Long Underdeveloped Poems
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Endurance:
Keep changing perspective;
If only to combat the dwindling light~
Each droplet of
tear from me shall shine,
My beauty
shall stand tall,
I shall bloom
to the happiness of those I love,
And my love shall stay the same
Until I fall.
My heart searches the airwaves for an answer...
Feeling for a pulse,
For a bead of life.
Tired and torn,
My understandings shatter like glass...
Teardrops line the cracks and gaps
That exist between the fragments
Of my scuffed and scattered mind.
Memories dance like a rogue sunbeam
Sparkling on the sequins of my blouse.
Like silver stars twinkling across a sea of Burberry carpet,
Flashes of inspiration capture my wandering eye.
A twist of thread lies on the floor before me;
Black and tangled,
Free and formless...
A stark contradiction to my carefully catalogued
Collections of thought.
I somehow awoke to this nightmare:
A kingdom of sorrow
Where fear has become the patriarch.
Enslaved by my base desires,
Steel bars of ignorance brandish the cells
Of my caged and captive potential.
Every atom of my composure
Becomes no more than a cruel trick of light,
A practiced sleight of hand...
A ruse that has become impenetrable,
Seamless and familiar;
Touching the darkest parts of the heart,
Caressing the ill begotten frills
Of our utterly underdeveloped souls.
Yet, still,
we endure.
The wheel turns,
The fire burns,
The spirit yearns,
The ashes gather
And fill the urns...
And Still,
We Endure.
Accepting
what we cannot
change
but giving space
to
ourselves
boundaries
from
what hurts us
what is beyond
our endurance
to bear
Believe me, you deserved someone better
You are reborn from fire, from the light,
And light you become.
The darkness is repelled by your presence;
You have broken free of your deficiencies.
By conquering your demons,
You have proved yourself above the dark.
The blackness is trapped beneath your feet,
It can never control you again...
Oh give thanks
unto the Lord
for He is good
and His mercies,
Oh yes
His mercies,
they never fail us
never.
His mercies
they
endure
forever
and ever
and
ever more.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
I was born in a banana republic,
Between the carnivorous chains of Françafrique,
In an open-air dumpster,
Where tyranny, barbarity, and savagery speak with arrogance.
I am perfumed with all the nauseating scents of misery.
I grew up under the honeyed speeches of necktied oppressors,
Their swollen pockets vomiting development aid.
They painted the walls of despair UN blue,
While our starving bellies served as ballot boxes.
My tongue is a battlefield
It was cut, stitched back, trained to sing the masters’ symphonies.
I speak French like a trauma articulated,
With the pain of my color since the first slave trades.
My struggle, a reminder of the invasion, an inheritance of batons from the Caribbean plantations.
I saw dictators blessed by chancelleries,
Oil traded for diplomatic silence,
Mines bled dry by hands gloved in elegance,
And mass graves hidden beneath bilateral agreements.
I am what they call human resource,
Exportable, exploitable, erasable at will.
I was born where dignity is sold by the kilo,
And where the future fits in a punctured boat at dawn on the Mediterranean.
I was born where the future fits in a punctured boat at dawn on the Mediterranean.
Where a passport is a burden, not a key.
Where one sells their skin to organ merchants
To buy a pixelated mirage of Europe.
I saw my mother weep silently over deportation slips,
My father break his back in open-pit mines of the cradle of humanity,
I learned to read in the pamphlets of the defiant,
To count on my fingers the promises unkept.
School, a factory of stillborn dreams.
Healthcare, a market where cancer is sold in tainted doses.
Justice, a rumor, an insult whispered
Between two power cuts and three police blunders.
I am the child of fake independences,
Of tailor-made constitutions stitched for insatiable gluttons.
I was born without inheritance, save for
This rage accumulating like sand under the skin.
They called me delinquent, migrant, underdeveloped,
But I am the living archive of their beautified crimes.
I am the raw product of their refined markets,
The shattered mirror they flee, for fear of seeing their own barbarity within.
gaslight me the movie
of my underdeveloped consciousness
give me a hand
take thine arm
without the silent treatment
and a thank you
for the mind fook
hoovering is not allowed
this is not magic but it is
never seen a fly so brave
the invitation is in the mail
RSVP the art intelligentsia
or Milly`la`Foret's lost inheritance
embodyed in the stereotype
of conceptual oopart
padded by manipulative faking
whack my loot
thu nigh thy sacred book
smiell my surrender thighs
over a fabricated link
burning real Benjamins
to the sound of Marilyn Manson
pareidolia
patterns and wormholes and time loops
time present and future coexist
what to do with such knowledge
carved into the limestone
surrounding a city like distrust
lifted in grey moire
over a living ocean
rocked over engraving rollers
in the arms of a sleeping monster
whatever it is
it's right up ahead
everything weighed and measured
the metrology of red flags
illumated under ambient withholding
dreamt up into a real world
of Indian parenting techniques
dormant till spring
into the arms of the universal awakening
a kinetic toy is walking
must be the bravest sub of all
to have turned off all notifications
under a gas light on the green screen
splitting personalities
abannan soleil and mistel
disclosed and made public
spinning on the golden wheel
eyes glaring a dupper's delight
hidden underneath an unkept beard
chin up and hands down recoiling
the circuit does not always
go round and round
it comes from underground
with little steps
tip toe in the dark
the water is warmer for you there
peowetling peowian
it's not from where i am
cold in the head
cold shoulder painted red
don't pay your rent all at once
is a forever later game.
by a rinelle in Catemaco
reddish purple about the neck
innocent and unsecured
not noosed nor snared
skilled in mysteries and kindness
i mind here finely prepped
a synomyn in liminal space
past your window into another's partition
I am a rose bud closed and shy, my young emotions tucked tightly inside myself to protect from exposure.
When threatened, as a new rose my thorns ward off outsiders and tell them to leave me be. My petals are soft and virgin, never knowing sunlight or cold, void of touch or expression. They are pure, still growing, underdeveloped and quite fragile.
I become a young bud, ready to sense the world around me. I am curious to feel sunlight. I am becoming aware of myself and I watch to see how the other flowers open themselves. My feelings are developing inside the petals within and I am in the world.
As a maturing rose, I become strong enough to open my petals and expose my feelings. I allow myself to feel the rain on them and let it roll off of them as tears for those I have hurt with my thorns, and for the happiness I feel to be open and free. The sun feels warm on my moist foilage, and I am strong, capable of pollinating, and I welcome the chance. The world is new, and though naive, I am in my prime, standing out amongst the others.
As an aging flower, I find it harder to lift my head up. My vibrant petals have darkened and shrunken and I am withered, having lived a full life cycle. My petals each represent the emotions I was designed to feel in this lifetime. Hunger, thirst, sadness, contentment, desire, regret, love and thankfulness.
As I feel the complete experience of each emotion to it's fullest, each petal represented therein may fall off. Each one, discarded to the earth and when you see me bare with no petals, you will be sad that I am almost gone but I will rejoice because I will know I am complete. I have done what I came to do, and though others may have been considered more beautiful, they took nothing away from the beauty that I encompassed within. Even as I harden and dry out, petal less, shriveled and dying, I am grateful for the experience to have known life for it is better to have lived and died than to never have existed at all.
the altogether
absolute & essential
commonality of death---
that beautiful final silence
with nothing else to worry about
with nothing but a complete end
to all suffering & all anxiety---
an eternal exhalation of all bad feelings---
both mental & physical,
culminating in peace
---pure,
unadulterated,
peace,
found in the absence of everything
that has pretended like it has some reason
to demand from us anything more than who we are.
for what we are is human,
and humans have errors---
humans are nothing but evolutionary accidents.
we walk this earth in the light far too much,
as the night (ever so beautiful)
stares us in the face & takes hold,
doesn’t it?
who doth not prefer the night?
say yes to the day, alone,
and i’ll show you someone still scared of the dark.
you need to face your greatest fears in order to overcome them
&
isn’t this the oldest story in the book?
man afraid of flying works on his pilot’s license---
woman afraid of the water becomes a professional deep see diver---
you get the gist.
further in the woods,
if you bring your flashlight,
you find yourself dwelling
in the same neighborhood that you grew up in.
surely, your eyes adjust to the moonlight now
& all of the concrete becomes familiar,
the trees themselves turn into street lamps,
and wouldn’t you know it,
the once empty,
lean-to’s made of dirty old
logs,
are now
bustling
bodegas.
hear the Em in the background?
followed by a sullen Bm?
Em, Bm, Em, Bm &
so on---
a typical funeral hymn,
for the threatened & emotionally
underdeveloped---
some would say.
but for me,
i walk with the Em following the Am
in sweet rhythmic
repetition,
allowing the unknown to
flow,
articulated through the warm waves of
minor chords
into my
death---
with nothing but a smile on my face.
I'm coming for you bitches
hitting you with my poetry
sending you to the mental
hospital needing brain stitches.
Ima make you fall apart you
thought I was finished honey I
didn't even start. You might be
pretty but your not smart.
Don't be sleeping on me , cause
when I blow up ill have your
man on my Instagram silently
creeping . This is reality no
your not dreaming . You think
I'm ghost I'm just quietly
scheming . But check it start
peeping you thought I wouldn't
make it I get 100 likes fully
clothed you get 25 likes being
completely naked. When they
say my name you get this eerie
feeling and you can't shake it .
I'm always on your mental . It's
eating you inside it's
detrimental . Your my guinea
pig it's experimental . I know
I'm doing good when I see you
mad it's so sad your words are
bad and your hooks are kind of
like the worst sex I've ever
had. Even your man thinks
your whack I know this cause
he tells me you found out and
had a heart attack . But chill
out I don't need him to bad you
got traded for a girl who looks
like she just came out of
maxim. Karmas a ***** and
she's playing on my side . You
can drop the mic exit stage left
for your career has died. It's
funny cause you never even
dropped you were to
underdeveloped . My Facebook
you stalked my twitter you
followed your like a kiddie pool
super shallow . I hope you say
back and took notes this is
probably the best poem I've
ever wrote . If you need to
press rewind on the remote .
Don't go back up selling coke if
you get caught its murder she
wrote I think I'm finally done
dissing you becoming one of
my poems is your worst
nightmare you'll be a citizen
while I am the comissionaire .
Well, well"aint seen nothin like me"?
No one is shocked a person of darker pigment can pass a football or do anything they set out to dream with heart in hard work. I think you better stick with a spork, instead of hotknifing that herb, rubbing that lambp of piper sheeptoslaughter jerk.
Catch more bees with honey, plus you can use that plastic spoon to dig your way out of the backstabbery,
but Hollywood Idols love their trophys
especially silver spooned ones, Campbell's Chunky for coddled athletes, who got nothin else to do
but compete for biggest cat in a cradle,
Golden icons on the silver screen.
"bet they never considered me"???
Is there anybody else? I ask you, seriously?
Now I'm with you at the oscars those old Satanic, "Elites" only give awards
Like diplomas in the schools of mystery it apparently seems,
as Necromancers of the record industry getalongs and benedict prostitutes, keeping an ear to the breeze,
you don't want to be in that number,
the Saints ain't no kind of football team. The game is on, we need team leaders, not divides of conquering.
It's better to have a little humility, better to have your soul than to have to whole world at your feet in servitude, for athletic ability?
I don't want some black child to feel left out, underdeveloped, overlooked, that's my little brother, my little sister.......C!?
anyone can clearly see from watching Nickelodeon that people like Ms. Downs are underbooked, a stage of perceived demographic,
it happens like a fairy tale, till their claws tithe Capt. Hook.
Commodities we are, playing a part, innocense took,
trafficking, tracking pings, by Disney, by English Queens, blood exploited by achy hearts in the ritual bloodletting, usually on set, when the Mother goes missing.
Aliza Kashmala Kiran - I am Aliza Kashmala Kiran.Donot Miss my poems to read,to comment and to do kind fantastic real prayers for me and my all family members. Aliza Kashmala Kiran,She is the best social writer and English International Voluntary Poetess of Pakistan.MashAAllah.She works on too many serious issues which only protect dignity,pride,honour and self-respect of our beloved country pakistan.Always have patriotic approach.she wants to protect pakistan from danger & evil negative bad eyes.so Always Trust in Allah Almighty,Always do the right deeds.Never involve in such matters,whom you donot know what are the real benefits and drawbacks of that matters. Always have positive attitude about life stuffs .Even if you belong to needy poor helpless underdeveloped
country.Always show yourself a contented well off person.Never loose your dignity,pride,honour and self-respect for any one even for your rich friend or rich enemy or rich country. Stay Blessed.God Always help those who help themselves.so its better to die with dignity,pride and honour even your head is under atricous king weapon.one more thing never think gold or any pearl or diamond as wealth symbol.All the glitters is not gold.The 2 rupee which you get after hard work is too much precious than 80 Billion Dilloars which you get after too much acts against humanity and evil negative bad unhumanity tasks.you are best and best and remain best.even you are poor.Never change your identity for any one. God Bless you all.
Best Regards
Aliza Kashmala Kiran
https://youtu.be/sjWXsrFMmTk
Press release from the LEGO FOUNDATION:
The LEGO Foundation assist children with autism to build confidence by sponsoring centers to show children how to increase self esteem by exercising their creativity with LEGO. Children have proved to have real boosts in confidence and discover new strengths.
It’s a miracle how quickly our children grow in body and mind. Learning through play helps children develop the skills they need to thrive. The LEGO Foundation have an ever growing body of evidence to illustrate this.
Consider children who lose the opportunity for education during war. Children who are forced to move into refugee camps and wait for years to return to normal if ever, with no opportunity for schooling. Also once hunger, medical needs and fresh water issues are addressed in struggling areas, heathy development of children's minds is an issue.
Lego also donate age specific LEGO kits to 24 underdeveloped or war torn countries world wide every year.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
LEGO Nursery Rhyme.
One Brick at a time
I build my LEGO so it stands real tall.
I have no problem with that at all.
Now its time to make a Ferrari car.
If I can do this I will be a star.
I use all the pieces that I had.
I think its time that I called dad.
Something didn’t go quite right.
Dad says we will be up all night
Kid sister was going to bed.
She offered her big Lego Bricks instead.
Ahh it seems dad is on the right track.
Hey dad, I want my LEGO kit back !
when a christian is laughing along with you
&
enjoying your presence,
at work or while in a social context
&
then somehow by some random comment
the fact that you do not believe in the work of fiction they abide by
or
worship that infamous underdeveloped dramatic character from
nazareth
as they do,
you may get to see a human face quickly wrinkle up in disgust or anger
as if a pug
was crossbred with some kind of wild boar
whose snarling would wake up the neighbors
& whose filthy idiotic grumblings
are made only with the
purest absolute self-righteous certainty,
with a dash of condescension &
a couple handfuls of hope that there is in fact a
place where everybody who doesn’t believe as they do
will
one
day
finally
burn.
you may get to even see them turn completely around,
walking away from you as if you have suddenly lost
all substance as a human being &
while from out of the woodwork will come those that say
“we are not all like that,”
the fact remains,
they believe in the same ridiculous
fairytales.
they have read the book of revelation
they hope in their hearts that when their savior comes
that he will wash the earth clean of
scum like you
so that they will no longer have to answer any questions
about the validity of their claims &
they can all live happily ever after
baaaaaaa-ing in unison
& relishing in the fact that their enemies got their just desserts.