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Jayantee Khare May 2017
Losing you is not an event or occasion..
It continues, happens over and over again..  

I lose you when i see a bike like yours..
When comes the favourite tv show of yours...

I lose you when i see your childhood pics...
Your proud uniform and your p.o.p. clicks...

I feel like holding you and kissing you...
Loose you every night i start missing you...

I lose you when i cook your favourite food...
I loose you with my deserted motherhood...  

I lose you when i wake up in the mornings...
I still clean and arrange all your belongings...

I lose you when any brave heart is killed...                                                        ­                     When the void in  someone’s life not filled...  

I lose you when i find the pen.. your toy...
Will keep you alive in my writing O my brave boy...

-A young martyr’s mother’s voice
Killing of young army offcr by militants at kashmir.......shaked me to write this
Debanjana Saha Apr 2017
we spend time together laughing out all the time,
but you open up nothing just like a mime.
You seem to be a mystery without a single clue
You make me happy in just a snap
But I doubt whether I can make you happy just for a while?
I too wish to make you happy many a times
but something or the other goes wrong from my side.
I won't force you to be with me
but if you speak up nothing
I won't know how you really feel
all I know is, you hide it all beneath your smile.
Say whatever it is, whether you want to stay or leave
but just don't hide
as the dilemma is killing me from inside!
Hidden conversations about a friend.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2017
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
I execute it all for pay.
My daily trade is killing time.

I slice the day up like a lime
in sections green and silver-gray.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.

I'm practiced in this pantomime,
proficient, quite au fait.
My daily trade is killing time.

Like a hit man in his prime
I knock off the hours of the day.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.

Yet killing here is not a crime;
it's merely the established way.
My daily trade is killing time.

No. killing here is not a crime;
it's the toll road through this fray.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
My daily trade is killing time.
As a person who likes to stay busy, I hated it when, after 16 years as Audit Director at a university, I was transferred to Assistant Controller working for a person who truly earned her title as "Controller". Since the decision had not been hers, she resented it (as close as I can figure, anyway) so she held back on assigning me work or letting me do work, even when she talked about being swamped. Also it was a large office and I couldn't help but notice a lot of "goofing off". The situation was grist for the mill for this poem...and luckily didn't last long. I left and went in a whole new direction and have been my own boss ever since. :-)
Mane Omsy Mar 2017
Why is it always?
Is it your thirst for respect
Prove if you can in a better way
Don't ***** about "it's OURS"
Speak if you can
Or hide in the bushes
Don't sneak around killing people
If you really want to be praised
None will do, even your religion
Hell is awake with your deeds
Eat what you want
Don't dare put your hands
in our platters
Real men don't bring hate
Ugly goblins, teach your kids too
Respect people without covers
Leaders who spread violent speeches and deeds must be abandoned from the country. . Should be hanged in public.
The Great Barrier Reef
A beauty born out of rock and sand
Seldom touched by human hand
An image of beauty
Slowly demolished
By the unpolished

The Great Barrier Reef
An unexplained bleaching
Its beauty compelling,
Its color expelling.
It lays in pain,
Forever longing a voice.

The Great Barrier Reef
It burns with heat
A half now surrendered
To the changes from above
A feeling unknown
Whirlpools surging
Destroying all we’ve known.

The Great Barrier Reef
She’d given up
Hope.
The destruction will never stop,
Her perseverance now lost.
But maybe someday,
The world will once again live in peace.
The Great Barrier Reef
Rose L Mar 2017
Sludge and blood. The smell of deep red iron
filtering through the rocks and bodies bruised to the touch.
Grotesque collections of pills and broken skin;
infections and secretions and violent affections -
Spit stained fingers and dilated pupils at thoughts thick with resin.
Waking up with sickness in your stomach and bite marks on your neck
The pull of clutching hands at strands of hair and bitten lips and sweat
Pulling deeper, sharp inhale of self-done stitches
Ripped open insides and the moment his breath hitches -
aches forever. Pulsing, swollen, bleeding on the brain
Sweet and sickly, gorgeous and gorged veins
Momentary singularity in pain.
I tried to create a parallel in this between illness and ***. I hope it shows!
Nox Mar 2017
You are killing me

you make my heart twist.

Maybe you and I could be "we"

perhaps I can finally be kissed.
Phoenix Rising Feb 2017
Fly high!
That's what they'll say,
after you wreck your car
and spill your brains.

They won't know--
or maybe they will.
****** tomb,
disguised as "wonderful daughter,
great friend."

Everyone has earplugs,
blindfolds too.
The epidemic is supplying
some for you.

Russian roulette
has some competition.
This ain't some new
invention...

Nobody cares--
it's not them.
Nobody cares--
unless it's them.
But it's too late by then.
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