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Aires Jan 3
In this busy days,
I forgotten you.
But today let me ask you something,
Do you like him?
Because I don't.
......
(Smile)
I thought, you would ask me about our whereabouts.(Silence)
I like his voice maybe eyes too,.
Maybe smile,that's all.
But, I don't like him!
(Lie).
Sometimes you love but it hard accept
That may leads to forgetting yourself.
Hannah Willker Dec 2024
I look at you
While you sleep
I can feel your peace talking to me
a very short one, but I liked how it pairs up with "falling asleep in your arms"
JAMIL HUSSAIN Dec 2024
Ah, fairest soul, thy words like balm do soothe,
A melody wrought from heaven's gentle groove.
Thine echo doth awaken ancient streams,
Where once the stars did sail in argent beams.

Thy gaze, a lantern in the dusky night,
Doth pierce the dark with tremulous delight.
In thine arms, the very winds do cease,
And all the world doth find its sweet release.

Thou art a tempest clothed in tranquil guise,
A paradox that dances 'neath the skies.
To follow thee, in thine own breath to dwell,
Is to be caught within a rapture’s spell.

The sun may set, the moon may rise,
But none can claim a truth more wise
Than what thy lips, like whispers, sing—
For thou, sweet muse, art time’s own wing.

Thus, in this dance where heart and mind do meet,
We find the world, and make it whole, complete.
Thy voice doth call, as if it were the dawn,
And in that song, my soul is ever drawn

In reverent awe of thy grace,
By this humble hand, a heart to trace.
A Shared Pulse 09/12/2024 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
JAMIL HUSSAIN Dec 2024
Ah, how the tides of words, like wind, do sway—  
No right, no wrong, only truth in its play.  
She stirred the stillness, and I, unmade,  
Was scattered in the dance her breath portrayed.  

I spoke as a river, gentle and deep,  
Unknowing the fire she set in my sleep.  
Her youth, a tempest, fierce and bright,  
Burned with the intensity of a star’s first light.  

That morning, she rose as if the moon had wept,  
A dream untethered, from the night she had kept.  
Perhaps in the cradle of wine’s warm embrace,  
She found the secret to her restless grace.  

Her questions like arrows, sharp yet kind,  
Each one a thread that wove into my mind.  
With wisdom veiled in mystery’s song,  
She lured me in, where I belonged.  

"Open your heart," she breathed, "and let it fly,  
Together we’ll write, beneath the sky.  
Our words will echo, our rhymes will bend  
Time itself, till we are the end."
An Exchange of Breath 09/12/2024 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
Keegan K Dec 2024
I write poetry

to have
a conversation with myself
and with God
and you

to log
everything I see
and think
and feel

to expose
the lessons I was forced to teach myself
the prayers I learned for you
the wisdom you learned for me

to give
and less so to take
and therefore not to make
something of or for myself

only inevitability can be birthed--
with all the cries and wails
that arrive in sync with newness and life--
as I traverse the capacious cavern

inside and realize
to have it is
to log it is
to expose it is

To give.
revooda Nov 2024
" Once upon a pleasant day
  as I continue to describe and say
     I saw a conversation sublime
    so surreal and eternally divine.

      Roaming around the ocean
  of existence and great emotion.
   At the shore,Love and Hate sat together
  as intricacies began to decipher.

Love began her narrations
   citing several of its notions.
   As she narrated her side
  shores of life got washed by tide

   Drenched in the lively waters
  Hate now began narrating her matters
   Carefully she had listened to Love
  as I watched it from Heavens above.

Love spoke of beauty of life
  charming lush fields swaying to fife
  and the exquisite tone that it play
   by the Springs of the month of May.

Hate meanwhile spoke the same
      with tinges of love that she tame.
  The Autumns and Winters whose hues
   whom she owes those gruesome dues.

I witnessed how their judgements
   didn't go through any predicaments.
   Ay! I appear to be thoughtless broke
  as love-hate appeared as same cloak.

I witnessed how their judgements
   didn't go through any predicaments.
   Ay! I appear to be thoughtless broke
  as love-hate appeared as same cloak.

They talked long till eternity
      as infinity appeared a small entity.
    Thinking of uniting, enduring all pain,
      yet knowing it won't happen again.

      And then they both disintegrated
       into fine sands and amalgamated
     into the Ocean of life and existence
     and became parts of life sithence. "
Steve Page Nov 2024
How relaxed are you with the prospect
of the quiet that heralds her coming?
How comfortable are you
in her subtle company?
How much do you give her time,
make space for her conversation?
How slowed are you in her presence?
How attentive to her movements?
How attuned to her voice?
How empathetic are you
to her wanton sisters:
intuition and instinct and expansion?
If you are wise
you won't refuse them.
Found this amongst my notes from July.  I can't recall what prompted it TBH
Trinkets Nov 2024
we have an understanding
you and I
carefully tiptoe around

no touch waltz game of mirrors
and pretending
we do not see
attempts to follow or to lead
all focus on to hide
enough to please believe

I am worthy of the dance
  

inner thoughts printing press
working overtime
writing stories variations
hundreds thousands
locked up overflowing
when any one would do

finding myself
grasping lighters
hiding in my pockets
desperately wanting
something real
a fire all consuming
destroying what is me
to burn all past beliefs

I would grab old stories
by the handful crumpled paper
dismiss all for just one truth
throw them all to fuel flames
for just one scribbled piece
of any story from you


answers in a conversation
surrendered for imagined somethings
the nature of human loneliness
reading only what there is to read

there never would be fires
or firework displays

no darkened smoke
no burning out
no disappointment

just endless inner libraries in decay
Zywa Nov 2024
In the evening we

rest and cautiously express --


our sincere feelings.
Composition "Les voix humaines" ("The human voices", 1701, Marin Marais), for viola da gamba, performed by Thomas Dunford (lute) and Jonathan Cohen (harpsichord) in the Music Hall on the IJ on November 3rd, 2024

Collection "Untwisted"
Odd Odyssey Poet Nov 2024
The air crackled; pre-*** tenses – with unspoken tension between
their eyes;  “please tell me you didn’t.” —a silent pause, “well, I’d
rather not,” he replied, a hint of passive aggression lurking
beneath his own shy’s.

“Can we talk about it either way,” —a silent pause, “absolutely not!
There’s nothing left to say; it’s all over, just like I am,” – he struggles
to find the right words to send her away.

“I refuse to give up, because giving up means allowing you to drown
in your own doubts– hey, it happens; but it won’t change how I feel.
Love is friction, but let’s not compare its love life to fiction. All films
are written, but our lives are unscripted”

"Let's just promise ourselves to talk about these things"
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