And now I understand, I am just a distraction, I am just some place that you like to travel to but you don't have any plans of staying. I am just someone who gives you comfort and once you feel good, you will go back to where you used to be. It is so funny to think that I am still here waiting for you to come back even if I know that at the end of the day you'll choose to leave. It is so funny that even if you fell in love first, I am the one who fell harder, then you left. It so funny that you have moved on and here I am, still trying. I just don't understand why people comes in, will tell you you are great, will let you feel the best, but will suddenly leave you hanging and shattered in pieces. Unfair, unacceptable -- I hate it, but I can't hate you.
Thanks to God! Thanks to my parents who teach me to do great works in this short life. My poem is published in International antalogy in America 🇺🇸 under the name of "Talented voices of Uzbekistan" and sited in amazon.com and put to sale in 26 countries. I am so glad about this news. Just amazing situation. My poem travelled to my favorite dream country before me. I will also travel soon, of course. May be you want to read it... Save me, God. I was born with hope in my pure eyes Grew up and saw spring more or less. What I did in this illusory World Save me from sinfulness ,oh, my dear God Doing big or small sin is just define, And I abandoned you in my merry time. But I asked you help, sinking in grime, Forgive me, your sinful slave, oh, my God. Life is beautiful with me, I got it, For filling my life with happy event. For doing a lot of worthwhile good deeds, Always protect me,oh, my kind God. I will obviously take the top of science, My attempts show this, my prays define. I never surrender, victory is mine, Encourage me in this long way, oh my God. His hands are harsh, his hair is white, Still works in daylight or during the night. Because he tries to make my life light, Preserve my father, I beg you, oh, my God. Wrinkly faced,her kerchief fits well on her head, Her love likes fount, her love never end. Even sacrifices her soul to her kids, Protect my heavenly mother, oh my God. Being capacity isn't my ambition , My nation will know me. This is my intention. Readers love my poems as Zulfiya's word, Support my every work ,oh, my dear God. My alone request, my sole plead, This five days life is going to end. When it will measured my sin and good deed, Brighten my face in front of you, God. There are defects,I know. But it is written with sorrow in my heart. Anyway, I tried to express my difficulties, especially, parents' challenges on the way to my happiness. So it was hard to me express it with words, truly, I am weak to do this.
The love in your eye is like poetry without words. Your smile is the melody that goes with it.
The time has come for me to share my new happiness, my new eBook release announcement with you! Postcards From Beyond Reality: The Selected Poems of Michael Daniels is a young adult poetry book I wrote as a companion that is a sibling book to my novel Cruel Summer. Originally published in Croatian in a periodical Forum in 2003, Postcards From Beyond Reality: The Selected Poems of Michael Daniels will be released on Amazon on March 20, 2022 as an eBook and a few days later as a paperback! But you can pre-order it now! In this book of poetry, I dived into the mind of a teenage protagonist Michael Daniels from my novel Cruel Summer, writing about his dreams, longings, desires, traumas, passions. If that isn't intriguing enough, I hope my book description will be. *** His life has been a cocktail of melancholy, sorrow, and desire. When a skateboarder dips his pen into poetry, what will his passion create? After a lifetime of abuse and the tragic loss of his mother, NYC teen Michael Daniels needed an outlet. Despite his cheerful nature, his inner mind was teeming with the stark contrast of darkness and light. So, in this volume full of imagery and symbolism, his underground rhymes reflect days full of extreme sports, failed relationships, and nostalgic memories. Written by Bernard Jan in character as the hero from his novel Cruel Summer, this channeled view of the world is an extravaganza of extremes. And in its groundbreaking perspectives, you'll discover the cries of a heart longing to be understood. Buy this book of poetry and feel Michael's passion through these unusual literary postcards. *** I want to thank the authors from the Best Page Forward team who helped me with my blurb and Jessica Bell for the amazing book cover I am also presenting here. I hope you will embrace this book and treat it with love and affection. Please show some love to the Best Page Forward team and Jessica Bell by visiting their pages. And don't forget to pre-order my book on one of the links below and leave your honest review once I release it on March 20! Amazon.com Amazon Australia Amazon Canada Amazon UK Goodreads BookBub If you are a representative of the media, please click here for the press release. Thank you! BJ Subscribe to my mailing list. Follow me on Twitter. Original blog post: https://www.bernardjan.com/post/postcards-from-beyond-reality-blurb-and-ebook-cover-reveal
This is something everybody wants to know, Where is your life going to go? Will you visit the mountains or the sea? Or will life sting you like a bee? This is a question with no reply, All along the way it turns into a why...
Flowers and Silences The dim darkness-the diffused light-dimness of one merging into the other-imparting more length to the long trees that are standing like stretched out shadows wearing stars in their hair- silence is imparting more depth to the darkness in this advaita where darkness is merged into silence, my mind wakes up, now not only sound but even a ray of light is a violent disturbance to the profoundness of peace- in such moments deep truths unveil themselves-now I realize it is not sound but in silence melody lives- I am born out of flowers and silences- while passing my hand brushed against a flower, I asked 'are you bruised? ‘‘Me or you' smiling, the flower questioned back- the heart of my pen broke and split blood; - I do not know which paper can bear this pen- In the gigantic silences of forests, which touch the blue skies, the carpenter bird pecks at the trunks of great trees which echo, far reaching sounds-what can he do among the tiny crotons? I ate days like fruits-now I eat drops of tears like grapes- frightened by the sun took refuge under shades-sitting on the pavement eating dreams from eyes like ice cream with spoons- measuring my life with dark evenings- I distributed my wealth once with metres, now I scatter with handfuls my future letting it fly in all directions-I washed my heart in tears and dried it over poetry- walked past wearing people on my body like shawls-in the assemblies of flames; in countries abroad I raised my gypsy voice and sang mixing earth and sky- this country is the graveyard of my genius- however fast I walk the distance remains the same. This land is thirsty for my blood, it is snoring in the little shades of pigmy trees- I picked my pen and dipped it in the sun to write a summer song for my nation- - Seshendra Sharma http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com
THE BURNING SUN I am the drop of sweat, I am the sun Rising from the hills of human sinews, Hearts are my friends I live in the city of sufferings Although in my fist, I hold an ocean of history I sculptured man silently – Wings that carried birds Did not bring them back; I am drinking thick darkness In the haunts of those forests Which cry out in agony for the birds That did not return; Clutching at the garment woven of memories I twine myself to the feet of my country. Heads that were hanging to the trees Smile as flowers today in the branches Hearts that received the bullets Ring in temples of our land like bells; Blood of theirs nights squeezed and offered By how many to bring forth this day; They are hanging like icicles On the ridges of our roofs; Look, it is an iron fist I have; I shall excavate the flame of light From the rocks of time – I will set fire to the sleep of resisting centuries – To the rivers that run in passion after the sea I cry halt, command them To paint the colourless arid lands in green, Invite back the smile which fled away In terror from this land, To the butterfly trudging hungrily for a flower I shall give a garden – Come children, eat Bits of nights dipping them in moonlight, I shall not allow the sun to cheat this sacred day; If he wakes not on the horizon of this land I shall tear my burning heart And put it in its place With the scarlet of my living flesh Illuminate the earth I am the drop of sweat, I am the sun Rising from the hills of human sinews – - Seshendra Sharma http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com https://www.facebook.com/GunturuSeshendraSharma/ -This is the 1st poem in Seshendra Sharma's second anthology of prose poems titled “The Burning Sun “ - In his intro to The Burning Sun Seshendra says there has been an uninterrupted undercurrent in his life as a poet , that is his life nerve and that has assumed total expression in this poem
They are blue and I am green We are the same The same feeling The same sound The same taste The same smell They are blue and I am green We are both strong in the eyes of others We are both strong in the eyes of each other When we mix with other colors The both of us dominant the paint They are blue and I am green And we are the same Or so I thought For when you mix blue and green All you get is another blue They are remade And I am consumed
I sit here, in the same place a sat yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. Wishing. Waiting. It's been a year now, hasn't it? It feels much longer... When was the last time I've been outside? I never thought I'd miss it so much - outside. Going to school, walking home, talking, laughing, seeing, being. Enjoying nature's tranquillity. Talking to the trees, listening to the wind, Feeling the crunch of dried leaves as I walk home. I miss it. Life is a cruel master but I think even he was unprepared, Not quite anticipating for the torment of his victims to fall into new hands. But COVID-19 cares for no man, wrapping around the world like a python, Squeezing us, draining us, life by life. But it's outside, we thought. Our little island is too far away, we're too far removed, we'll be fine. And, for a time, that was true. We were fine. Until we weren't. I remember the day clearly; I was working when news of the first case came in. I didn't feel scared; at the time more focused on my upcoming exams. I'll be fine, I thought. Then schools closed. Cases rose, the country became strict and, for a time, that was enough. Cases fell, they stayed down and everyone exhaled a united sigh of relief. Then the masks became beards. And come on, what's one hug? Why so serious? God is a Trini, the cases down, relax nah man! So I did, we all did, and things were fine. Until they weren't. Cases skyrocketed. Non-essentials closed, curfew enacted, State of Emergency declared. Trinidad is quieter than she's ever been, Mourning her people, some still too stubborn to face reality. The reality that God is not a Trini, that people are dying. That you need to get vaccinated, that you need to be responsible. If only they would realise that the vaccine is safe. If only they would realise that staying home is not the end. If only they would realise that all the things that they miss, the parties, the celebration, That it could be given back with some discipline, some tolerance. If only they would realise... But they don't, and as the old saying goes, 'those who don't hear, will feel'. So here I sit, through yet another online class I'm half listening to. Here I sit, looking out the window wondering when I can walk home again, Feeling the crunch of dried leaves under my shoes. I sit wondering when next I can hug my friends. I sit missing the trees and the wind's ever-changing song. Here I sit in the same place I sat yesterday. And the day before that, And the day before that. Wishing. Waiting. Waiting for the day things will return to how they were.
In my mental padded white room Hearing sounds of well pure nothing Except for a ticking noise in my ears How annoying, batteries need to drain Here I go hearing this tick tock, tick tock, tick Well, you get the idea of what I am saying Sounds of a clock's arms moving, a leg shaking To the numbers of 1 2 3, tick tock, tick tock I am rocking to the beat hearing a song Not much to do when you're tied up In a jacket with the sleeves behind you Moving as a spider with no legs swaying Laughing at that thought I smile With a grimace in my eyes. I have a window in a door with no knobs Pointless when I can't get up to see out It's just a tease as water is in a dry desert As you can tell, I'm not all there, yeah, I'm a Mental house freak in a world of normal. Okay, sorry in a world of half normal people Hope that makes you all feel a tad bit better I'm in a room because they said I'm not insane I wonder where they got their degrees. This makes me scratch my head too, well wait I'm tied up I can't scratch a thing but make faces At these thoughts tick toking in circles in this head Of mine, I don't see an ounce of sanity even floating. I think I better shush for now; I hear feet coming Right at my door, they stop, calling my name Of course, I will never answer, I let them wonder If she is truly okay? Maybe thinking what a nut case What can I say? I am a mental house freak. Creaking of the door my eyes finally open to daylight Oh man what a dream, all these things that fly around Inside of me and yet I remember the story to tell. As crazy as these dreams are, I come alive in a way I get to bring my fantasy world out into words Even though I come out as a mental house freak. Copyrighted By Kelonie Utley
never thought the elite would be so cold. The lies all the lies believe what weee told.. I despise the fact weve all been had. But only the good lord should judge i know,. But i dont think im a god taling whats not mine..our children our legacy They want if nothing more ... deserves a chance to know whats instore. . how does one unwright so many wrongs. An essay, safety plan? a revolt? i mean really if they all did care about saving lives, Wouldnt they demand we take mutlvitamines To strentghen immunes? I serve the good lord and well make it through
Bright green head Feathers ruffled up He says scratch His voice a squeaky Imitation He rubs his head Against my chin His beak a vice It cracks the hardest nut But for me, he gently preens My braid Until it lays in waves The ribbon in his claw His feathers green With rainbow spots Of orange, yellow, Blue and red Are covered in dander Powdered dust Kiss kiss He says The words distinct And climbs onto my shoulder One foot clinging to my ear as he Touches a razor Sharp beak To my lip Love for him Is love for me As a life-long friend Not only a pet The first voice I hear As I come home Is my parrot calling Hello, hello I open his cage, He scrambles free Lands on my shoulder And there he stays Till the clock strikes eight Bedtime for him And for me as well He sleeps on the headboard As I nap But at night Under his cover His voice calls to me Love you Night night
Dear..., i will not be home early tonight. Stop. Urgent meeting. Stop. Left food in the oven. Stop. Kids must study. Stop. Call you later. Stop. Xxx. Stop.
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