Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
A crimson boat waives
the flow of the waves
as a blonde damsel craves
an infernal sun.

Next to the maiden
and the dandy-fella,
blossoms a vermillion
umbrella
whose washed out shadow
played the shady cellar
for two green apples
and one apricot
the blonde damsel hungrily
had bought
to quench her own fiery
want
of the lustful monster.

Closing her ice-blue eyes,
the fair woman,
her sinful inspiration
did she summon
to come carve
on her body so sullen
a scarlet picture
of the new Benzart bridge.

© LazharBouazzi, Carthage, TUNISA


*"Benzart" is the Tunisian name for “Biserta” or “Bizerte”- a beach town on the northern coast of Tunisia.
 Mar 2017 Kalesh Kurup
Hannah
Learn to love being alone.
Learn to love who you are.
Learn to love your body.
Learn to love your mind.
Learn to love.
Just learn.
~ Just learn ~
Why do I
ask for more
When I do have
enough ?

Why do I
look around
when I know
there is no
happiness to be found?

Why do I
speak lies to myself
when I already
know the fact ?

Why do I
make my life
unnecessarily difficult
by expecting
a lot more from me ?

Why do I do the things that I do?
What am I trying to do , trying to prove ?
Nothing makes sense to me ,
I do not make sense at all on reasons ,
why I do things that do not help me .
 Mar 2017 Kalesh Kurup
Grez
I was told poems mustn't rhyme
Those that do show infantile minds
A child can rhyme two with glue
Or find a metaphor for the sky being blue

Rhymes are easy
Essence is hard
I use conventional flow
As my not-so-trump trump card

Stop. Branch out.
Find the words to reach deep down.
The soul wrencher's
The tear jerkers
The love felt on a whim
From first sight
Unable to project true depth
Just imagery
The easy kind
.
.
.

Stick to the rhymes for now
Best to do what you know how
Appreciate feedback <3
She's a very honest soul,
A brave soul without care.
She will tell you of her day
so listen to the words
she speaks.
She will hide things,
But she will tell you
When you feel like
Listening.
She won't ever force
You to say anything
Or ever force you
To do anything
For her.
She's beautiful,
Smart, creative
and definitely
caring.
She's able to bring up
any topic to talk about
so awkward silences
are non existent with her.
When you look into her eyes
If you haven't fallen in love
You definitely will.
There's a shine that
is indescribable.
The moon light can't compare
To the shine that glimmers
in her eyes.
If you can make her look
at you with that shine,
consider yourself a lucky man.
You will never find an angel
Who will be able to care
While at the same time
Make you laugh without a care.
Cherish her every second
Cherish her every moment
Because you have won the lottery,
Love her with all your heart
and make her happy.
If I could pick someone to be
With right this moment,
I would pick her.
So you should realise
Just how lucky you are.
You definitely do not
want to lose her.
Watch as the sun rises and sets
And you'll realise,
Her beauty is way beyond
Any of that.
Make her happy for me,
I just want you to make
her smile.
                 Love her
Like I never had
                 The chance
to.
This is a repost of an old poem that I really have loved for myself.
The thing about losing one’s mind Is that it doesn’t happen all at once.
No, the loss is a creeping gradual thing, never occurring in a *****.
It starts with some forgotten names; some dear, some famous but, to you, not.
Next you’re at a loss for words you’ve often used but now cannot.
You find yourself on an oft trod trail which suddenly is strange and new.
Its getting dark, its growing cold and the police have to be sent for you.
There is a fear that chills the soul that only knows that it knows not.
Hanging on that precipice fearing you will be forgot
Yet when that last forgetting comes your fear will be forgotten too.
And you’ll greet Death like an old friend whose name will surely come to you.
.
premature dementia
The spot is empty where he sat close by my feet
And gazed at me with loving whippet eyes, but
Not as empty as the hollow in my heart.

His walking lead hangs by the door
Reminding me each time I pass
That I must learn to walk alone.

His favorite toy, abandoned now,
Brings tears where it once brought
Laughter at his antics as he played.

This well loved dog, my mate of many years
Was very like the decade of my youth
With me for a certain special time, then gone.

A candle in the darkness of my grieving
Lights the places where all the good times were
And becomes a beacon for my memories forever.
           ljm
I wanted to make this longer and better but emotion got in the way. Sorry.
 Mar 2017 Kalesh Kurup
R Arora
I was exhausted of sitting in the car,
In traffic jams at noon.
Travelling a distance too far
In an attempt to reach soon.

Glad I was home when I expected,
I started telling my Mum about the day.
I continuously blabbered,
Not giving her any chance to say.

As I was done speaking,
She asked if I could come with her,
"Sorry, I can't", I  said after thinking,
Shopping isn't something that makes me feel better.

"It's the grocery to be bought", she said,
Hoping that I might budge ,
I denied again,
And so she struck a bargain:
"I was thinking we could have sweet buttermilk."
I heard without lifting my head,
and with a child-like grin, I began to trudge.

I can control my desires well,
But I am a foodie with a sweet tooth.
I'd be in heaven, I can surely tell,
If I have book, couch and food.

"Choose a shop before we are way past it,
It was fun today", she said, smiling.
Isn't this what we live for?
It is the time we spend, and not the lure.
I was unknowingly overcome with guilt,
And we reached home, while I was still thinking.
21 March, 2017
Next page