13 posts
  • mmbftd 12w


    I'm weary
    And I am free
    No posterity to worry about.
    I have a choice.
    Most do not.
    Fate led me to this freedom
    Never having children.
    I see headlines, scripted
    Injecting fear as they inject
    Unknown concoctions
    Into your babies.
    I am hurting for you.
    Your choice and theirs has been
    Your body is no longer your own.
    Logic no longer stands.
    You say you got protected, yet you need protection from others who are not yet protected.
    Does this make sense?
    I am only an observer.
    I'm in a unique position. I have been in a subconsciously self-imposed quarantine for years now. I do not leave my home. Ever. Agoraphobia is the contagion's neighbor.
    And so, I spectate and speculate.
    And I'm not that woman that blindly trusts, not for many years now.
    I can understand both sides. I believe in autonomy. I believe you should choose for yourself. As adults. But now your children? Where do you draw the line? They are your most important beautiful creations. Your absolute responsibility to care and protect.
    You must begin to follow reason. Admit that something is not right here anymore. It's been this way a long while now. White sun instead of yellow, air no longer clear, sky no longer blue. Mandela no longer dead nor alive.
    Simulation of what we once were.
    You think me irrational, crazy even. Perhaps you are right if I get measured by today's standards. But I am not from this place. I was of the before. Where now their are only simulated shadows puppeteering existence. But much like children getting all the answers from the A.I. yet lacking the life knowledge to process that answer...this current time seems like that. Built on old ways and fading memories of old times, but lacking depth, meaning or weight. This place is paper ready to burn.
    So why am I so concerned about everyone else? Your children? Free will? Autonomy? Choice?
    I suppose I'm old enough to remember that it's what we all fought so hard to maintain. And without those things...are we all not slaves?
    Just free thinking here, while it's still allowed.
    Tick tock.
    I've got one choice.
    I can stay or go.
    But you need to stay, for your babies...so find your values and get ready to stand up for them.
    My best wishes are with you all.
    And this, this is my way of standing up. Thinking and writing and sharing. It's what I can do.
    It's all I can do. It's the least I can do, for all of us.
    I'm not here for likes or hearts or any other electronic phantom of perceived adoration. I'm here to leave a record of what once was. From one tiny spec, one pixel of time itself.

  • yours_fortune 21w

    Well I can feel the pain����
    Tag your friends who are rushing towards 30
    #funnyquote #quotedaily #lifehacks #gettingold #oldisgold #movingtowards30 #18yrold #youngboy #youngwoman #oldman #oldwoman

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    Hey, you know what, I just want to apologise to all those people whom I called old in their 30 when I was in my 18.

  • mmbftd 61w


    There was frost on the ground
    I need not brave the elements
    To know
    For your tiny paws
    Handsome dog's
    Little black and pink toes
    Wore the temperature to tell.
    Wrapping you up close
    To me
    Bundles of fuzzy warm cloth
    Enveloping us together
    As I held your cold paws
    In my warming palms
    To take away your chill
    Winter was hard for us both
    We hated cold
    It made us lazy and pained
    Old bones growing old together
    And as our breaths became unison
    We drifted in and out of dreams
    Together and apart
    I felt your dream paws running
    After something fun to chase
    And why not let you dream
    Of springtime's squirrel chase?
    Were there tiny purple blossoms
    An explosion of new growth
    Beneath your paws?
    I nestled my nose
    In your long soft neck fur
    A mane of silky white
    With large black swaths
    Your eyes now
    Half opening
    In their new blue color
    Cataracts like ghosts
    Concealed your once dark
    Brown, round eyes
    Little black eyelashes a flutter.
    I pulled you closer
    Trying to stop time
    And appreciating all these silent moments shared.
    My companion, my confidant
    My protector so fierce.
    Your Papillon-Chihuahua smarts
    And sweet loving glances
    Comforted me and brought me outside myself, when sometimes
    I needed that.
    ColdPaw, I shall warm your paws for you until the end of our days.
    Loving you is the greatest gift.
    As you announce all seasons by walking on my lap.
    Now we are warm again, let's slumber a little longer, and let no one disturb these precious moments. Let me just love you.

    For Loui Pup Pup, my faithful companion in this world.

  • ranaheals 91w

    #Philosophy #Morality #Peace #Sight #Oldwoman #Ring #Happiness #theblackstag

    An enthralling tale of a woman so old
    She lived in a hut, with her age taking hold
    Helpless she was, with a stick in her hand
    Seeking she was, a ring around her land

    Seen by three men, from a village nearby
    Curious they were, seeing the woman cry
    Asked they, to the woman, if she needs aid
    For they were noble, with nothing to be paid

    Grateful was the woman with a smile on her face
    Asked she, to find, her ring around the place
    Searching all along, the ring wasn't found
    Confused were the men, they sat on the ground

    A smile on their face, the men asked the woman
    To tell them the spot, the ring betrayed the woman
    Said she, in grief, the spot is in indoors
    For lost she, the ring, dark place behind the doors

    Amazed were they, when they heard the woman say
    Efforts went in vain, the ring their eyes lay
    Asked they, the woman, if she had lost her mind
    Angry with her, for the ring they sought to find

    Indoors were dark, no light to find the ring
    Lost she, the sight, to seek her precious ring
    Outdoors were bright, with light her eyes could see
    Hoping to find her ring, she asked to hear her plea

    Peace is the ring, the ring we yearn to find
    Old woman are we, to seek with a blind mind
    We search for peace, in the outer realm of light
    When peace is all along, in the inner realm of sight

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    A Sad Old Lady

    Searching for happiness with an inner realm of sight

  • cae_suralovespoetry 107w

    Pithy old woman,
    Edifice of,
    Lines and cracks,
    Jewelled up in,
    Webs and marks,
    Her knowing smiles:
    They evidence loss
    Loss of anticipation,
    Of consternation,
    Evidence gain,
    Gain of finality,
    Of Strong realisation,
    Blooming forth from,
    A century vain.

    Pithy old woman,
    Shrivelling as,
    The years flow,
    Age and memories,
    Births and funeraries,
    Stooping low,
    Chipping, chipping,
    Blow by blow.

    Pithy old woman,
    Never faltering,
    Those eyes so old,
    As they birth,
    To Existence,
    A shawl of pitch,
    A shawl of coal:
    Reams of her lone,
    Soft and black,
    Unravel, they fall,
    In weary piles,
    Beside her soul,
    Then purl together,
    In a formly gesture,
    Of warmth artificial,
    To shield against,
    The reality cold.

    ©Samya Verma

  • puropoetesa 141w

    Tarred Soul

    Scorching heat of the midnoon sun,
    Pinching reflections of the fiery rays,
    Gushing loo of the roasty month of May,
    Didn't deter those weary hands-feeble and wrinkled,
    To dig the undulated burning land and make it even,
    To layer it with slug of coal and tar,
    By bearing the heat of the metal -the tin and plough,
    With a thirsty throat and burning eyes,
    A hungry stomach and tiry limbs, 
    Unceasingly she toiled till the last bird went back to it's abode,
    With blistered hands and unhealed scars she retired for the day,
    Washed her blackened body and lit  the fire for the evening meal,
    Where she lonely sat under her humble shelter and prayed to the almighty,
    To thank him for the morsel of grain she fed on evryday,
    And the tiny abode which she resided in.

  • brazenwings 143w


    I first saw her
    When I was walking with my thoughts running haywire

    She looked fragile, masked by a delicate sorrow
    Her hallow eyes, with no sign of a happy tomorrow
    On a busy morning in a train station
    When everyone around had places to go
    I noticed my foot steps slowing down to a halt

    Cursing myself for not carrying more than a dollar
    I went closer and knelt by her
    A steady stream of tears
    Running through the labyrinth of her wrinkles
    She looked at me for respite
    Handing her the coin which grew smaller in my hand
    We allowed a brief hug to get in between us

    I don't know about her,
    But it sure brought a slight comfort to my aching heart..!

  • mmbftd 145w

    Not just

    I'm more than photographs
    Taken with my green blue eyes
    More than music that I scribe
    More than melodies
    Sung to comfort those
    Who've come undone
    More than gentle kisses on your eyes
    More than lover's bodies entwined
    I'm more than what I've left behind
    And more than silly rhymes
    But blind men
    Stay darkened
    They take for granted
    What they cannot see
    And I'm more than an old woman
    Who counts the years
    More than a childless version
    Of what society believes
    I should be
    And I'm more than phrases
    You never heard before
    More than the sum of all the books I've read
    Turning silky pages
    Cracking spines
    Integrating character's lives
    Into mine
    I'm more than my breaking body
    Now betraying me
    Keeping me caged in the pain of captivity
    For I would walk then run
    Away from here
    If I thought my body would carry me there
    If I thought my splintered mind
    Would let me finally decide
    And I'm more than what I will be
    In some future even I can't see
    With my lens facing
    Maybe the wrong way
    Green blue eyes
    What can I be today?

  • mmbftd 186w

    New Again

    I wanted to be new again
    Clean and optimistic
    I wanted to see my young face
    From that time
    When I was beautiful
    But didn't know it
    Looking back at all these photos
    Vintage remnants
    Committed to actual physical photo paper
    All yellowed and dimmed
    By the ages gone by
    My life
    Surrounded by friends
    Who lifted me up
    Carried me, really
    Through heart aches
    I created but did not understand that I created
    I see us laughing
    I was so brave
    Risking life after life for that one real love
    I loved the chase
    And the getting caught
    It made me feel so on fire
    I craved that part
    Wanted that feeling
    In a shot
    So I could slam it under my paled skin
    Right into a blue vien
    Bulging with desire
    I was so much more then
    So many ideas
    So many completions of them
    Art, music, love, work, friends
    And I cared for them too
    I drank too much, loved too hard(if that is really a thing)and wrote late into the nights
    Staying up until too late became early morning- creating worlds and feeling groggy at work
    I was independent and self sufficient(all the things I am no longer)
    And damn this old face that looks back at me in this harsh reflection
    I don't want to accept her
    I do not consent to this part of the journey
    I want to go back
    Let me go back
    There is nothing up ahead
    Aging gracefully is too far beyond me
    Maybe the fighter is still inside me
    I've lost so much
    Sitting in this pile of dusty photographs
    Feeling sorry for myself
    I know I should be grateful
    Part of me is...
    For living such a full and unbridled life
    Full of my passions and joys
    But that is why
    I prefer reverse
    Instead of straight ahead
    Oblivion is loneliness
    And isolation
    It is wrinkles and losing my vision
    It is forgetting the words to the songs I wrote
    And how to play the chords
    Let me crawl under the skin of the photo paper
    Into my history
    Let me nest there
    Safe but brave again
    Because I cannot stand another day
    Of this stranger's old face
    Staring back at me
    And dead on the inside.


  • eclecticvision 193w

    Story - Forgotten Youth
    #writing #story #oldwoman #love #panic

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    Forgotten Youth

    She gazed at him as she peeled the potatoes for the evening meal they would eat together. The same as every other evening. She wondered if it would have been different if they had children. But that was just idle fantasy she was forced to engage in as it was the only escape from this life that was bestowed upon her.Yes,she had loved him once, in her naive girlish fantasy,but now it was all routine.He had his bricklaying business and the drinks with his friends in the pub of the little town they dwelled in.She couldn't say that he was a bad husband-he provided well enough,never laid a hand on her and recently even managed to secure a life insurance in case something were to happen to him on the constructions. There he was,sitting in the living room,drinking a pint and reading the newspaper. She often fantasised about it being different...but it was too late.Time had left its mark on her face and the realization that 53 years had been embedded onto her body,stung her deeply.And yet in the core of her being she couldn't be content.
    Suddenly she felt as if she was being suffocated.An invisible hand grabbed at her lungs and was squeezing them,digging its fingers deep into the soft flesh,depriving her from the air that circulated through them. Paralysed, she knew she had to leave.With shaking hands she muttered something about forgetting peas for the meal and rushed out of the door.The chilled air and darkness seemed to free her from the almost murderous spell...

  • kitsune903 199w

    Yes, No

    "A coffee shop, a notebook, a pen ; scratching sounds.
    The smell of honey filling the already sweet atmosphere..
    A waiter distributing fake smiles with some tasteless beverages, a dirty white apron is showing his inner self.
    An old woman, insulting everything her children do with a motherly care and kindness. A soft smile showing her inner self.
    The chef making a cake with a soft look and a dirty knife... Is that even sugar? The red on the knife showing his inner self.
    A kid, what an angel, screaming and kicking his sister who's crying now, such a sweetheart. His eyes showing his inner self.
    I'm Just sitting there at the corner, observing and writing, what a wonderful day...
    My writings showing my inner self."

  • harshjayn 217w

    Old woman

    In the foyer of a cafe run by an old woman there was a small hoarding bearing a proclamation that "We sell cakes to eat and not to smash"

  • poeticblunder 252w

    a warm summer afternoon
    greeted the mid-thirty men
    with a letter inked carelessly
    on a worn out plain paper;
    "would you not enjoy
    the last sip of a vintage wine?
    would you not savour
    the chocolate at the end of a cornetto?
    would you not relish
    the final slice of the red velvet cake?
    as i stand here, at the near end of the tunnel,
    i can't help but envy those things;
    you may not have the time dear,
    but be kind to remember that neither do i!
    with plenty of love and a few cookies,
    your old woman!"
    - k n