INVERTED
0A tribal instinct stops the nemesis:
Spraying the blood-soaked, small
foot prints on my chest;
unlocking, I accept
myself.
Why contained anger
of awesome ache over the periphery?
Through the atrophied, black limbs –
an elite infusion of trespassing knowledge?
The green adolescence was waiting in chains.
The hoarseness as from a cyanosed throat
after the sips of hemlock, the brave ascending
of a gaint stroke on the cheeks of death;
the dust will sing a farewell
to a river of tears!
End was not me on the chainsaw
a chamomile will wipe the blemishes of the Grail.
Submitted by satish verma.
When The Love Is Real..
+3First of all It’s doesn’t matter how far the distance is but how close the heart is…
It’s not about the matter what you can or can’t gave or even what she/he can or can’t gave to each other but is the fact that you & your love ones is sharing together…
It’s not the matter how dark your past is and her/his past too but is the fact that you & her/him has a bright future together…
It’s not the matter how worst yourself or even her/his is but is the matter about how will you change or accept it for each other…
It’s not the matter about the struggles & miseries of your relationship but is the matter about how will you two gonna face them all to resolve it…
It’s the matter of joy not the pain,is the matter to share not to gain,is the matter of believe and faith not the lies and unfaithfulness
And most of all is matter to love only not to laugh…
Darkpalm21
Submitted by Mark Clement Joseph S. Ferreras.
My Wish
+2I wish to be a teacher
who is a knowledge full creature
i like to teach
and give a lot of speech
i love to write through day and night
teachers are the best then the rest
i wish to be a teacher.
Submitted by ajwa.
Magic of Winter Night
0In the dimness where the stars dully glow
Are the two warm hearts sharing the pillow
They blow the stars out in turn with ease
One by one, every time with tease
Away fades the shimmer by the wind of enchantment
Down goes another one while they wish for true contentment
Counting down the stars, a few more left
Slowing down the pace, and beware theft
No more left, but only the four eternal stars
That neither die, collide nor leave scars
In the complete darkness, then, shines a silver moon
That he takes from the red sock with his wand in hand
To hollow out the centre for a ring: She is over the moon
With pearl drops in her bosom, lip to lip, and hand in hand…
Submitted by Max.
When It Gets Dark
0When it gets dark the birds & flowers
Shut their eyes & says goodnight
And the father who loves them is counting the hours of darkness…
And keeps them safe until the light comes again & blur away the hour of darkness…
Dear Father,
Count the hours tonight…
When I can’t see any light…
Because I know you will never put me out in this dark peaceful night…
Because I know you want me to see the beauty behind of this endless night…
And learn a lot to earn…
While dreaming and searching?
I will become stronger and better…
So Father,
Count the hours tonight because from now
I will search for the light…
To see the sight of the light…
To hope and pursue to past all of the struggles…
And to continue living until I get to that light…
And be sure that light will never be a night…
Amen…
Submitted by Mark Clement Joseph S. Ferreras.
The Silent Colours
0A mad resurgence of fake locks
paralyzes the arched doors of the hidden
walls, where the roses squirm under
the false kisses of a red moon;
they came again to police the blinds.
The mother digs up the charred body of
her son without singing the praise of
drifting star, till the scars become green.
It was the name of ivory grief, you never
know, when the blue milk turns malignant.
A hairy loss of heritage from the golden
heights of slumber. My constant truth
weeps without shame. This landscape
does not belong to ashes of broken history
of man. The delirium of war on laments
has wiped away the holding lights on shores.
Submitted by satish verma.
Little Truths
0Deluge of criminality in the moral night;
sun was taking a plunge on the falls,
in the name of cobbled up front, for our
rise and fall in the primary casuality.
Sacred contusion, on the floor of mausoleum,
when you smell like a forgotton god, and
lie in the generosity of asylum under the downy mildew.
You cannot cry in the armless death.
History begins with starvation and murders
of innocents between the blasts. Spiders were fattening
on walls eating untangled, discarded syllables.
Punishment of defeat makes you a sex slave.
The ash smeared body must lie on doormat.
Submitted by satish verma.