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When you are growing as a poet
your pain is pining to born a poetry
where there are too many clouds of emotions gathering,
also a pensive mood longing
then the thunder of thoughts growing,
your paper is awaiting for the first word
as I was waiting for you, my love
when you were coming slowly
then words of rain raining,
automatically,
randomly

When the first raindrop pings on the pond
even you don't know when it will be stopped
how far it will be covered
which path it will be taken
even its density,
dignity,
or the diversity

Your first word inks on the paper
you don’t know when it will be finished
which way the words will be taken
even you don't know
its size or style,
its fashion or the scheme

Either it's a long or a short
or even a sonnet or a verse
even its rhyming
or the rhythm

You should not think about its length
of course words grow as long as
the metaphors can travel
through its thoughts of cohesion
and its feelings moving
naturally,
poetically

You should not count the words
or even you can't stop within a limit
it makes your thoughts imperfect
rather you can tell totally
about the life,
or can tell about
the love easily
or beyond the life spontaneously

The words can grow 3,5,7
lines for a haiku
or even it goes for a mile for an epitaph
or more for an epic  

Poetry executes through words
words come from thoughts
thoughts come from the emotions
and ends with the wisdom
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

///

It is very easy to bear a child
when you are a good parent or not

It is also not too tough to write some words
when you are a good poet or not

But it is too tough for a parent to grow up   
their child as being a real man

As it is too tough for a poet to make
a meaningful poem with those words

Though either you are a very good parent
or a very good poet

///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

She was alone. No one to hold her.
Her friends thought she was happy,
Why? Because that's what she told them.

looking...searching for something real.

"I'm fine." "I'm okay."
Is all she would say.
Faking a smile and moving on every single day.
No one knew. She had everyone fooled.

looking...fighting off demons.

No one knew what she felt, or what she thought,
or what she did when coming home, and the memories she fought.
No one knew what was happening behind the scenes of this Angels' smile.

looking...seeking for a hero.

She thought that she was useless,
that there's nothing to her, no point to stay alive.
Little did she know that the hero she was looking for, was on his way.

looking...finding a hero.

Until this one day, she thought She needed someone.
Until this day, when he walked up to her and
told her that she is His hero.

looking...loving a hero..loving herself.

Full of doubt, she asked "Why?"
"Because of who you are" he answered,
"All you have to do is find yourself, your true self."
"Because when you do so , I'm certain that you'll be able to see you,
the way others see you, the way I see you; My hero."
"My hero in disguise."

We come looped back and forth
infinite upon this plane.

All experience gels into itself
catalysis gooing
yet remains ungoo'ed.

Who we are is figments
of this basket and that
collecting from this
dimension and that.

One spike strikes the mind
affecting conscious mental
aether electifies, plucking
synapse physically
reroutes emotional body
looping back into itself and out.

Perpetual film flowing
through lens
stamped and projected
onto screens of life
for viewing.

Movement may come from
any beginning, middle or end
looping is not linear
unless the loop is cut.