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May I splinter away from myself
break into whole units
and
live in each with perfection!

This ME
made whole by
combining countless fragments
could not live in any one part
with complete ease.

May I show a true model
of deconstruction to Derrida
by taking off parts that make up my being!

So that I would see
one man fallen off me
shambling down the street,
and continue to speak in assemblies
with full ignorance of the subject,
continue to review the news of the world
by stuffing them in his brain
and go yapping in the crowds
fully content in the perfection of
his inferior sphere.

The other one
brooding over the ledger books
and the personal files
of the employees.

May the next one always keep reading,
the other looking after children
and still another swimming
in love all his life.

May the other fragment – the ‘me’ whom I don’t like
remain shut somewhere in the room.

May one other splinter engage
in inner decoration of the house
and meet the hunger of needs.
If he cannot do so
may he fragment himself further
into contractors
supplying vegetables, miscellanies,
clothes, and fuels
and sorting out other mess.

May one other part
forgetting that he is my splinter
continue to clap on each stupid action
of his boss, shaking head, and
remain busy in his little puppet moves.

May the other take responsibility of
television, radio and newspapers.

May the other still stay repeating the news of
the relatives and acquaintances
fulfilling formalities of well-being
embroiling in the phatic-
where? what? how?
participating in all of ‘sixteen rituals’
and birthdays.

May the other one continue to repeat
the non-news of his immobility
and continue to go to places
where people gather,
and go doing something like that.

May I hold an assembly
of the proportional representation
of all my selves.
may I go out with the poet
by leaving all the others
in their chaotic meaningless arguments.

May my poet remain a poet
in its perfection
unattached to my domesticity
full of scarcities;
may he remain separate
from a job-savvy me
who has sold his self-respect.
may my poet disengage itself
from my being
swayed by my brain.

May I discard the outer cover of time
from the layers of poetry
by immersing the poet in its entirety
within me, and
dismantle geography’s barriers.
may I break the windows of consciousness,
break further the dilapidations of waking moments
and emerge into the bright world of dream.

May life remain enamored of its own charm
may the river of love always flow from its own lap
may my pain remain drunk singing its own love songs
and the dead body of agony remain asleep
resting its head on a pillow of flowers.

May I free myself from the labyrinth of knowledge
run away from the jungle of thoughts
and jump from the hill of illusion
into the mind’s speedy currents.
by stepping on this joint of time.
may I pack all inventions in burlaps
and hide them in corners of Einstein’s’ brains.

May I free myself from the ever-pressing chest
and enter the garden of imagination
by leisurely hiding brain on hill summits.

May I take off clothes covering shame at the border
leaving them hanging on dry trees of arrogance
and run by wearing the rays of the sun.

May I create plain fields by collecting clouds
and bedeck them with arching rainbows.

Playing ball of wind
reaching the other end of The Road Not Taken
may I call in Robert Frost by holding hands
and request Ginsberg to recite Howl
facing the world.

May I bet with Devkota sitting contentedly
by receiving his lord’s blessings
that you are a poet who has written epics
and win a bagful of stars.

May I exchange T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland
with the future of this earth like a lunatic’s dreams
and make one season of poetry farming
by tilling with the pen of desire.

Oh, this ME
made with so many fragments
could not make any achievements!

May I then splinter away
from myself
and live only with the poet.
०००००
Note - This poem was originally written in Nepali language. This translation has been rendered by Abhi Subedi, and  was first published in Spillwords
..............................................
Sanu Sharma Jun 5
May I meet you someday like this,
may there be no rush of saying goodbye
may there be no fear of interruptions.
may all the emotions be poured out
and every nook and cranny of my heart be emptied.
may I hold no regrets within
may memories not haunt us later.

May I never tire of expressing myself
may I find contentment in listening to you
may there be no constraints of time
and may we be bound together as a single knot
you, time, and I.

May I grasp you and drift into a deep slumber
may there be no haste to wake up
may there be no fear of missing a moment
may I get melted on your embrace, and
meld into your wholeness
just as the soul merges with the Supreme Being

May there be no unfulfilled dreams like this
may there be realities that satisfy me.

Someday, may I meet you
just like this.


- ० -
Note - This poem was originally written in Nepali language. This translation has been rendered by Suman Pokhrel.
..........................................................
There’s a parachute stitched into my eyes— soft silk holding
nothing, as I watch myself freefalling into an empty space
The ringing words of love still call, like fading prayers –
as the voices of lovers trying to reconnect.

But I never was good at playing my heart. But aren’t you
expecting me to stay in character? To wear the lines you
wrote for me, in the means of keeping up this fantasy of love.
My smiles are scripted; as everyone else is helping to create
such a picture frame. The world helps paint our picture from
all the wildest of conversations; but the more they run out of
your mouth, the more they seem to taste so tame.

These tired eyes have searched in your eyes for a reflection
I can truly bend– so is the baggage claim of my baggy eyes;
visioning our broken pieces coming together to hopefully
mend.

I was your background character, your silent NPC in a game
you never knew I played, the first time. But when I stopped
watching, when I stopped turning toward you with secret
obsession – you started to feel the crush of my own crush.
Now you chase the echo of something that once held you
true—that hidden crush, that tender view, searching. But love,
my dear, truly YOU, should see how love is so **** blind.
Savva Emanon May 6
We gather in crowds and whisper of silence,
yearning for touch, yet wincing at hands.
The streets are swollen with voices we summon,
and still, we retreat to the rooms of our minds.

Oh, the terrible weight of desire and distance!
To love so fiercely, yet long to be free,
to build up our houses, then dream of the desert,
to drown in a sea of all we let be.

I have walked between wanting and not,
two corridors lit with a flickering doubt,
one draped in the velvet of intimate longing,
the other a door I am always without.

What a riddle it is, to be so divided,
to hold out a hand and wish it unseen,
to ache for the warmth of an offered embrace,
and shrink from the shadow it leaves in between.

Perhaps we are all just echoes of echoes,
laughing in rooms where no one can hear,
writing our names on the walls of each other,
then leaving, before they can ever appear.
Copyright 2025 Savva Emanon ©
The Poets Loft is my new YouTube Channel.
https://www.youtube.com/@PoetsLoft
Ana21 Apr 4
I wear the mask of too many roles,
Caretaker, rebel—lost in their tolls.
I give, I bend, but never break,
Hiding parts of me for others' sake.

I ask myself, "Is this enough?"
Is my best a gift, or a never-ending bluff?
I wonder if they see the cracks inside,
The parts of me I’ve tried to hide.

When things go wrong, I pull away,
Lost in regret, in a sea of dismay.
I cry, I doubt, I ask, “Why me?”
Stuck in the same cycle, never free.

I fear they’ll see me as a lie,
Fake, rude, disloyal—just a disguise.
But deep within, I know the truth,
I hide, I shrink, to avoid the proof.

I suppress the honesty, the raw, the real,
For fear they’ll judge what they can’t feel.
I keep my truth locked far away,
A prisoner of my own dismay.

Isolation brings a fleeting peace,
But it’s the silence that won’t cease.
With the few who truly see,
I try to feel what it means to be me.

But even in those moments, I fear,
That I’ll be left, unseen, unclear.
So I wonder, in the quiet of night,
Am I enough, or just a fight?

I don’t know what my purpose is yet,
But in this struggle, I’ve learned to forget.
I’m supposed to lead, but all I see,
Are the shattered pieces of who I could be.

I carry self-doubt and endless strain,
Validation from others, my constant chain.
But in the dark, I’m left to roam,
Wishing for a place to call home.
This reflects the internal struggle of feeling torn between roles, doubting one's worth, and fearing judgment. It explores the weight of emotional isolation, the constant search for validation, and the silent yearning to break free from self-imposed chains. The rawness of vulnerability and the quiet longing for peace echo throughout. It’s a reflection on the pain of self-doubt and the struggle to find one’s authentic voice.
Ana21 Mar 13
I was born into expectations,
wrapped in prayers and rules,
a daughter shaped by scriptures,
but never by choice.

If I speak, my voice is defiance,
if I’m silent, I’m weak.
A war I never started,
yet somehow, I lose.

I tried to be their perfect child,
folded myself into quiet obedience,
swallowed my thoughts like bitter pills,
but perfection was a lie I couldn't live.

So I stood, unbowed, unbroken,
but to them, I was lost.
A wandering soul, a whispered shame,
a lesson in what not to be.

I have made peace with the distance,
with the sighs and the shaking heads.
For I would rather be whole and unloved,
than loved for someone I am not.
This speaks about the quiet battle of being shaped by expectations yet yearning for authenticity. 🌿📖 It reflects the cost of choosing oneself over conformity—the distance it creates 🚶🏾‍♀️💭, the love it sacrifices 💔, but also the peace it brings. 🌊🕊️ In the end, it is a declaration of strength 💪🏾: the choice to be whole 🌟 rather than be loved under false terms. ❤️
I don’t wish to close my eyes
while you sleep.

I don’t wish for time to slip away
while you smile.

I wish to fall asleep by your side
if one day it rains.

I love your white essence,
and also your dark one.

I love when you give yourself in parts,
and also when you give yourself completely.

I love your tenderness,
and also your hardness.

A tiny body,
but a soul of greatness.

A dark past,
but a radiant present.

A deep toughness,
but an incomparable kindness.

A little shy,
but of immeasurable courage.
I wrote this text addressed to the universe months ago. When I gathered all my poems together, I realized that this person had arrived. The universe had granted my wish.
So many times,
life denied me
what I longed for,
what I hoped for,
what I thought was mine.

Sadness,
uncertainty,
wrapped around me.

Why others?
Why not me?

Time and again,
I thought I understood:
It wasn’t mine,
I didn’t deserve it.

But today,
under the sun,
I ask myself:

Why not?

I am worthy.
I know how to love,
I strive every day.
I respect,
I believe,
I share,
I give.

And those who know how to give,
also know how to receive.

I deserve everything in my life.
I deserve freedom.
I deserve health.
I deserve peace.
I deserve prosperity.
I deserve love.
I deserve happiness.

What are you denying yourself?
Life kicked me,
even when
I was already down.

It left me so many times,
alone,
thinking no one cared.

I had so much love to give,
but I wasn’t the most beautiful
for those who sought it.

They mocked me
for being strange,
when they were the ones who didn’t understand.

I trusted those who swore to stay,
yet behind my back, they laughed.

I lost myself,
becoming
what others wanted me to be.

I loved who I shouldn’t have,
trusted who I couldn’t,
fought battles that weren’t mine.

Tired of the shadows,
I became light.

Until I learned to play,
to laugh,
and to love.

What did I learn?
Are you familiar with the phrase, "Looks like your mom dressed you?"
That’s what I see when I look at you
Not because of the clothes, but because of the care.
And that’s what makes me love you the most.

I show it in how much I care.
I offer to buy you lunch when I know you’ve had a long day.
And still, you have the energy to talk to me the way you do
The way you make me feel like I am family.

Your words are a comfort you don’t realize I need.
And while there’s nothing wrong with Mom,
Babe, your dad raised you right.
He taught you that the world is tough
That to get a single thing you want,
You have to go through so much.
And still, you tell yourself that everything is going to be okay.
I know because I live it, and it’s easy to see.
Babe, you carry your father’s strength.

You love me protectively.
You make space for me.
You save room for me.
It’s rare to find a woman like you.
Every time you leave,
I’m already waiting to see your face again.

I love the way you were raised
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