Illusions Poems

Two Drunkards

They sat holding bottles
In their hands
And armpits
Pouring mouthful 
Of liquor to fill 
Their hollow stomachs.

 They gazed at each other
As cat and mouse
And spoke a lot of
Inglish with slain syntax
To devirginate 
Their motherland.

The two drunkards! 
Spoke of a nation's illusions 
And the wilted state of
A nation's elites
Raping the cultural norm
Who raped the temple?

They said something
About

One day we live, love, and die, in a labyrinth of illusions and lies

One day we live, love, and die, in a labyrinth of illusions and lies,
Each waits, without time to choose among the shadows that creep in,
Truth wanders like a lost echo through the crumpled pages of the world,
Despair feeds on deep silences, like a bottomless well.
One day we give new names to old thoughts, like a

Under the vast sky of illusions, we are actors wearing masks of stars and ephemeral shadows

Under the vast sky of illusions, we are actors wearing masks of stars and ephemeral shadows,
Our gazes meet through mirrors of mist, seeking reflections of hidden desires,
We are magicians of an illusory world, finding ourselves in the imperfections of others, in deep silences,
An endless waltz of unspoken words, a dance of souls under the moonlight,

In a world of illusions, where great and small liars play chess with destinies

In a world of illusions, where great and small liars play chess with destinies,
Curtains of smoke dance on the stage of time, hiding unwritten truths,
On a black canvas, they paint empty words, with brushes of dirty silver,
And in deep pockets they gather shattered dreams, like stones from a silent river.
Under the mask of saviors, they

Illusions of Love

She smiled with eyes that burned like dawn,
Yet shadows lingered where light was drawn.
Not love, but power cloaked in grace—
A game of masks, a lover’s face.

Her lips spoke vows, her hands held tight,
But her heart was ruled by shifting night.
She said, “Forever,” but meant, “Until…”
Love was no bond—it bent to will.

Men, the builders, bleeding bone—
Give

I write my illusions, not out of cowardice, but from that stubborn mercy

I write my illusions, not out of cowardice, but from that stubborn mercy
I owe to my own spirit that withers under the weight of time,
reality, with its arithmetic of pale bones, rarely adds up to salvation,
it's merely a tally of sorrows, debts of silence, and interest paid in insomnia,
I lie to myself, not to deceive,

Disappointment

I smiled when I saw
The figure in front
I ran to get close
But only hugged smoke

Illusions on Rivulet Path

Written: May 15, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Crystol Woods

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I’m neither harmonious nor a hidden hymn
Who said I'm wedded to whimsy, lilac looks?
to all those who gifted me 
countless worries through the years. 
Simply silhouettes in my rear—view mirror.
I sail

In the garden where illusions grow like paper flowers under the velvet sky

In the garden where illusions grow like paper flowers under the velvet sky,
Life is woven like a tapestry of shadows and lights fading into the distance,
A sweet lie we embrace with open arms,
For the pure truth, like a cold wind, might scatter our dreams,
We paint our reality with the oils of dreams and unfulfilled hopes,
While

You live like this, sheltered in a delicate world crafted from dreams and illusions

You live like this, sheltered in a delicate world crafted from dreams and illusions,
Believing you are truly living, while your steps are guided by routine,
But then you open a book... or embark on an unexpected journey,
And discover that you are not living, but hibernating, asleep in an apparent silence.
The symptoms of hibernation are easy to

And here we are, on the orbit of our illusions

And here we are, on the orbit of our illusions,
civilized madmen who have lost their compass,
the divine savage in garments of convention,
hiding the mysteries of the true soul,
living in the shadow of dreams, searching for answers,
in the mirror of time that never forgets.
Alive on a cold morning that embraces the city,
I walk the foggy streets,

Illusions

Life has many mirrors
like a Fun House,
many nooks and crannies
different paths and roadways
that can take you
in various directions
You may believe
steadfast in your feelings
that you have chosen
the right one, the one for you
But after awhile
other circumstances come to light
new emotions surface
and you begin to question
the rightness of it all
Was it just a temporary station
on your path

In a realm of tranquil illusions, weary spirits find thrones of comfort

In a realm of tranquil illusions, weary spirits find thrones of comfort,
Lives frozen in monotonous dances, dolls forgotten in the windows of dead time,
Middle-aged souls, ghosts of lost hope, nestle into routine,
The leaden embrace of stagnation promises them an eternity of divine peace.
Deep within the soul, fear sneaks in like an underground stream,
The fear that

play of illusions

all that is, is a play of light 
crystallised as myriad forms
known by sages who have clear sight
bravely weathering life’s fierce storms

if we’re enabled, we can see
all that is, is a play of light 
the sky is veiled by our mind tree
fear makes day too seem like the night

soul has fallen from heaven’s height
this manifest

Empire of Illusions

Empire of Illusions

Once, I had an empire, 
but I was forced to set it on fire.
 One day, I realized it was all a hoax, 
crafted by fake crooks and plastic looks.

Something in the static
 masked the dead and sick, 
until a revelation 
pushed me towards lamentation.

The clothes I put on are woven with threads

• Short Illusions Poems
• Famous Illusions Poems
• Best Illusions Poems
• Read Illusions Poems
• Long Illusions Poems
• Illusions Quotes