Twighlight comes again
At Washington I scoff

I like Malahide
Uppsala in the spring

Tomorrow when he wakes
My cell phone too will ring

               Let him sing!