Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
one leaf
sits upon
the ground
blown here
from afar,
as it is lies in
the deep
darkness
of the
concrete jungle
there are
no trees
nearby
just
this leaf
dusky green
smooth and waxy
to the touch
and smelling
of the weekend
 Jun 2017 K Balachandran
Leydis
I do not write about you because I am obsessed.
I do not write about you because I am depressed.
I do not write about you because I am transfixed.
Nor Am I stuck on a moment.
Nor Am I quixotic.
Nor Am I holding on to the impossible,
The intangible,
The unrealistic,
The superficial,
Nor Am I, in a starry eyed Ivory Tower!

I write about you because you are real.
I write about you, because my love is unbinding.
And that love that I gave you so freely,
binds itself to the parts of you,
to the parts of me,
to the parts of we
to that parts of us
to the parts of love.....
To those parts I feel for you.

For the poet writes about his muse!
The prose speaks to the fiction and non-fiction.
Yet my ink composes to the kiss,
to the tongue,
to the salivary glands that once moistened the corners of my soul,
that were,
that are
.............still in love with you!

Does Fall not write about foliage?
Does winter not have snow to sprinkle its nakedness?
Does June not come with April showers?
Doesn’t divorce look at marriage with derision?
Does hope only come in green?
Can a poet write without a muse?

So yes!
I am stuck on a moment.
I am quixotic.
I am holding on to the impossible,
The intangible,
The unrealistic,
The symbolic,
I do live in a starry eyed Ivory Tower.
Because that is where,
-------------------------------- I hold all the parts of you,
which are now---
the parts of me.
That’s why I write about you!!!!

LeydisProse
5/16/2017
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse/
Watercolors
Gouache
Colored pencils
I miss my notebook
The one I made
Holding my earrings
He has cried with me, maybe
Looking at the sky
Can't see my feet
Passing through the trees
Remembering no one's eyes
The cars are big
Can't catch my voice
Someone asking me :
''Are you beautiful ?''
And I say :
I'm depressed
I had beautiful skirts
Colored pencils be beautiful
I like to draw myself
The ovaries of the boats are empty
I gather the sands at the beach
The sky will remain blue with the sea
I don't know why I still don't like to makeup
I think...
**** pictures increase the depression
And it's only I who must have seen
the copulation of two crows
at the university
I can hear Farinoosh and I laughing
I will not forget Shekoufe
And Pouria that curly hair boy
I used to play with when I was four
Gave me a swallow...
And I like to draw myself
In the arms of my mom 'a scarves
My scarf was green with red dapples
I used to ride big dogs at fun fair
Eating candies
Hadn't my sister at that time
I was three...
As I got to six my sister came
with the Lion King
I remember that morning with my granny,
hanging from the terraces
I thought, the snow was snowing in the summer
Just like the cartoons...
I 'be always had strange feeling for the sun
I can't describe its warmth on my skin...!
I have dark circles around my eyes
I've lost my moon-star earrings
I can't swim in the sea
I should wear scarf
And I think I will feel death sooner
Where I can't take my mom and my sister
As I know very well that my
husband's black shoes would be
much bigger than me
For the sky to rain there must be a cloud...

آبرنگ
گواش
مدادرنگی
دلم برای دفترم تنگ شده است
من آن را درست کرده بودم
گوشواره هایم را داشت
شاید او هم با من گریه کرده باشد
به آسمان نگاه می کنم
پاهایم را نمی بینم
از روی درخت ها رد می شوم
چشم های هیچکس را به خاطر نمی آورم
ماشین ها بزرگ اند
به صدای من نمی رسند
کسی از من می پرسد
تو زیبایی!؟
و من می گویم
من افسرده ام
دامن های زیبا داشتم
مداد رنگی ها زیبا باشند
و من دوست دارم
خودم را بکشم
تخمدان قایق ها
خالیست
شن ها را در ساحل می چینم
آسمان با دریا آبی خواهد بود
نمی دانم چرا هنوز میل به
آرایش کردن ندارم
...فکر می کنم
تصویرهای سکس افسردگی را بیش تر می کند
که فقط من باید
جفت گیری دو کلاغ را
در دانشگاه دیده باشم
صدای خنده های فرینوش با من می آیند
شکوفه را از خاطر نمی برم
پوریا
پسری مو فرفری
در چهارسالگی با هم بازی می کنیم
...به من پرستو داد
و من دوست دارم خودم را بکشم
در آغوش روسری های مادرم باشم
روسری من سبز بود
با خال های قرمز
در شهربازی
سگ های بزرگ سوارم
اسمارتیز می خورم
هنوز خواهرم را نداشتم
...سه سالم بود
وقتی شش سالم شد
خواهرم با شیرشاه آمد
صبحی را با مادربزرگم یادم هست
در بالکن آویزان بودم
من فکر کردم
برف در تابستان باریده است
شبیه کارتون ها بود
همیشه احساسم به خورشید غریب است
نمی توانم توصیف کنم
!!...گرمایش در پوست تنم
زیر چشم هایم سیاه است
گوشواره های ماه و ستاره ام را گم کرده ام
نمی توانم در دریا شنا کنم
باید روسری داشته باشم
و من فکر می کنم
مرگ را زود تر احساس خواهم کرد
جایی که دیگر نمی توانم
مادرم و خواهرم را با خود ببرم
همانطور که خوب می دانم
کفش های سیاه همسرم
از من بزرگ تر خواهند بود
...باید آسمان باشد تا ابر ببارد
 May 2017 K Balachandran
Eudora
You
 May 2017 K Balachandran
Eudora
You
You* *are in every pulse of her heartbeat and the
*rhythm of the murmurs in between.
Taking long drives,
Through these country roads,
Catching butterflies,
And memories along the way,
Taking advantage,
Of the nicest of days

Dipping our feet in the sea,
Of sheer iciness,
Instantly feeling like needles,
Prickling our toes,
But we keep running as far as we can,
Holding hands,
as we go.

Eating a lemon top,
In freezing cold weather,
Not a single care,
When we're together,
Villages, pubs,
And countryside,
Our two hearts,
Will be full inside.

Even as summer passes through,
We always go back,
To that cosy shelter,
Whilst you're wearing 3 layers,
And my best sweater.

Birthday on the London eye,
Trying to count the bowler hats,
From up in the sky,
And seeing how many bulldogs,
Walk closely by.

Queuing for hours on end,
But filling in that empty void,
We call conversation,
Psychotic bond,
No hesitation.

I remember at the royal wedding,
As they passed by,
New princess with her dress sparkling,
I whispered in your ear,
You look much more beautiful, my darling.
I function sometimes
I function in fear,
Feeling,
Kneeling,
Whisper of a broken
Savior,
My tired soul labors
Along at the speed of
Life
The species known as me
Death eternal,
Internal declining,
Lightning flashes,
Passes to ashes,
In a life flashes
Love deeply
Totally utterly
Self aware in a solitary confinement
My life is out of alignment,
That the seeds were driven
From a scattered field of
Sun flower,
I want to watch my son flower,
What is a life
but a a lighter shade of black,
I want to go back
But its a point that half time,
I only have half the average,
Light embers in a fading dusk
Poetical emotion
Up without horizons,
Stay surviving asleep
While im awake,
Life turning to faded dreams

Illusion is that there is no illusion
Im kinda faded on drank
She looked at her mother.
Her mother’s dead body to be more specific.
She wanted to cry and scream.
But all she could do was stare at what is in the coffin.
A body. It belonged to someone she once knew.
Her mother.
People were rushing past her.
It is a funeral after all.
Too many things to be done.
And no one really could ask her to do anything.
She was stiff as a stone.
Pretty useless anyway.
Always have been.
Never knew what the right things to do socially were.
That used to be one of the problems her mother had with her.
Her poor mother.
She gave birth to an alien.
Someone who wasn’t normal.
She looked human outside but inside her daughter could not be more different to her.
Not only to her but pretty much an alien to the whole planet.
She didn’t know how to behave or dress up in social events.
How much her mother wanted a daughter who was pretty so she can flaunt her daughter everywhere?
How much she wanted a daughter who did not always argue with her? How much she wanted a daughter who loved house chores and enjoyed shopping?
How much she wanted a child who was just like everyone else?
There were countless days her mother scolded the God.
All her mother ever wanted was a normal child.
She didn’t have the strength to handle this abnormal child who is nothing but a burden.
Fortunately, her mother does not have to worry about that anymore.
She has left this ‘burden’ to fend for herself now.
If only ‘this burden’ knew how.
Not that her mother was much of help when she was alive.
Her mother was pretty useless too.
And maybe that’s why Natalie doesn’t really feel much difference emotionally now that her mother has gone.
The only thing that bothers her is that she needs to cook and clean herself from now on.
His sigh stirred the leaves
and they played near my feet.
Every tremble of the wind
sent my way hints of lemon.

We sat there, next to each other,
in wait for something to happen.

My hair stirred, restless,
and his feet pumped and swayed
In silence, we danced,
came close and drew away.

The space between was quivered
every atom charged with need,
like two ends of a magnet draw near
we feared - the possibilities.

His fists remained on his knee,
my hands held each other,
when the bus came he got up,
and I watched him go quietly.

He turned then, after a beat
and our eyes said the same,
this would have been an inevitable story
and no, there was no need for a name.
 May 2017 K Balachandran
Isabelle

Stomach is empty
Emotion is empty
Mind is empty
Ink is empty
Apology
This poem is empty
Next page