Dust gathers
on the sleeves of morning,
while sunlight hides
inside tired hands.
The city wakes slowly...
steel shutters,
factory smoke,
a kettle singing
in a worker's kitchen.
Someone walks toward another day,
carrying yesterday's exhaustion
like an invisible country
upon their back.
Yet dawn persists,
breaking through cracked pavements
and the stubborn courage
of ordinary people.
Flags rise like restless birds.
Voices gather
like rain before the storm.
Even silence
learns a different breath.
For every road,
every tower,
every window lit after dark
has passed through
the hands of someone unseen.
And somewhere
beneath the noise of the world,
a quiet truth endures:
No life is ever small.
Copyright@farukahmedroni
Beautiful England, oh how beautiful its landscapes are
How wonderful its villages and towns are
How fascinating London and its districts are
My wonderful home has made a huge difference in my life
I will carry this city in my heart forever, it's my new life
Dancing in the rain in the UK
The water is pouring and pounding down
And I'm dancing no doubt looking insane,
But I can feel the rain's rhythm as it beats down,
As it rebounds off the ground again and again,
Each raindrop creates a ripple as it rebounds
Each raindrop has its own sound rain is not plain
It's nature's beat to invite you to move your feet
Let dancing to nature's beat wash away all your troubles
You might get wet wet wet having a blast skipping through puddles
Go dance in the rain if you live in the UK do it definitely,
We might as well try to enjoy the cards we've been delt unfortunately,
Because the rain rain doesn't go away in the UK
It's still here come mothers washing day
Thank god for tumble dryers for the 360 days where its raining it's pouring
The old man is snoring he went to bed and bumped his head and couldn't go to work in the morning because the rain was still bloody pouring.
10 DOWNING STREET
Boris, is being shown the door!
I envy you Brits, you deserve more.
We have jokers like that here, too.
The media supports lies,what to do?
Bring out the bubbly, do celebrate!
I raise a glass to you, mate!
7/7/2022
I welcome you to this magic kingdom
Drowned in endorphins and stale perfume
To hide the stench of sweat but not shame
You're free to leave but you won't be the same
So grab a drink, have one of my fags
The girls and boys in glamourous rags
Fight 'til the sunlight on sticky floors
Tomorrow morning they'll regret it, of course
Forget your morals, you won't need them now
It makes more sense to follow the crowd
That seems so happy and carefree
Intoxicated is the way to be
Am I the jester or the king?
This kingdom is my everything
Live long, all hail, up against the wall
The king is wearing nothing at all
If you're looking to lose yourself
Leave your soul and brain on the shelf
And find yourself washed up on the shores
Of the United Kingdom of Whores
England lies along the shores where constant waves roll in.
It's a place that beckons me back, though I have never been.
A longing tares inside of me that chokes my very soul
and the little taverns beckon me to return to days of old.
I inhale the cut grass blades that I've never laid upon,
and soon I must go home or I know I can't go on.
I miss hillsides through the palace and way far beyond
I want my beloved England for it's there I've made my bond.
Winter fires keep me warm through chimney's disrepair,
I long for spring to walk again, among the gardens there.
I miss my beloved England as much as I miss you,
Let's always "keep in touch" with this special Déjà vu
Fingers of light pierced the clouds caressing the moors
with life giving warmth, purples, browns and greens of
heathers mingled, blended, in a union of beauty. Yellow
of gorse splashed in the sultry, hazy spectre of natures
superb canvas. The dry stone walling lay sporadic, lost,
decaying in time and memory, the hardy moorland sheep
stumbled from blade to blade, in the breeze they used the
walls as shade. Golden plovers dipped and dived the call
of pee weet pee weet echoed in the stillness, the Peregrine
hovered with silent wings and sunlit eye. Those fingers of
light walked the hillside highlighting the chalk outcrops
on craggy reaches as if new laden snow. Black pools of
peaty water dot themselves borne of winters starkness,
it is a beauty that holds both eye and heart, a picture
painted for the soul. A place where all blends and the
crofter wears no watch only the sun and moon to follow
and the footsteps of the rambler sleeps in the fragrance
of the heather.
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