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Satsih Verma Oct 2016
Like the banana peel
thrown on the sidewalk, you
come across the life.
And you still go on, in the―
search of moonlight―
without pills.
The drugged sleep.
Unorthodoxly you insult
the sun. And one-liners
go abegging for the listeners.

You are talking to your
peers now, long dead.
Fair amount of water, is
needed to sink.
The river merchant has brought
no fish.
Abeer Jun 2023
Recover from your wounds
And get clothed before they hear us
No, this isn't fair this isn't human
Please, please spare me
I promise


keep the open faces, like spaces into a divine end
a million assassins and ambassadors of your life
and when the stars are zeroes of polynomials, I dread
a smile at the end when it dies, my love all mine

(The setting was dark, for there were streetlights at a distance. Till then it was all dark. He was eager to make the jump but feared his body, or worse his soul would give up then and there. As shadow passed his sight he gathered his disarray and the ungiving to his fever. He began to mumble,
"Stand tall, for there is a reward
The empty sky looked up and saw a flaw"

He began to pull himself towards the lights away from misery. His walk had a limb and was as if he had walked a thousand miles in a thousand different places a thousand times all at once.

"The empty sky asked Mother Nature, a strange request
A roof must be put above, at her behest
The mother looked confused and asked her child the purpose
The sky replied I have nothing to take nor trust"

Elliott was nearing this run in quite a splendid fashion and his mechanisms were working unorthodoxly. He was blinded by reflections from the mirrors at the side of cars passing through him. the light came from a distance not that far from him. he couldn't describe the cars. he didn't need to in his mind. he was far from observing the world as the world was changing.
He continued
"Mother questioned what her child meant, asked calmly
the sky said that when all are asleep in this crude world, they flee
to the land of dreams, but I, mother am but a piece
Please give me something to dream up to when my troubles flee")
artisticAR Jan 2021
His church was a pub
its regulars, his disciples.
A community of patrons
some staunchly miserable
others unorthodoxly insightful.

At night, the needy took his beer
And the connoisseurs, his wine...
but his behaviour was instinctive
and his wordless signals, kind
and for a while I called him, mine
...amp...

— The End —