Talking to thin air time ticked by,
Waiting on despair, time ticked by.
Suffering the grief as my share---
A fate never rare, time ticked by.
She came or not, it matters little,
Be it fair, unfair, time ticked by.
I’d have spent time on the divine,
But musing on her, time ticked by.
Same ardour could have got me God,
In doubt if she care, time ticked by.
It might have looked like a prayer,
Staring blank in air, time ticked by.
Past teaches too little in love,
In mirage-like snare, time ticked by.
__________________________
Ghazal | 09.08.2026 | frustration, love, romance, time, waiting
Note: A bit melancholic, this ghazal captures the agony of waiting. It also touches on the conflict between divine and earthly love (known in Urdu as Ishq-e-Haqeeqi vs Ishq-e-Majazi. The refrain (Radif) used is: ‘time ticked by’, and the rhyming words (Qafia) are: (air, despair, share, rare, unfair, her, care, snare). The introductory first couplet (sher) is called matlaa. A ghazal often ends with a maktaa that includes the poet’s pen name (takhallus), but not my ghazals.
abstraction not found
in the ornamental pond
where small things matter
his life’s tragedies
yet joy abounds in
Issa’s poetry
reading the haiku
of Issa Kobayashi
with *one cup of tea
* "one cup of tea" refers to his literary pen name, Issa.
#66 on top 100 new poems list as of 8/2/26
Dad says he loves me,
But it’s all about the money,
Calling my long hair gay and stuff,
Mom I never got to know,
Leaving this world before we talked,
But She probably talked to me,
When I got bullied,
When I felt all alone,
They were nowhere in sight,
Only having my back to the wall,
For god knows how many years long,
Dad only clothed, housed and fed me,
But all he was doing was caring for a puppet,
A doll of nothing but lonely bitter and dark despair,
a hollow shell he didn’t put a soul into,
So when I chose to break free,
When I reached out for a savior,
He scolded and shamed,
But my friends saved me,
They push me forward to more,
The more my dad takes credit for,
Kitsuko Dragonstar,
My poetry,
My novel,
This grand pen name,
He’ll never know,
He’ll never understand,
Let alone know.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
What I've seen
I have seen the country's turmoil as I've traveled across this land and I've walked empty beaches my feet scorched from the sand I've been so cold and hungry that I could barely stand but I knew I'd always make it through because Jesus holds my hand I've seen the hungry children with so much sorrow in their eyes and I've heard the politicians with their promises and their lies I've seen the broken junkies dying from too many eyes and I'd even seen dead war soldiers with their bodies covered in flies somehow I knew they all made it through once Jesus heard their cries I had seen so many confusing things I was scared and didn't know what to do so I started to thumb through the good book the Old testament and the new it said the Lord's only son died for me and you so have faith in the mighty father and the son will guide you through
Written by
Willow Purification
(My pen name)
The world is crazy,
believe me or not—
it knows neither good nor bad,
only flows forward,
shaping wonders
for you to see.
A meal needs its patience:
chop, fry, stir,
each in its turn—
only then
can you taste its truth.
So too with life:
blended as you seek it,
revealed only
in its season.
Everything takes time,
wrapped in its own package.
Do not blame time—
stay open,
for it will come
when the moment is ripe.
(This poem is also posted on medium for wide range audience under the pen name Trishila, for more poem and stories you can follow me on medium website as well)
On a silent journey,
I walked into the forest.
Within the dark,
A silhouette crept me out.
Suddenly I stumbled
And fell into a quicksand pit.
A cry for help—
No one to hear.
The more I struggled,
It pulled me deeper and deeper.
When I couldn’t breathe anymore,
I gave up the fight.
Slowly, it released me,
Letting me float.
Desperate and crazed,
I tried to swim with force—
Only to sink again.
So I stayed calm.
I did not cry.
I tried my best
To reach the shore.
Slowly, gently,
I rolled myself free,
Breathing a sigh of relief.
And I realized:
Sometimes all I need
Is to do my best—
And wait for time.
In chaos I found calm,
In silence I found strength.
Through the dark forest I walked on,
Until the sun came down,
Lighting my path anew.
( This poem is also posted on medium for wide range audience under the pen name Trishila, for more poem and stories you can follow me on medium website as well)
So tot pen name as gorilla, dogs and monkeys have many pen names
Good evening, sir, my name is Alice.
A man of peculiar predilections,
Lewis Carroll, made me, not from malice.
Rather, more so, from his affections.
A pen name for a man, pedagogic,
Charles Dodgson was the given name
of this Oxford professor of sound logic.
To me, he's Lewis Carroll, just the same.
If my creator made another choice,
and threw me tumbling down another hole,
and hearing not a rabbit's nervous voice,
you'd see a wormhole swallow me whole.
To a wormhole of logical conundrums,
let us take a wild, but confusing trip.
Well, are you ready, hear the roll of drums?
Put your thinking cap on. I'll let 'er rip!
Poets are illogical and write of Luna.
Nobody who eats tuna also plays whist.
Illogical people also eat tuna.
My gist? Do poets who play whist, exist?
While you are considering that my friend,
I'll go to my place in that charming book,
where Mister Carroll ensured my life won't end.
If you want to see me, come take a look.
Famous pet doctor, James Alfred Wight
Who, at 50 years of age, began to professionally write
Taking "James Herriot" as his pen name
Bought from a goalkeeper at a football game
Couldn't publish with the name he used as a vet
Self-promotion goes against professional etiquette
But he had a way with words
To write many funny blurbs
About his family, his friends, and their pets
His books then made their way on TV
A film, a sequel, and shows on the BBC
But the man was unflattered by his fame
After all, the critters still saw him the same!
I have seen the country's turmoil as I've traveled across this land and I've walked empty beaches my feet scorched from the sand I've been so cold and hungry that I could barely stand but I knew I'd always make it through because Jesus holds my hand I've seen the hungry children with so much sorrow in their eyes and I've heard the politicians with their promises and their lies I've seen the broken junkies dying from too many eyes and I'd even seen dead war soldiers with their bodies covered in flies somehow I knew they all made it through once Jesus heard their cries I had seen so many confusing things I was scared and didn't know what to do so I started to thumb through the good book the Old testament and the new it said the Lord's only son died for me and you so have faith in the mighty father and the son will guide you through
Written by
Willow Purification
(My pen name)
Samuel Langhorne Clemens
had a wit as acidic as a lemon
to many pompous people he was a pain
especially with his pen name Mark Twain
Mine, the heavenly flame that never fades,
Yields to thine needs, where truth reveals platonic love.
From afar, you could kindle my smile
My heart longs for you to discern my wordless depths.
Stay with me always, and drive me mad with desire!
Do not desert me to the wilderness of despair.
Forevermore, I implore your presence,
Until the Valley of Shadow embrace me__
From
Aswani B
Pen Name: Aashii
If sick of self your own, whom to complain,
In crowd if feel alone, whom to complain.
The world has too far gone, whom to complain,
If all have-- yon of yon, whom to complain.
If we’ve evil seeds sown, whom to complain,
Stripped all Earth bare to bone, whom to complain.
As witness our walls moan, whom to complain,
The why if we’ve not known, whom to complain.
Not much can now be done, none to complain,
Save, in despair to drown, not a complain.
___________________________________
Ghazal |26.09.2024|complain
Poet’s note: A typical Ghazal’s first sher or couplet is known as matlaa. Both the lines share a rhyme (kaafia) and refrain (radeef). In this Ghazal all the ten lines (called misraa) of five couplets repeat the refrain, ‘whom to complain’ as radeef. None of my Ghazals have a maktaa or pen name in the last couplet or sher.
Some of you are concerned so very sweet
You notice when I DON’T write poetry
Let me assure you all is fuschia fine
Waiting on inspiration to temp my mind
Also I am still learning to play piano
It’s grueling like dueling with my soul
I’m also judging a poetry contest here
Loving your entries you’re all such a dear
I started my own thing it is my dream
My small business called Kandle Publishing
You know me by my given name at birth
But Kandle Jones my pen name I prefer
So I have my fingers in a few life pies
Sooner or later my poetry juices will arrive
I was born a poet not manufactured.
It started with a heart feeling fractured.
Childhood trauma led to built up suppression,
but the soul yearned for creative expression.
For years my poems hid in secret memoirs,
but a battle with cancer left behind deep scars.
Tongue remained silent, but my muse began to pour,
through reflection and introspective candour.
Some use words as weapons to cause sorrow,
but I write to leave a legacy for tomorrow.
I have no desire for applause nor for fame,
so I express my musings using a pen name.
Each verse is written through metaphorical blood,
in hope one day my life will be understood.
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