1092 posts
  • madinah_writes 2w

    Your beauty is irresistible poem.
    Your glorious flow is joy, overwhelm.
    Oh, rivers of our land!

    Your clean view I get from every stand.
    Florishing mankind with foods and fruits.
    Only those that withness this would tell the truths.
    Oh, rivers of our land!

    On your palms, you've nurtured our crops and culture,
    Only few could understand the wishes you've kept for the future.
    How much you've contributed to nature and history.
    I would tell my people this story.

  • darared 2w

    Black Leaf

    - Do you have to wear that?
    Why can't you be like the other leaves,
    so green, so spry, like it's always July.
    - This is how I feel!
    Green and spry gives me dry heaves.
    They might be able, but I can't lie.
    I'm being true to my jet black heart.
    Touch me and I might fall apart.
    - But these are the good times.
    You don't want to look back with regret.
    You won't be young forever.
    - I'll never be young again.
    How can I be young when
    there were skies that were black with ash.
    Birds don't sing and trees don't grow.
    Did you know? Did you know?
    You might be able, but I won't forget!
    I won't forget. I won't forget.

  • czarcasm 3w

    My friend asked me to write this for him because he loved history but I also wrote it for all the men and women across the world who serve their own nations... I salute you and thank your for your service

    #warrior #war #pain #death #hope #remorse #brave #history #poem #poetry

    Read More


    For all the broken places
    To all the saddened faces
    From all the meadows and glades
    To all of whom remains
    I thank you

    Wisdom learned throughout the ages
    Learnt in many little stages
    Freedom chained in cages
    Documented in pages

    Warriors fallen on the ground
    Won't come home to mama safe and sound
    Two dog tags is all they found
    Of Timmy Walker, 'The Blood Hound'

    Bullets whizzing past everyone's heads
    Explosions making them loose their stead
    Danger he wrote, and crying she read
    The widow of the warrior, dead

    Flags now marking white stone graves
    Showing sacrifices those men made
    But nothing can help the horror the remaining had seen
    Or of the brave soldiers who look on keen

  • czarcasm 3w

    If you didn't know, a Gar is a type of fish :)
    And yes part 3 lol
    #poem #poetry #star #thoughts #history

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    Thoughts of a Reckless Mind pt 3

    Infinite desires
    Is what built empires
    The burning of fires
    The building of pyres

    Contemplating to defy
    Dropping through gravity so high
    The time is nigh
    To say goodbye

    A flame as it will suffocate
    The missing of light something to hate
    Watching, the smoke will dissipate
    Sit down under the stars and wait

    Times of silent held dear
    Never knowing if death is near
    The road less taken want most men fear
    A lonely figure at the end of a pier
    Natural silence what they want to hear

    The trickling of water underneath
    Would feel way cooler upon my feet
    Such a clean smell that can't be beat
    If only a chance you were to meet

    Surrounded by cities of concrete and steel
    A moment of peace is what they want to feel
    Draining at the soul and wanting to kill
    The longing an emotion Misery's only meal

    Time evolved yet man still looks to the many star
    That can be seen from places from down and afar
    Yet no other sight can even be on parr
    That driving to the waterside and ditching your car
    Look closely or you'll miss the passing shadow of the swimming Gar

  • kkk786 3w

    हम खुद में आधा हो जाऐम, तु हमार आधा
    बन जईह।
    हम तोहार कान्हा बन जाऐम, तु हमार राधा
    बन जईह॥

  • aishwaryapanda 5w

    Modern Times

    "Must be difficult", Eliot writes
    in his essay 1921, Modern times!
    Wars have changed the face of the world
    There was another war before the first world war,
    And a war before that,
    It's not hard to figure out how war came into existence.
    There are more twisted facts in your history textbook than the reality, history got NATIONALIZED!
    They don't teach you humanity no more,
    you are a pawn to the past,
    the past you haven't witnessed with your eyes,
    you are not people anymore,
    You are Uncle Sam's Army.

    Freud's "Civilization and it's Discontents", reflects on a clash between the longing for individuality
    and the expectations of
    An Anonymous society,
    One of the finest books you'll find
    in the field of modern psychology.
    Oh! There's you hear the shriek?
    An absurd sound of alienation, a quiet;
    the war has ended outside.
    But a million battles inside, to get out,
    to be one with the self
    and not bow down to the society,
    the world has become ruthless.

    You take my word for it,
    history is gon' repeat itself
    in the bushes and corners of your history textbook,
    you'll find shreds of untethered truth
    the quiet of the world will keep humming;
    the nasty bruises that got people through,
    Rough times!
    Surmounted suffering will be grab your eagle's eye,
    there will be no window for you to survive.

    - Aishwarya

  • madinah_writes 6w

    Long ago, a girl named Bintu lived in a small village.
    She was from the land of nowhere, slim and savage.
    Her eyes were white pearls, her hair shiny black.
    He lips were leave-shaped, her skin— melanin didn't lack.

    Tall and slim was Bintu.
    An orphan no one could talk to.
    Some called her names.
    Others spat on her, calling her daughter of ashes and flames.
    She had no friends except rats and mice.
    Unrecognized yet, very nice.

    Soon, she was known for something.
    A talent no one knew it saw in anything.
    An interpreter of dreams,
    An Oracle of the gods of Golds and creams.

    She became known.
    Healing Kings from the lands of the Unknown.
    Binta Bintu—
    Everyone started calling upon her.
    Until one-day, she saved the prince's life.
    And became not just his helper, but his wife.

    The girl with the mouse on her head.
    Now became a princess with crown on her head.

    © Madinah_Writes
    2:59 p.m

    #History #Blackculture #Storypoem #Mirakee #Orphan #miraquill #writersbay #pod #writerscommunity #writersnetwirk #Black #African

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    The Mouse On Her Head

    Long ago, a girl named Bintu lived in a small village.
    She was from the land of nowhere, slim and savage.
    Her eyes were white pearls, her hair shiny black.
    He lips were leave-shaped, her skin— melanin didn't lack.

    Tall and slim was Bintu.
    An orphan no one could talk to.
    Some called her names.
    Others spat on her, calling her daughter of ashes and flames.
    She had no friends except rats and mice.
    Unrecognized yet, very nice.

    Soon, she was known for something.
    A talent no one knew it saw in anything.
    An interpreter of dreams,
    An Oracle of the gods of Golds and creams.

    She became known.
    Healing Kings from the lands of the Unknown.
    Binta Bintu—
    Everyone started calling upon her.
    Until one-day, she saved the prince's life.
    And became not just his helper, but his wife.

    The girl with the mouse on her head.
    Now became a princess with crown on her head.

    2:59 p.m

  • worldpublisher 6w


    With the Egyptian Revival movement in the nineteenth and early twentieth century, pyramids were becoming more common in funerary architecture. This style was especially popular with tycoons in the US. Hunt's Tomb in Phoenix, Arizona and Schoenhofen Pyramid Mausoleum in Chicago are some of the notable examples. Even today some people build pyramid tombs for themselves. Nicolas Cage bought a pyramid tomb for himself in a famed New Orleans graveyard.

  • lollipop71 7w


    Everyday is a mystery, due to my past history
    In search of a remedy for the broken heart
    hath given me

    The nights are cold and dark, as are the days
    To come. Comes the darkness taking over me.
    Will my misery continue to follow me

  • devilfish 8w

    The Devil

    What a better way for man to hide
    behind this marker modified reflection in the glass with two horns drawn on loosely
    But the very ideas they cast out to be so against were the principles that they were systematically building a legacy of lies upon
    An absolute reflection of what they saw in themselves and what they wanted to conceal from on every level possible

    To condemn generations to an eternity of sightless eyes
    Compressed between the paper hands prayers
    Paper hands burning as they stretch out to the sky in terror
    Only to fill the books with their pages
    And the martyred dry up like the ink did in their story

    Man has immobilized lies to assimilate themselves like dust in between pages containing their fitted words for you to admire their innovations
    The anger and rage that boils into my heart and out of my worried eyes
    When now to us they have lied

    But now it seems to be getting to the core of my contemplation
    and ideas become weaponized like tiny tanks as if to kill off this evil they have rid themselves of
    While they commit wrongdoings under the cloak of a false identity
    “The Devil”
    They fully diminish responsibility and protect their dark affairs they cheapen the people of their truth
    We give people a shred of truth like mangled bait
    Only to rip truth from hungry hands and consume it in a dark obscurity of history books and genocides
    The biggest robbery of all time occurred over generations
    When did we split off from our nature only to be protecting the worst parts of it while leaving the beautiful parts wither off in the sun dried petals turned to blackened ash
    and deem those with a conscience
    The eternally forgiving equally met with the eternally brutal an ocean of desperation
    An ocean of us


  • thedoctorlaureate 8w

    Doesn't make it any different!

    Killing a female fetus is not considerably different than killing a female infant. The only difference is the gap of 15 centuries and the shift from the middle east to the far ends of the world.

  • thefuffly 9w

    The Underground Soldiers

    Chapter IV

    I climb through the window of the barn. I better get to my bed before Mister MacMillan comes to my room. I seriously don’t want to answer fucking questions about my whereabouts. I sneak into my bed and pretend to be a sleep. Today is going to be a really long fucking day for me since I got no sleep whatsoever. *hearable footsteps from a distance * “Get yer ass up ye lazy fucken cow! It’s almost time to to go to fucken work!” I just smile. That’s Mister MacMillan for you. “Yes sir, I’ll be in the kitchen in a few.” Before I could get up entirely Mister MacMillan comes into my room with a concerned look on his face. “Ain’t no time fer breakfast boy. The Mad King’s soldiers are comin down for their regular pick-up and check-up on the town. We have a lot of work to get done before that so get yer fucken arse movin!” He limps out of my room with half a grunt. So the Mad King’s soldiers are coming hey? Won’t that be a pleasant fucking visit? I quickly wash my face, comb through my hair with my fingers and dress in something more appropriate for work.While changing I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I look like a fucking train wreck. As I enter the kitchen I see Mrs. MacMillan with the baby in her arms, making food. “Oh mornin sweetie. Did ye sleep alright?” She’s always so positive and cheerful even though the baby keeps her up all night. “I slept okay thank you, and you Mrs. MacMillan? Did the little one keep you up all night?” Poor Mrs. MacMillan. I know how difficult it is to raise a practical new born baby. They keep you up all night with their screaming, pooping and crying but in the end all the sleepless nights are worth it. At first they seem like a burden, but then they turn into the beginning and the end of all your happiness. That reminds me of Cecilia. She truly was a blessing. An arrow just stroke my heart reminding me of the guilty pleasures I experienced with Cairstine last night. “I should be fine sweetie. Grab a toast and a fruit fer work. Akir already left for work.”

    As I enter the workshop I see men everywhere, running around like mad chickens that has just been freed from their nest. I walk to the back of the shop to my working station. I see Cairstine. She looks at me, smiles and wink. “Good mornin Mr. Winfield. Hope ye slept well. We have a busy schedule today so try and not stare too much.” She giggles and continue to work on a sword’s grip. I smile stupidly. It feels quite peculiar to go on like nothing happened between us last night. I wonder if it hurt her that I just left. I have too much on my fucking mind right now. I can’t think of the sex I had last night, I need to focus on the Mad Kings arrival. I wish I could push a sword down his fucking throat and see him drown in his own blood. I don’t know why that thought gives me so much pleasure, but I want to hurt him, like he hurt me. A few hours later the atmosphere changed almost as if the air filled with fear. The town’s people ran into their houses, the children stopped playing and laughing. I knew this feeling and sounds all too well. The galloping of horses, the kings men have arrived. Each house gets personally called out by their house name so that the Mad King can collect his taxes quicker. Within a few minutes they arrived at Mr. Fraser’s workshop. We all had to exit and stand in a line so we can pay up. Every name gets called out. “Scott Winfield-” *a slight pause* I look up. “You survived the fire in that dreadful little town of yours? I’m impressed” The Mad King says with a smirk. “I am even more surprised that you know I am even here, Sire.”

    “You’re dismissed, except you Winfield” The Mad King gets off his horse and asks his soldiers to leave by the flick of his fat little hand. He pulls me down to his level by grabbing my overalls. I feel his warm breath on my face. “Winfield you’ve been taunting me since the day you moved to Ariminum. You know me, I don’t like it when peasants like you intimidate a royal like me. So if you ever want to see your pathetic little family again you will do as I say when I say it.” My entire goes into shock. “My family…they’re- *pause* alive?” I feel my knees getting weak and I feel like I’m going to pass out. “What Winfield? Oh you though they were dead.”He chuckles “Oh no, no you see I could’ve killed them easily but I knew if I took the thing you care about the most you’ll do as I say and that makes and that makes this so much fun.” He lets go of his grip on my overalls and turns around. “Oh and Winfield.” He climbs back on his horse and looks at me once again. “I see why you put a ring on that wife of yours, she’s quite good in bed, I mean despite the fight she puts up.” He calls back his soldiers and rides away back to his castle. That fat little bastard raped Aelia?! Despite being on my knees. I feel how the rage and hatred runs through my body like adrenaline in a bloodthirst fight. I fall down onto my knees and Mister MacMillan comes out. “Ye alright lad? Yer face is as pale as bakin flower.” I don’t even hear what he’s saying it’s like I went deaf. *My head tilts backward.* “I am more than alright Mister MacMillan. When can we start with the advanced training?” *he raises his right bushy eyebrow* “We can start tomorrow mornin. I’ll tell Finlay ye won’t be comin into work tomorrow.”

  • devilfish 9w

    Concrete Desert

    Instead of a tumble weed
    You see isolated people
    They used to be a part of humanity
    Now the rest of the world’s silence
    Becomes their cruelty and their endless life of crippling pain
    As if human life could be shoved into projects and use poverty as a weapon
    To let our blood run as we slip quietly into the drain
    Look at what we have to our names
    No help
    No hope
    A carriage on the sidewalk as the mother is attempting to exchange with strange men to feed herself
    To fill the family’s plate
    Because people have been subjected to a systematic process driven by rage
    Another Wall Street didn’t match up to the drawing now they can’t paint a pretty face
    Disgusting how history reared it’s ugly face to give them back their just place and stop the rage
    Subversion while you pick off their plate so hopefully the next generation will wane
    Hoping their hunger can weaken them
    Now we fall just like rain
    Evaporating before we hit the window pane
    I’m struggling to find the world’s heart
    But I believe it’s not going to beat again
    As I watch the war zone of an urban unspoken tragedy
    A curbside with bodies peeking out from tents with bodies terribly atrophied they were so scared and so tired I run these nightmares constantly those poor eyes I can see
    I know the eyes are the door to the only hope we know
    I have shelter
    I see your pain
    I’m so sorry
    I feel your pain
    Don’t you worry
    I cannot bear to see the sight
    But I must not stick my nose up in Privilege
    I only have my effort
    My hands
    My love
    I would part the ocean with my will if I can I’d make the whole world still just to hold you in my hand
    And give you a heart that’s filled
    And eyes that are hungry to see
    Hands that are quick to help
    A mouth that is always compelled to speak truth
    Feet that would take me to wherever I wanted to
    And a mind that has torrents of thoughts on currents that swell
    A tsunami of emotion
    The deepest well
    No words can raise my heart to the skies
    Too rattled by the dystopian Hell
    Too compelled to sing to the hurting
    By heartfelt broken strings of tied of lullabies and my empathic heart has been so horrified
    I feel your pain I feel your pain I feel your pain


  • aleenabenny 10w

    ചരിത്രത്തെ വളച്ചൊടിക്കുവാൻ താല്പര്യപെടുന്നവരുടെ ശ്രെദ്ധക്ക്
    ചരിത്രത്തിന്റെ പാപഭാരം വെള്ളപൂശാൻ നോക്കിയാൽ അതിനെ അന്ധമായി വിശ്വസിക്കുന്ന ഒരു തലമുറ ഇവിടെ ഉണ്ട് നിങ്ങൾക്ക് അവരെ നിങ്ങളുടെ ആവശ്യനുസരണം പറ്റിക്കാം.

    ഗാന്ധിജിയെ കൊന്നത് നെഹ്‌റു ആണെന്ന് ആരോ പറയുന്നത് കേട്ട് സന്തോഷിക്കുന്നവരാണ് നമ്മക്ക് ചുറ്റും.


  • thefuffly 10w

    The Underground Soldiers

    Chapter III

    It revealed a face that I wasn’t expecting to see in a place like this. A woman holding a bright red ruby. I come from a wealthy family but I have never seen a ruby. I have only heard about them from father and uncle Thomas. That was about 12 years ago when I was still a young boy. “Aye, I’m sure yer well acquainted with the bonnie Miss Cairstine.” The lass from the Inn I believed that saved yer life. She speaks mainly Gaelic but she can speak English as well” I look her up and down. She has fair skin and dark green eyes. “My daughter. Come here lass” She stands up and puts the ruby down on the table. The light catches it just perfectly making the ruby shine even more, casting a red light onto the walls. “Nice to meet ye Mr. Winfield.” She wipes down her face with a red cloth and sticks out a small feminine hand to greet me. “The pleasure is all mine, thank you for healing my leg.” I said still wondering what a woman is doing in a place like this. “It’s only a pleasure Mr Winfield, I don’t think ye ken yer way around arrows, so it’s best ye stay away. At least ye ken where ye find me.” she let’s out a giggle and puts her hand in her overalls pocket. “Well lad I think it’s time we get ye some overalls so ye can get started.” A few minutes later I squeezed my body, into what Finlay said, was the biggest overall they had. Whoever made these overalls didn’t think of muscular men while designing it. Mr Finlay gave me my task for the day, I went to my workstation and sat down on the small black chair. It feels like the overalls are going to burst, I can barely fucking move. I can see Cairstine in the corner of my eye still examining the ruby in her hands. “You ken it’s rude to stare Mr. Winfield.” She said with a slight smile. I turn my chair so that I’m facing her. “I’m not staring I’m just…looking. There’s a difference.” I said trying to cover up the fact that I was indeed staring. “Looking at what? Mr Winfield.” she lifts up her helmet to look me in the eyes. “I ken bloody well ye ain’t starin at me, and if ye are, just ask me on a date and get it over with” she turns around and lowers her helmet. I’ve never met a woman quite like her, so forward. I sit for a few minutes staring in awe at her. “Mr. Winfield, since ye have no words in that big brain of yers, I’ll do it for ye. I’ll meet ye back here at 1900. Don’t be late now.” She stands up and walks toward me and hands me the ruby. As she walks away I can still smell her perfume hanging in the air, and like a complete fucking imbecile I still haven’t said anything. So she wants to meet tonight? There is nothing wrong on meeting the person that helped healing my wound, right? If Aelia sees this she’d be furious. I should keep focus on what I have to do. At 1855 I was already at the workshop. I had to ask Mister MacMillan if I could borrow some of his more formal clothing, since all mine were burnt to ashes. While I waited I starred into the dark road. I saw a figure approaching, could it be Cairstine . As soon as the moonlight hit the figure, I recognised the dark green eyes I saw earlier. It was indeed Cairstine. She’s wearing a red corset dress. Her hair is loose, I didn’t even notice that she had light blond hair. It has a white-ish kind of shimmer as the light falls upon it. Her hair is slightly curled and even though she’s still across the street I can already smell her perfume. Eventually she’s close enough for me to see her clearly. The dress compliments her body in all the right ways. The overalls didn’t reveal that she was bosomy, but this dress reveals it all. “I see yer starin again Mr. Winfield” She said as she came to a halt right in front of me. Her perfume is even stronger now. “Well, if you don’t want me to stare you shouldn’t have worn something so um- revealing.” I feel my hands starting to sweat and my heart starting to race a bit. “Maybe that was plan Mr. Winfield” She winks and gives me a smile and I feel this weird sensation running through my body. “So where do you wish to go ?” My heartbeat is still running a fucking race. “Lets go to the pub fer a few drinks.” A lady that drinks pine? Aelia never drank pine. So this is a first for me. Lord I hope my alcohol tolerance is okay. *Cairstine holds out her hand towards me* “Come on Mr. Winfield. Lets go.” My hand touches hers. Soft, delicate skin she has. We walk to the pub. “Crowded tonight.” she says. Whispering in my ear. I see a big-ish, fat man. Brown skin with a full, red beard. “Aye welcome Cairstine and young lad! What can I get fer both of ye?” His voice is rough and scrubby. “Ye can get both us some pine.” Her voice is as soft and sweet as pure honey from a honeycomb. *pours the pine and hands it to us* “Cheers!” She says. Smiling. “Cheers!” I say back and the pine glasses clink with each other. It’s as if she never went on a date with a man in her life before. The night couldn’t have gone any better. I must say for a lady she’s quite glutton. She smells of pine and somehow it made her accent even stronger. As the gentleman I am I walked her back to the Inn. “Tapadh leat” she says as we arrive at the front door of the Inn. “Excuse me?” I asked very befuddled. “My apologies Mr Winfield, it’s Gaelic for Thank ye.” She bends down and fumbles underneath the front door carpet for the key. She comes back up with the key and tries to stick it into the key hole but fails miserably. I took the key from her hand and unlocked the door. To make sure that she got to her room safely I followed her up the stairs to her bedroom. As we entered her bedroom the smell of her perfume embraced me. She walked over to her bed removed, her shoes and flopped down on the bed. “Well goodnight Miss Fraser.” I turn around and exit the room, but just as I’m about to close the door I hear her soft voice saying, “Don’t go.” At first I wasn’t sure if I should stay or go but then I heard her voice once again this time more clear and even more Scottish. “Mr. Winfield, ye ken it’s rude to ignore a lass when she speaks to ye.” I entered the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. She sat up next to me and rested her head on my shoulder. Her hand slowly intertwined with mine. I feel our bodies fighting the urge, but its so hard to control. Our faces slowly but surely turn to each other and in the blink of an eye I feel her soft lips on mine. She puts her hand behind my head, pulling me deeper into the kiss. I feel her lips separating a bit. I slip my tongue in her mouth. Her breathing is getting louder. Within a few seconds I find myself laying on top of her kissing her passionately. I feel her hands all over my body. I don’t even know what I’m doing, maybe I missed feeling like this, missed the feeling of a woman’s lips on mine? Either way I’m not going to stop, it feels so good yet so wrong. She slowly pushes one of my hands down to where the front of her corset is tied. Not breaking the kiss, I start undoing her corset. Underneath the corset and her blouse were perfectly shaped breasts. They’re soft and warm. She got goose bumps from my hands on her, almost as if she’s never felt a man touch her body. I feel her nipples getting harder as our kisses get more passionate while I squeeze her breast. She pulls away and I automatically sit up, she does the same. The moonlight makes her body look even more gorgeous. She stands up and removes her clothing revealing her entire body to me. She has large legs that compliments her perfectly round bottom. Her hair falls right beneath them. She turns around and faces me once again. “Now Mr. Winfield I give ye permission to stare.” She just stood in front of me. I’ve never seen a lady like her before. Aelia wasn’t built like her at all and after she had our daughter she never really wanted me to see her body. I stood up and walked towards her. I took her in my arms and kissed her gently. I felt her hands going down to my waist. She pulled down my trousers revealing the bottom half of my body. For a few seconds she just looked at me. I took off my shirt and said, “Miss Fraser, I too give you permission to stare.” She smiled and said, “Well Mr. Winfield if I kenned what was hiding under yer trousers I would’ve brought ye to bed earlier.” She giggles and pushes me down onto the bed. She sat on top of me. I could feel her. Everything of her. She was small, smaller than Aelia. Her body almost couldn’t handle mine but I made sure that she didn’t get hurt. I could tell that she’s never been in bed with a man before. I held her body close to mine while thrusting slowly in her small body. I turned around so that she’s laying with her back on the bed. She wrapped her legs around me, I could feel her nails in my back. Her sweet voice begging for more. I saw the pleasure I gave her and she gave me the same amount, but afterwards I felt guilty as if I cheated on my wife with Miss Fraser. I looked over my shoulder. She was asleep. She was still naked but she was slightly covered by the duvet. I could still clearly see her round behind. I covered her up and just as the sun started to rise and the soft rays fell onto her fair skin I left the Inn and headed home before Mister MacMillan knew I didn’t come home the night

  • dasu24 11w

    The house

    In ecstacy and worry, the house had been her companion.
    It's memories galore in its ancient galleries,
    With portraits hung high on the walls.
    Majestic it felt, majestic it was.

    Generations became history along with the house.
    After many long years did she stumble upon it again.
    The past swooped upon her
    And dropped a memory album in her mind.

    Her breath slowed.
    Stark was the pain.
    The numbness swallowed the grief like a poison.
    But not a whisper left.

    Battles fought were quite a few.
    Unknown to many, the heart wept
    Yet the face showed none.
    But when the feet retraced their old paths,
    The eyes bled silent tears.

  • writeweird 11w

    of the old yesterdays

    where the day end's

    look at home,

    the night is dark
    and yet forgetful

    warm room with
    bodies sound asleep

    cosy air breathes
    through the windows

    as the leaves fall
    somewhere in the future

    and a rainy day
    is on the offering

    carelessly stoking
    arms of the clock

    it's a shelter still
    this warm room

    filled with things
    that will be --

    old and dying,

    as the leaves fall
    somewhere in the future

    for enough springs have
    come to pass

    now that i sit here
    looking at old photographs,

    visiting home.


  • sighborg 11w

    Icarus's Final Glance

    "Fly away, fly higher than the clouds,
    But don't fly too high,
    For I only gave you the feathers,
    The wings were always mine."
    Icarus heard his father's screams which were now a distant noise.

    He glanced at the endless blues above him,
    Wondering if the clouds could ever suffice for his sufferings,
    Wondering if the stars would be as endless as the tears he shed.
    He wondered what freedom tasted like,
    And how endless were the skies,
    If he'd ever get the promised paradise.

    He took a second glance at the Sun he loved so dearly,
    He straightened his little wings,
    Reached for the heavens above.
    But soon, there were eagles staring at him,
    With eyes red as blood,
    And beaks sharp as knife, ready to cut him into pieces,
    Powerless and with dread in his eyes,
    He soon realized, all those promises,
    Were just lies.

    He took a third glace at the Apollo he had so much faith in,
    After all the torture and tempest,
    And all those empty promises of beauty and bliss,
    Apollo sat back,
    And kept laughing at the sight,
    Kept laughing at his lover's fright.
    His feathers started melting,
    Tossing and turning,
    Each breath suffocating,
    Icarus wanted nothing more than to kill his yearning.

    In a brief spur,
    He was drowning in the waters,
    Wings cut off and ribs broken,
    He took a final glance at the Ether he loved so much,
    He would never see dusk and dawn entwined,
    And like all lovers,
    Would soon become an old myth in new rhyme.

    His molten wings did not kill him,
    They set him free,
    From that absurdity of an unknown melancholy,
    From his endless misery.
    This was the savage nature of the reality,
    He outlasted his fathers morality.
    He knew they'd always applaud his father's claim to fame,
    Mask Daedalus's selfish act with sacrifice,
    Icarus knew he'd always be the one to blame,
    History would always call him "a shame".

    Now that his disappointed father was nowhere to be seen,
    And Apollo had left the scene,
    Icarus knew he'd never be able to see his favorite stars at night,
    And the myths would always say,
    "He was too coward to fight."
    Spitting blood and gasping for breath,
    Dying was the most alive he had ever felt,
    Smiling through his broken jaw,
    He knew he'd always be his father's biggest flaw.

    The Sun has set,
    And the colors in the young boy's eyes had faded,
    His body was left to decay,
    Shooting stars led the way,
    They said, he had, "no origin, no purpose,"
    Nothing changed, it was again the same silence,
    Of an indifferent universe.


  • anuradhasharma 12w

    कुछ तो , हादसे हो जाते है ।

    बहुत से , ज़िंदा लाश हो जाते हैं ।

    और कुछ , जो बच जातें हैं ।

    उन्हें , समय निगल जाता हैं ।
    कई , हालात से झुझते हैं ।

    और हादसे को , मकाम कर लेते हैं ।


  • akash_h 12w


    History is not an only history
    It's wise advise to become better in future