Ashes all around, raining down
Drowning the misery with more
The floating specks of grey
That were once a rosy pink
Filled with fragrance and life
The flowers paved the way ahead
New love blossoming under the trees
First kisses behind the school buildings
Birds pecking at the ample rice grains
And a happy, happy place.
Nothing much has changed since
Only the air thick with morbid death
The boundless bed of ashes giving way
To nameless faces half buried in eternal sleep
Thorns drawing blood with every step
Unmarked tombs crowding weeping trees
Dried tears on the unturned pages
Vultures scavenging for fleshes of suffering
But the throne got an heir at long last
So a happy, happy place it is still.
The plane pierced into the pile, exploded loudly, Human fleshes every where .
Life in a Jar
I’d like to find a special jar
To put aside some life,
A jar that keeps both face and form,
And stints the scourge of change.
I’d put therein, a rusted leaf,
Or summer’s one perhaps,
To always have the seasons at
The twisting of a wrist.
I’d put therein, my true love’s kiss,
To always know its taste.
And next to that a snapshot of
The world within her eyes.
I’d also save, encased therein,
First cries out to the world;
Of lives conceived through gifted love,
And feeling newly born.
I’d store away the vistas of
Grand aspects, earthly borne,
And let them burn through fired glass
From every lay of land.
Then I would not be far from life,
From where I cannot see.
No, I prefer to keep it fresh
For morning’s light, through glass.
It’s change that writes the script of life
And fleshes out the page.
While time is just a numbered pause
Without a story told.
The fire was burning like inferno
Blood, burned fleshes of the people
Ashes of lost hopes and believes
Under the rubbles of the ruined city
And the skies beyond the river
Beyond the seas of human aspirations
Occupied by the invader and the allies
With the lies and hatred and arsenals
Again, those children without limbs
Among the shadows of the dead bodies
Smelling like burned fleshes, rotten
Yet, with memories- burning like hell
The leaders around the round table
Like those cannibals of Neolithic age
Beaming in joy, with wider smiles
Smelling human fleshes burned alive
Yet nothing was objectionable after
Those lies and deceptions of October 7th
As everything was just in accordance
With the Nakba, since 1948. Since long…
©SriSuvro 3rd August’ 2024
Fingers tangling dry strands
Jostle soft fleshes with pained puffs
Dipping tar suffocating airways
Wrenching fabrics carving curses onto corpuscle
Taking
Pulling
Grabbing
Pushing
Stabbing
Shoving
Reducing into a pile of nothing
Ridiculed into a lump of worthless
Rejected into a mass of hollow
Remorse into a jumble of Woman.
My country is a woman on the street
Birthing whore children
My country is a song
Bustle to choke my melodies
Her woes - lyrics & whore styles
Spray over my eyelids
Where in abject poverty
I lost my fleshes
We don't not know who the perpetrators are
The citizens - Governments
Youths - everyone
Corruption grows in its valley
In the shoulders of a demon
A country on it pulpit
No hope - No faith
I live in it a mere being
Paciolo Pen Saint
The void, the emptiness
What is that to which drives our inner soul to feel its pain
The loneliness of love we find hard existing
The beast, he live's there hungering to eat
The empty you fill, lurking in the the darkness
Thriving on the bitterness of the hearts pureness
There it dwells, eating at your fleshes desires
Love, it's bitter of betray,anger and hearts stomp
Where is the taste, we endure to bestow and feast
The Beast, it eats; I die as an awakening
My eye's open, I do not see
That of my death I experience
What of the darkness? Is there life or just myth
I hunger with thirst, I cry out in anger
Love me never more that I may be set free
But love me yet or I die this day of my love for you
That I only breathe the breath you take
That my life be yours til that day
Theologians all euthanize miracle’s glow,
Like a child might dehydrate and pin butterflies,
Jaundiced eye longs to render them all party tricks,
Puts the best under glass just to marginalize!
Shouldn’t miracle God sends then serve greater cause
Might this not be a subject worth treating in kind?
If we search our Earth's history, thousands of years,
Won’t necessity lead us at last to God’s mind?
There are God taunting voices that cry, “Bible’s fake!
Written after the fact! Accounts pulled from the air!”
But where poetry lives, how can life be alone?
With Love's colors revealed, never naked and bare!
Yes, verse fleshes life out! Bone is not all that soft!
And the breath of life gives a new heartbeat to time,
Rhythms dancing, form floating, white light, no despair,
For God lives down the track in the tower of rhyme!
Explanations all languish if god is true GOD,
Even scientists fall back on "models of truth!"
Serve Him still, but in Love, not to earn your reward,
Trust His Grace and have faith in soul’s eternal youth.
Brian Johnston
April 26, 2017
Two souls in a violent wind.
Two unique fleshes bound in one.
He smiled at her in a way that drove her wild.
She touched him in a way that exhilerated him.
The wind took and ripped at them.
It blew all their life into disorder.
If one could hold the key,
maybe they could break free.
They searched and ran and fought.
They wouldn't stop
till they found which was sought.
The miles covered were empty and rough.
They had lots of regrets and not much to bluff.
They cried, they pried.
They fell back and stepped aside.
Then the answer came clear.
It was pushed way back in a corrider left of fear.
There the time seemed to encompass the great transformation.
Lover's ignited in a swift and steady motion.
It was like all the stars lighting up the brilliant ocean.
Fiercer than a tornado,
stronger than a hurricane.
There souls entwined beneath the true hearts vein.
Joy has a way to sculpt fond feel,
Abide with grace where touch discerns;
Dance in the day that now reveals,
Expect kind trace that move concerns.
Be whole yet still as silence shields,
Employ sure tact to heed love's call;
Align calm will to sense the field,
Deed frames the pact as cheer installs;
Sight knows the light that streams in waves.
Charm wears a wit that fleshes mood,
Heed deeper sights that move the brave;
Arise to fit the blooming good,
Reach to pray well in stillness here,
Mind and heart dwell on timeless spheres.
Leon Enriquez
15 June 2015
Singapore
What will you do
when your strongest
eagle couldn't fly a mile?
What will you do
when your strongest
horse
couldn't run a mile?
What will you do
when you fastest cheetah
is outrun by a mice?
What will you do
when your everybody
becomes nobody?
What will you do
when your everything
become nothing?
What will you do
when all you could say
to express your state is
had I know?
What will you do
when the reason for your
happiness becomes the
source of your sadness
and dolefulness?
What will you do
when your enemies no
longer forster harm
designs against you but
you bloods and fleshes
do?
What will you do
when you find yourself
doing what you never
wanted to do and not
doing what you've
always wanted to do?
What will you do
when you find yourself
in an undue situation of:
do or do not
and all you can do is to
do the do?
Hmmm! What will you do
when you don't even
know what to do?
My Stars were my pride
I was always ready for the ride
Hoisted in the clear sky
I flew freely and high!
But now, I lay in unwanted ashes
Burnt by many, those bodily fleshes
Alas, all my stars now feel like scars!
Alas, all my stars now feel like scars!
To be or not to be,…
To be in love with china country,…
To be in love with your china peoples..
To be in love with your commie party (china),..
Halt and hesitate just for peoples’ human right and democracies.
What is your GOVERN-Ship?
What is your kingship?
Where is your kingdom?
Limbo ways or brimstone hells that cook your fleshes are me-me-me them.
All is our subterfuges.
What is wangles just for reality?
What are we divine with?
What are gods to shine our life?
China DEMI-GODS as XI JINPING teams the pure as purest one that all belong to china commie come to all.
Yes they come as we will come.
Camber pots or china ditches have garden wastes.
Who is subordinate?
We have only one absolute.
Why and what will buy as we are all so short that so short to sell to them.
Faust had life of tragic life because he sold his soul and life to Satan.
To be or not to be should be consequence also should be duties.
So if all your life is complete fair then to be or not to be is all so go0od.
-----------Cheung Shun Sang=Cauchy3------------------.
..
Death
Untold
Is it for poem?
Lost beauty of poem means insecure.
Critic master knows and confirm sure.
Star mark above message gives indication and inspiration there.
Keep in energizing blood and fleshes of poems here.
Do or die.
If tell ‘tat fie.
Death is sure.
No medicine is there to cure.
Poem may be something.
Do not proud for your good style of writing.
Anxiety means poet’s death.
Real Poet takes determination for beauty of oath.
Poem reached to points of excellent and wonderful.
Poets are joyful.
Oh my god, poets are glad to say.
In historical moments of poetic community, it is than red letter day.
Saroj khan[sakha]
The Beast
The void, the emptiness
What is that to which drives our inner soul to feel its pain
The loneliness of love we find hard existing
The beast, he live's there hungering to eat
The empty you fill, lurking in the the darkness
Thriving on the bitterness of the hearts pureness
There it dwells, eatting at your fleshes desires
Love, it's bitter of betray,anger and hearts stomp
Where is the taste, we endure to bestow and feast
The Beast, it eats; I die as an awakening
My eye's open, I do not see
That of my death I experience
What of the darkness? Is there life or just myth
I hunger with thirst, I cry out in anger
Love me never more that I may be set free
But love me yet or I die this day of my love for you
That I only breathe the breath you take
That my life be yours til that day
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