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JAMIL HUSSAIN Mar 22
What was the rose before it crowned its form?
It was the shadow of a dream unborn,
A promise carried on the wings of time,
A silent prayer, untold, sublime,
A secret held in depths where silence roams,
A whisper carried to the soul’s far home.

Then came the touch of Light, the gift of hue,
The perfume of longing, the blush of truth—
And the rose, once a mere thought of grace,
Became the soul’s own face.
The Rose’s Secret 22/03/2025 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
Andy Denson Mar 22
change is the only constant
but being is open-hearted
& loving more.

i don’t want to be so
drunk
that i wake up in gun hill road.
home on new year’s day. 7 am.

for me, you can always reclaim a
sense of sanity
even in a time of chaos.

there are many things that
one
cannot reclaim.

why should i try?
if those things are gone…

did i need them in the
1st place?

self-worth comes back.
things get stolen.
for something
new.
This poem reflects on the tumultuous journey toward sobriety and self-discovery. It grapples with the desire for change, the fear of losing oneself, and the realization that some losses pave the way for newfound self-worth. The imagery of waking up on Gun Hill Road symbolizes moments of reckoning, while the contemplation of what is truly necessary invites readers to consider the essence of personal growth.
Andy Denson Mar 22
non-reacting
presenting an acting exercise

— it’s windy outside.

non-reactors finding.
searching.
stillness in the storm.
This poem explores the concept of detachment, performance, and presence. The repetition of "non-react" and "non-reacting" suggests a meditation on stillness and the art of restraint, much like an actor perfecting the nuances of silence. The imagery of wind and searching captures both movement and pause, creating a delicate balance between action and inaction. A piece that speaks to those who navigate the push and pull of existence, artistry, and self-awareness.
Andy Denson Mar 22
the great thing about Bic-Round Stic M is that the ink doesn't bleed through the paper.

singing all day - will the willing to write songs and produce a great debut album.

where do i stand? anywhere—

where are you?

babe…

why must you ask such trivial questions?

then again, i grapple with an external validation problem,

curbed by a body—my own diary.

andy denson's diaries, tales—sweet.

thoughts flutter like moths to a flame,

yearning for the light of recognition,

yet finding solace in the shadows.

the pages absorb my musings,

ink drying without a trace.
this poem is a glimpse into the mind of andy denson—a successful billionaire artist, actor, writer, director, and poet. it's a reflection of personal musings, the desire for recognition, and the simultaneous comfort found in solitude. andy writes with a raw, introspective style that invites readers to step closer, to learn more, to uncover the depths of artistry, ambition, and emotion woven into each line. if you've just discovered andy, this is just the beginning.
Eme Mar 18
She repeats patterns she learned from home.
She is blinded by her actions.
Justifying what happened.
She’s the hurt one,
not them.
She knows the answers.
No one listens.
That’s her truth.
People leave.
They don’t agree.
She’s alone,
Saying, why me?
Until the pain is too great to change,
She’ll see herself as a victim,
and continue living the same.
Isolated.

I have to heal my inner wounds.
I have to face reality.
I contributed to this relationship. (Mess)
I feel remorse.
I am ashamed.
I’m ready to start,
and face my inner pain.
In time I see,
I am at peace.
Thank you, me,
Thank you for not giving up.
MS Mar 14
Life hits different in adulthood,
A storm of thoughts,
Silent whispers in the wind.
The power to be you,
A hidden flame, glowing bright.
The power within you,
An unyielding force, taking flight.
Time with you,
Moments carved from the sands of life.
Time to be you,
Embracing shadows, shedding strife.
Happiness to be you,
A garden blooming in the heart.
Happiness within you,
A quiet dawn, a work of art.
Identified Mar 13
Romance it was,
when I thought
that in this country
I would feel at home.

When I boarded that plane,
headed for the future.
A promising future,
full of trials
and many successes.

I crossed borders,
both physical and emotional.

I never thought my life
would fit into a suitcase.

In my suitcase,
only a few clothes,
but filled with everything
that pushed me forward.

The rest was in my mind:
the embrace of my mother and father.
Will this be the last time I see them?

Longing and nostalgia,
a feeling in my chest.

I don’t know if it’s sadness or love,
pride for doing
what many cannot,
and yet, I dare.

Now I find myself here,
I am the different one,
the one who speaks with an accent.

Strong in life,
wondering what I’m doing here,
searching for my path.

Not for an earthly purpose,
but because the universe
needs me here.

It seems like a terrestrial journey,
but it is an astral journey
to another reality.

Many times I cry,
other times I comfort myself.
I am no longer from here,
but neither from there.

When I say,
"I am from the world,"
I find myself.
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. ❤️
JAMIL HUSSAIN Mar 12
Listen—hear the whispers of the moon, bold and clear,
A voice from the depths of stillness, calling you near.
From the quiet twilight, where time holds its breath,
I rise, my soul ignited, shedding the veil of death.
From dust I rise, my spirit set ablaze with yearning,
To soar in realms where love’s eternal flame is burning.
In the depths of Being, where time and space are no more,
I seek the essence of forever, an unending shore.

I cast aside the chains of fleeting, worldly dream,
The false illusions that shimmer but vanish like a stream.
No longer do I hunger for crowns or hollow fame,
For I have found a fire that burns beyond all name.

Let not the chaos of the world distract your heart,
For it is but a fleeting storm that tears all things apart.
In the silence of the soul, where the self fades away,
I hear the voice of wisdom, calling me to stay.
Not in the pursuit of glory, nor the world’s fleeting grace,
But in the surrender of ego, I find my sacred place.

The path is not for the eyes, nor for the feet to tread,
But for the heart to listen, where no map is spread.
I rise, the tree of the vineyard; my ghazal is my fruit,
From my fruit, create the wine of the crimson root.

I carve no roads upon the earth, no trace for man to find,
But in the depths of my being, I leave the world behind.
Here, in the stillness, where all illusions cease,
I merge with the Infinite, and rest in boundless peace.
Rising from Dust 12/03/2025 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
In a quest to find myself I set out in disguise
I trekked many a winding valley and mountainside
And it was a very many years before I found Myself; at last.
For I was wearing a very good disguise.
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