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And I know time isn’t in our hands.
Still move with life, or watch it move
on without you. Either you walk with
time, or time walks away from you.

They gave you a one-star review for
your love, judged your heart, spat into
your scars, dragged your name through
the mud. Still, don’t paste their words
onto your heart.

Because when you live a better life, they’ll
circle back to copy. You’ll ask yourself,
“why do the ones who once overlooked
me now want to over-book me… or cop me?”

All the seconds you felt like sloppy seconds
will become the taste of their main course.
And what they called leftovers is the meal
they'll hunger for the most.

Remember:

Time is a thief, it steals your hours, your hope,
your years. But don’t let wasted time rob you  
of what’s real. Don’t let it steal the reason you live.
Now I can still digest what my prodigal soul has swallowed; My petty, selfish, weary conscience makes me count the minutes of my existence on watchful, nightmarish nights, if the round executioner-moon appears, because it would be so good if holy peace could build a house in the courtyard of my aching, shattered heart, even for a fraction of a moment, like the basic formula of "nothing will go wrong!" I feel that the festering, infected World is too much for me, if old age comes, like the invented burden of becoming superfluous, perhaps it would be good if someone could look at me.

Now, not only the seasons - but also the wild Siberias of restless, manipulative souls - are pressing themselves into the depths of the caves of souls, because the desire for flattery can quickly dry up at the fountain of secret souls, just like telling the truth. Human personality should be preserved with a shadowless conscious indifference, as a kind of rebellious testimony of worldly things.

Perhaps it is better to simply step over the pitiful, pitiful traps of intentional insults, while the decade passes by. One has long felt the unwelcome thud of rheumatic hooves pounding over one's pitiful head, between the viscerally ingrained bones; like scraggly, earthly, drunken puppies, the members of the newest donkey generation bicker over each other's backs, taunting each other to their heart's content, for they have rarely thought about the secret nature of inner feelings, because with Nirvana-Nothing and with the assured consciousness of solitude one can only be in sole alliance, everything and everyone else being now totally excluded.
Brwyne 9h
I am a child of nature, a force undeniable
a warm April rain
that will never stop falling
an element of life

I can't stop wanting the wind beneath my feet
to set my soul free, and drift on clouds aimlessly

like a baby bird, abandoned, and never taught how to fly
by instinct needs its freedom to survive

it pounds through my veins
to follow what calls to me and never give up in trying

to be, all that is ME

and want to run, to escape from all that haunts and hurts me
to fly away

but

every time I jump from the cliffs of life and spread my wings
inevitably, the gravity of reality pulls me back down

you see

it's not the final fall that hurts the most
or the crashing into the ground

it's

that never-ending drop of eternal emptiness

that feeling
of constant descent
that lump
that forms in the back of your throat
blocking your breath

it's

the painful tightening and panic
piercing in your chest

it's

that fear of

F
E
E
L
I
N
G

of loving deeply and losing even deeper
of living without meaning
and longing for something more
of knowing life is short, but death is forever
and feeling as if you're caught somewhere in-between here and there

so, I stand still
too scared to move
not knowing any more what to do
because I've never been very good at living
without the promise of a heartbeat

and

it seems I've forgotten how to breathe on my own

but

I can't escape these memories that haunt me
and running away only brings me back to where I started
standing here, alone

::sighs::

it's all too familiar, these days that are passing me by
always coming then going
like the people, and the lost moments of my life

::sighs::

leaving me, without having the courage
to face the mirror of reality of why they left
and me standing there, alone
looking in a mirror with no reflection
if only I could learn to fly away.
Brwyne 10h
::Disconnect::

Dejected and detested
Relentlessly contesting my mental stability intentionally
Dissection of thoughts that shatter realms of reality
Systematically fashion some resemblance of sanity

::Just to breathe::

Lost within this labyrinth of jaded comprehension
No form, nor figure for the shadow cast by self destruction
Down into this hell within myself I shall retreat
And there remain in silence with my violent needs

::For weeks::

Tracing the space in this maze with ****** fingers
Screaming in desolate isolation
Embracing the faceless spectre that lingers
A presence that echoes immoral creation

::Demands release::

Paradigm of shadows form a void
Devoid of light and hollow
Pulling with magnetic force
Forcing me to follow

::A sweeping silence devours hours as I fade away::

::A sleeping violence awakens as I flower into feral shade::

Consent to demon schemes
Accosted with caustic notions
Exhausted by the endless screams
As darkness breeds devotion

To this ...

::Disconnection::

That is ...

::Endless::
Pressing pause, perhaps mid-dogma,
stopping the clock from moving
forward before you’re readying
to commit, allowing your listening
to catch up with your hearing, giving
a moment’s pause, allowing
a deeper breath ahead of taking
the next step, perhaps contemplating
where to place your foot - changing
direction, stepping
back or testing
the next step of faith

- all this is possible in this pause called poetry.
surprised by that first line - which came at the end.
I always dream of a glamorous city,
where the lights glitter brighter
than the silver on my ears,
where beauty is a song on every tongue
and silence lingers like air.

For now, I chase my goals,
like a bird darting after a worm—
restless, ambitious, unafraid.
Because that city waits for me,
the place I will one day call home.
I’ve carried this dream since I was a kid. One day, I want to be in this place so I can finally say, “It was tough, but I made it.”
irinia 18h
the redness of my mouth tells
the truth without me
take a leap into breath
disentangle the days
suffering can wait
can wash away,
can carry her weight
somewhere else,
can push boundaries
like you pull a chewing gum

take a leap into the future
what is future
I don't understand it
shouts my current blood
this mind is expanding
well, yes not at the speed
of the universe colliding
but but but
thought has antigravitational
engines, you just feed it
feed yourself
with knowledge

take a leap into your voice
don't tremble
let it out
let the sun come out of
your mouth
be brave
like the spin of particles
they don't know the right way before
before the collapse
into something bigger, wiser

take a leap into this or that
into the unknown
it's gonna be fine
you can shook yourself of tears, of dust
you can be a smile
written today in a madenning crowd at a poetry workshop with
IN-Q at Unfinished festival, Bucharest
The theme of this edition was Leap
Usha 18h
This is the season
when you promised
we would meet.
But now,
it is slipping away—
and I sit by my balcony,
calling your name,
again and again,
with a trembling heart.

They say when someone
misses another too deeply,
when they cannot call,
cannot send a message,
the soul itself whispers
to the one it longs for.
Tell me—
do you feel my ache?
Do you think of me too?

The rain falls harder tonight.
Every drop carries
the echo of our broken vow.
You had said,
we will walk together in the rain.
Now these winds touch me,
the way your memory does,
soft, piercing,
and unforgotten.

I am drowning
in those moments,
with no wisdom to speak,
no lessons to preach—
only you.
You in my breath,
you in my silence,
you in every word I write.

Between all your duties,
will you ever find a moment
to see me?
Listen—
this season will pass,
and when it returns,
perhaps I, or you,
will no longer be here.
Life is nothing
but a handful of fleeting moments.
And my heart—
it remembers you,
it weeps for you,
it beats only for you.

I have never seen you,
never met you.
Only your voice,
your thoughts,
that others spoke of—
but even those
were enough for me
to fall into a love so deep
that I can no longer rise.

Our little messages,
those rare calls,
your voice still lingers
in my ears like music.
And that one picture
you once posted—
I captured it secretly,
and those eyes of yours
still refuse
to let me sleep.

I want to meet you
just once—
only once.
Your beloved,
lost in your love,
is calling out to you.
Tell me…
will you come,
just once,
for me?
Summary /

This poem is a heartfelt cry of love and longing.
It captures the pain of waiting for someone who once promised to meet, but never came.
Through rain, memories, and silence, the heart continues to call, hoping for just one meeting—
a meeting that may never happen, yet gives life its deepest meaning.
It is about unspoken promises, sleepless nights, and the desperate hope that true love will be answered, even if only once.
someone said
that turning pain
into art
takes guts.

they said it
about one of my poems —

called it inspiring.

then my job is done.
all i ever wanted
was to find someone
my words resonate with.
and in the process,
somehow,
i ended up
inspiring myself.

the pain i worked on,
moulded into poetry,
became my muse.
and when i feel low,
empty,
or bruised,
it calls to me
with its relentless tides,
half-formed stanzas
and mismatched lines,
until its whispers
become a symphony
i thought
only my heart
could hear.

i don’t need hurt
for my art anymore.
just give me a feeling,
give me a word,
and i’ll ask my poetry
to get back to work.
this one is about a comment and a love letter to poetry.
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