The Lonely Heart
The silence in the room
The darkness of the night
I look through the crack on the door
Wondering when you'll switch on the light
My eyes grow tired, My hopes fade away
Still holding onto false hope
You may call me tonight
Days, weeks months and years
My heart feels heavy now
My eyes filled with tears
You treat me good, it's not all bad
But why do my insides feel empty and sad
Just living this life as the world narrates
But never did I think
We'll have a wall between us that keeps us separate
Under the same roof, Sleeping apart
Good night my love from this Ionely heart.
Aye, this pavement now pale and old
A flower once sprung of glistening gold
When melilot narrates me of time long before
These crevices on floor hides these unheed lore
But no vibrant sings over here merely a withered sedge
Once the hour I remember this our lovely
pledge
Beguiling is the pendant of love I carry so far
More ado of me to love you surpass the clouds and star
I listened on the voided diminuendo of song
And purple lethe came; told me I was never wrong
Told me this love is so beautifully painful
And a lovers be sometimes wonderfully disdainful
Aye, this Sycamore now languid and cold
A bough once sprung of glistening gold
A bunch of entrails.
I like strawberry milk in a cute bottle.
I was one or many more of those things.
Empty as a shipping container.
A butternut squash which I only eat in the fall.
Only knowing fall things.
Fall hair, and breath.
Nothing will be endless again.
A bunch of entrails.
It’s not Halloween, I’m just myself in there.
Eyeballs and bones.
Should just be one pair of eyes, but it’s many.
I am a person who they found on the dock.
The shipping container had a trace of blood on it.
Not from a paper cut.
So they believed.
Who am I again?
Just someone who narrates.
Has more bones and eyes than they know of.
And yet, they think I’m many.
You can’t open a shipping container without a crowbar.
So they did.
They did it because they knew things.
They found out quickly.
Who I am.
I am the one who likes random things that are stuck like sticky notes.
Who I am.
Every suspect and family member explains.
Who I am.
Again.
This isn't ink — it's blossom breath,
A message from a paper's depth.
That this is a blush pink breeze,
Not just a standing tree.
A story that narrates how spring once paused,
When petals fell without a cause.
A square of paper telling us,
Its quiet bloom still speaks to us.
That nothing lasts forevermore,
Except the trace this stamp once bore.
We pressed a petal into ink,
Reluctant to watch it go.
Stamped beneath the springtime glow,
All we remember are memories that flow.
A fleeting kiss this stamp shall show —
USPS: Cherry Blossom — symbol of spring in tow.
Who listens to my shouts in the night?
When my beating heart rises and my breath falls short.
A silhouette seeks passage in a shrouded cloak and my scripts are composed for one.
Who is the creator of my subconscious soliloquy which narrates into an empty room? No encore sought, just a faded thought grasped in the morning light.
Exhausted, my sweat drowns in a cotton wrap, beaten, submission arrives when my eyes meet the sanctuary of dawn.The epilogue is short, the words fall silent when my limbs, now weary, rise from its stage.
Each night, a mare of twisted verbs that weave and turn. This suitor haunted through nocturnal tales where rest is brief and the journey fraught. My torment continues through the lottery of night. Let this one be calm?
REM disorder
Neurological disease
Seeking a cure soon
Upon her last sighs, she narrates cosmic
sagas flowing within poetic veins.
She still remembers
those idyllic evenings,
engrossed in raining confessions,
influenced by her shipwrecked heart,
expressing scarlet
sentiments that sail in silence,
across unruffled ink-stained waves,
amidst the endless oceans between
their untouched silhouettes.
Her every desire to reunite and
cast away midnight blues,
float within perfumed love notes
written by the silky seashore,
placed in crystalline bottles
of timeless lyrics,
that shall be carried through
estuaries that lead her
to his sacred island
with everlasting roses~
where pearlized shells reflect
saline left as tropical memories
of tomorrow with him by
her sun-kissed innocence.
Dear Jan Allison.
Jasmine aroma in her nice and pithy poems
Able poetess has the skills and qualifications to write well poems
Narrates wonderful words, sweet good comments, and beautiful stories
No name nebulous
Nobody narrates nature
Next news nibbles nerve
© Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
04/03/2023
Genre-Alliterku
The tweeting birds sound so dulcet,
The clear blue sky oh so high!
The many gardens and their fences,
The dew drops dripping from leaves
The forests giving out clues,
The earnestness of the wind,
It narrates the life in brief;
You will find yourself lost in the arms of nature,
Where you will find only peace and affection.
The picturesque beauty of nature will daze you,
And all your worries will cease
That's the fascination, illusion of Mother Nature.
The puppet is telling a story in silence
But not its own story
It's only a story of others
Or of the man behind the scene who narrates
Or of the writer who collects
Or of the anonymous who declares
The puppet is only an obedient actor
A silent storyteller of freedom and dignity
Man sometimes lives like a puppet too
Especially in a country where hegemony exists
On a boat hidden and unseen,
I glide with the current of the river called life.
The wind on the raised sail whispers,
how brave sailors cross the storm surge,
narrates the fascinating story of the land far,
the river hasn’t seen.
I drift past faceless people on the bank,
some songbirds I adore fly with me.
The river promises to take me to the sea,
where the waves roll with pearly crown,
sunburst sky sprays the charisma of colors,
fabricating the collage of surreal fresco.
The river keeps its promise, takes me to the sea,
I sail on the rhythm of its silky swells,
drift across the sapphire stretch of seven seas,
beyond which there will be no sea to cross.
Maybe I will meet someone there to tell me,
why the ancient mariner made this journey.
__________________
July 26, 2022
Contest : Sailing
Sponsored by : Julia Ward
Please do not try to categories me
so as in order I may fit into your own
personal remit
Or what box you want me to be placed
So other's can jump upon the same painted
wagon encircled in the pyrex flame's
These savage's attack with such vitriol
and vigour
As we're they once now wishing to pay
forward for nothing more than to revenge
An eye for an eye natural enforced justice
Do unto others as others would do unto you
No 1 turns a blind eye or looks the other away
Until the day as such comes when
In the land of the blind the 1 eyed
Man is King
And he can get away with anything
Because he alone narrates the narrative
And has everyone's ear lent
Remember that kid who followed you around
Or sometimes led you by the hand?
Who kept you up nights with impossible questions
About mysteries that no one can understand?
Then one day, he up and locked his door
And said, "Keep out – this room's only for friends."
And then it happened you weren't asked to play anymore
And you realized you'll never be loved again
Remember that girl who laughed at your jokes,
Who reached for your hand in the back of the car?
Who listened intent to the wise way you spoke
And staggered home tipsy with you 'neath the stars?
Then one day, the smiles departed her face
And in their place, boredom and impatience rushed in
Next thing you know, lock's changed to the house
And you found out you'll never be loved again
Love comes fresh and fierce, like a comet, like a baby
It lights up your sky and rattles your world
From the cheapest pop songs to Spenserian sonnets,
It narrates your days and you learn every word
Then the novelty sags, the allure wrings dry
The well begs for water, but the drought never ends
Fetch the bucket for tears from the nights that you'll cry
'cause you know you'll never be loved again
It's to demilitarize Ukraine; to de-Nazify,
Did Ukraine dare attack regions of Donetsk and Lugansk?
Said, yet, Putin; he did not, clear-as-crystal, specify,
Did countries of west arm Kyiv against the Russia's ransack...?
What's truth? Jesus did not ask Pontius Piolet in such vein,
Could all that Putin narrates considered the Gospel-truth?
Total truth was lost in ruthlessness - this was Jesus-pain,
Could Zelenskyy be to hold realistic truths to sooth...?
Ukraine influence in Russia be destroyed, Putin said,
Truth alone wins, they say, is it in reality so?
This, Putin said truth, and, cause why he had to go-ahead,
If truth does not win, where will Ukraine for its justice go...?
Truth is yet, not all; truth, once, used to be devoid of chaff,
Truths of nations of war, need not, bid other nations laugh...!
19 march 2022
Is truth the first casualty of war and why is that Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
A lot of ways to disguise
Beautiful dresses conceals ugliness
Makes us feel confident
Happy and proud
Arts reveals the beauty of the surroundings
Concealing the destruction of man to the nature
Adds pleasure to life
Music, the melodies from heaven
Concealing the sound pollution of the surroundings
Beautifies life
And reveals the inner beauty of man
Literature
Praises or criticizes
Find the meanings of life
And the inner self of man
And the real state of nature
Speeches from the mouth can be everything
It narrates, it speaks out, it advises, it praises
Or it cheats, it exaggerates, it slanders
We may enjoy disguising for the time being
But a disguise may not be successful sometimes
As our hearts and wisdom know everything
And we'll carry the guilts to the last destiny
Sub Categories
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