Freedom is a birthright—
No one has the right
To tread on anyone’s foot
On the pretext
Of one’s own freedom.
Everyone has the freedom
To punch the air
Or swing one’s hand,
But that hand must
Stop short of others.
Like the kite we fly,
Freedom is conditional.
Kite flyers fight
To bring down
One another’s kite.
The powdered glass
On the twine
Sharpens the twine
To sever the kite
At the point of contact
Both try to cut off
The other's kite
By pulling the twine
Or by releasing more twine
To create friction
Finally, the winner
Severs the kite
Of the loser
And the severed kite
Glides down to the ground
Now, whose freedom
Is superior?
The one that is severed
And becomes absolutely free
But what if it falls to the ground?
Or, the one that is still
Tied to the twine,
The spool, and the kite flyer
But soars higher and higher
Into the sky?
Written: September 06, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Constance La France
Quote: "On a day when the wind is perfect, the sail just needs to open, and the world is full of beauty". By Rumi
*********
Listen—not with ears, but with aching skin,
where whispers meander extreme within.
The zephyr is not a cursory breeze,
But divination along with the trees.
It jiggled enigmatically from the stone
and carved its ideology into this bone.
It speaks in whispers and traumatized song,
of where we're accurate, and what went wrong.
Jaw-dropping stories in stillness and hum,
of battles bewildered and those to come.
It hurdles through periods, grief, and grace,
leaving outward fingerprints on the face.
It wears no enthrone, yet huddles the kings;
It severs the tresses on buried things.
So listen in not for roaring decree—
But toward the breath underneath the plea.
The wind will not delay, solicit, or steam,
It is bombastic and allows you to stream.
Zephyr adorns twigs and allows grass to gleam.
He brings awful thunder.
With all his disdain,
he booms and he blusters
with words most profane.
Along with the thunder -
like sparks on a plain -
comes lightning that he
simply cannot contain.
Those blazes of hatred
that she can’t constrain
come suddenly! What
made him so inhumane?
Like crops set on fire -
her heart is the grain
reducing to ashes.
His rage is her bane.
A love once held dear
she no more can feign.
He feels this, and strikes her
again and again.
Along with the thunder
come torrents of rain.
She drowns in the hurt
from which he won’t refrain.
He’s vowed she will die
if she severs the chain
that binds her to him
in unholy pain!
She tried once to flee,
but it was in vain.
Control that is thunder’s
he’ll always maintain.
So pray for all women
within thunder’s reign -
that freedom from it
once more they’ll regain.
By Imran Ahmed
Pain Is The Sky When It Crumbles And Crashes Burying Your Dreams Beneath Its Merciless Suffocating Weight,
Pain Is The Storm That Shreds Your Body Apart Each Raindrop A Blade Each Gust A Scream Of Despair,
Pain Is The Spell That Binds Your Soul In Chains Locking Your Light Within A Prison Of Endless Night,
Pain Is The Knife That Kisses Your Vena Cava Spilling Rivers Of Agony From A Wound That Never Heals,
Pain Is The Flood That Drowns Your Veins In Sorrow Surging Through Arteries With Waves Of Torment Untamed,
Pain Is The Poison That Clogs Your Throat A Venomous Chokehold Stealing The Last Breath Of Your Fading Hope,
Pain Is The Grinder That Severs Your Head Gears Of Suffering Crushing Every Whisper Of Sanity You Owned,
Pain Is Euphorbia Burning Your Eyes A Venomous Bloom That Blinds You With Tears Of Eternal Regret,
Pain Is Her Love False Yet Intoxicating Stealing Your Life While Leaving You Chained To A Grave Of Longing,
She Is Both The Pain And The Drug Of That Pain A Curse You Crave A Torment That Lasts Forever.
I’ve a box of never’s
Slightly used
Some just lightly touched
Others quite abused
For never is an endless moan
A screechy thing lacking tone
A chewing dog without a bone
Each never a curse eternal
Debates its choices infernal
Made in moments nocturnal
By youth neither “pat” or “mat”ernal
Yet there are things worse than the “nevers”
Those fevered, forgotten “forevers”
Caught in a moment that severs
The fulcrum from that which it levers
So if you’ve a choice
And a sly silky voice
You may make of the “never’s”
“forevers”
Pack them up tight
Keep’em way outta sight
Lest they stop by for a visit
…At night
Today, hell wears the face of the wind,
a wind that severs breath
and casts night upon the eyes:
wars devouring the dust of time,
hatreds rooted deep into the earth,
silences clutching the world’s heart
like a black fire.
And it seems there is no other voice
but the cry of evil upon evil,
no other path but a good carved
on barren stones,
in the hands of those who dare to impose heaven.
Yet hell can be crossed,
like a burning passage,
like a groaning desert.
One must seek the spark,
the small fire that does not yield,
the word silence cannot devour.
To find what hell is not:
a living branch among the ashes,
a vein of light pulsing
within the wounded body of the world,
and hold it, clasp it,
like a pledge of eternity,
like a flower born of the cross.
To live and to die for this,
for Christ,
where fire becomes lightning
and darkness opens into song,
where hell dissolves
and only dawn remains,
the first eternal dawn.
we as puppets perform
the dance is beauteous
when heart is the driver
ego severs the cord
that connects us to love
whence all that is left
is a writhing, contorted spasm
which we call our life
yet the flame of awareness
is held by God alone
so He is who we seek
and in seeking we so become
the flame of love, light and bliss
which we were, are and will be
for eternity
My love like steel and silk
cuts through you
splutters your blood
watermelon juice down a throat
Wipes it with yellow silken ribbon
for you to suck afresh
that you may find your
Godly seed within
My love like dragonflies and bees
silently landing on stamen or pistils
alchemising nectar into patterned
dust upon transparent wings
Earth rewards my love with morning glory
steel severs sunflower stems
silkworms crawl into a wet rose centre
pollen stolen in sparkling dew
My steely silken love refreshed
from your flowered stickiness
pact fusion hath brewed
welds cauldron spewed spit fiery
sparse talents biformed renowned
oddity affair
ardent youth pose statuesque
fragile innards touch grotesque
bursts end aggression
severs espousal rapport
guilt aspires realist soars
Drag blade into coliseum gates red,
crimson armor and black carbon metal,
adore my frame as a scarlet knight bred.
Toothy grin, Cheshire eyes, test thy mettle.
Burst petals onyx
Shockwave from footfall rumbles
It’s a massacre
Titan comes through the open maw, eyes glow,
grip tightening on handle, breaths calm down.
Stand before a giant cape, outstretched flow,
smirk plays a curl on my lips, blade in ground.
Juke and roll from axe
Uppercut zenith severs
All fall with droplet
Welcome dear rodents to my ascension…
Turn of An Unfriendly Card
(Tarot 3 of Swords)
I cannot empathize with a shattered heart.
That image of a fragile, breakable baby pink orb
Is insulting to how I feel.
The turn of an unfriendly card depicts three swords
thrust into a still beating heart
I feel the sliver blade of that first sword
plunge hard, deep and succinctly.
I gasp with the pain in my chest
I feel the second as it severs sideways
and tears my heart from side to side
and as grief overwhelms my shredded heart,
the third slides neatly, methodically
down the middle until it dismembers
the connection to keeping it all together,
and I double over, sink to the floor, rock my body
and cry.
What I avoided is staring at me
daring me
to accept the inevitable and grow from upheaval
Become something greater that the puddle I’ve collapsed into,
grow something strong from the richness
of the blood-meal soaked earth.
The sword hurts and tears again while being pulled out
in necessary preparation for the healing to begin.
My heart is not fragile.
Its a Friday. You’re crazy about fridays. But really you’re more crazy for the outing you’ve set your mind to but really it’s for the drinks at happy hour. It’s funny, cause we always attempt to make it for happy hour and yet, you fool, you leave your blow dryer plugged in. there. It’s under the sink- . Who left this here? I always leave these on the counter. There. Ugh, really? You left the champagne open, dumbass. Just taste it, okay. It’s okay. She’s still bubbly, like your chest right now, bubbling, as the fizz slowly severs your high wave, funny, who the left the door open? UGH no no I’ll close it, ow… I just jabbed my toe onto the door. But on the brink of disaster, you laugh. The wave of bubble’s stopped though, and your Friday has just begun, with the red wave of toe blood. Laugh.
Loneliness, like a sickle that rips the soul to the bone
One that makes you feel you are alone
A feeling of utter desolation
One that kills the hope in your emotion
Desperation, like a rope that strangles your will to exist
In tearing sadness, it's hard to resist
Like a drowse of enchanted magic potion
That fashions a mortal illusion
Desolation, a state of intense hopelessness
A painful feeling of drastic emptiness
Like a creeping soul in the gloom
That lost all its chances to bloom
Emptiness, a feeling of complete depravity
That savagely severs your ties to reality
A state of bleak disposition
That tears down the heart of your volition
May 7, 2023
Anatomy of Melancholy Poetry Contest (10th place)
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
Love is a game that has no rules:
yet it's an all-or-nothing stakes.
And the odds do not favor fools;
who toy with my heart till it breaks.
When you smile, my heart skips a beat:
and my pulse swiftly starts to race.
For staying calm is no small feat:
seeing that smile light up your face.
Fate imbues love with wings of hope
to pursue a heart pure and true.
And trust severs my safety rope,
surrendering my heart to you.
But, in surrender, I found bliss;
as our two half-souls were made whole.
For when passion fuels each kiss;
love morphs into one heart and soul.
As the angels gather,
My dread grows as the angry hand of heaven
falls against my sinning naked soul.
It severs me, and darkly my essence drips to the dirty ground.
In horror, I cry out while the nothingness hovers close.
Now alone, my soul falls upon closed eyes.
I see the light.
This is my Redemption
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