Is it okay
if I just sit with you?
Words will only confuse us
in a way that
silence never would.
- G.L. Angelone
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The more effort I made to learn, the less hollow I felt as a person. Truly, knowledge nourishes the soul like food nourishes the body.
– Abdulsamad S. M.
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گفتم که مرگ عاشقان ،
گفتا کہ درد ہجر من
گفتم کہ علاج زندگی
گفتا کہ دیدار منست
Guftam ke marg aashiqan,gufta ke dard hijr mann.
Guftam ke ilaj zindagi, gufta ke deedar mansat.
I asked what is the cruel death,
replied the pain of living without me
I asked what is a healthy life,
replied gazing at me.
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© arden kowalski 2023
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the most intimate yet invasive question a person can ask me is “what are you thinking?”
midnight thoughts
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How many echoes
How many echoes
How many dead people
Are still around online?
How many accounts
How many profiles
How many
Echoes
Echoes
Of people now gone
Echoes of people no longer here
Echoes of people, that refuse to go away
How many?
And why?
Did their loved ones forget?
Did they not have the heart?
Or did no one care?
How many echoes
Echoes of people long gone
How many echoes
How many echoes and why?
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Pensei em começar com , talvez um oi, mas pra falar a verdade eu queria começar com um :” sei lá “Queria tá dizendo vamos falar de poesia, porque no fundo eu sempre gostei de tudo que é bem clichê de uma forma diferente,mas clichê, mas a realidade é também uma poesia , talvez uma obra abstrata, as vezes difícil de entender sua arte.”
Voltei a escrever por causa dessa arte que é ser completamente apaixonada por ela, uma arte em tons azuis , feito mar , feito o céu , feito do azulado de uma borboleta ou um azul giz , que consequentemente me trouxe a arte de amar tudo que é tão gigante , misterioso , as vezes turbulentos , as vezes calmo , as vezes tão intenso .
Ela é uma obra musical , onde tudo é tão viciante como um livro em tons azuis .
Ela é minha arte em tons azuis, que intensifica minha vida “
—————- A.
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In the writing sessions for book six.
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Loneliness, my lover
Between lilac sheets and lucid daydreams,
She comes to me,
A phantom ghost, a translucent being,
And whispers sweet nothings,
Miserable and haunting,
Embraces me, crushing my ribs,
Leaving me wanting, gasping,
Clings onto me, sucking my soul,
Softly killing, while all I say to her:
"Loneliness, my lover,
You're a petty darling".
-Amna Farooqi
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But words can never hurt me?
Sticks and stones
they break our bones
is what was always said
but pricks and pokes
do far more harm
and from those small wounds I bled
the sticks and stones
can do no harm
in their natural isolation
they break our bones
when a violent arm
slings them through creation
but small stems prick
with the scent of roses
and cracks in stone
can poke as they groan
from the mountains that impose us
so when sticks and stones
do break your bones
look for those who cast them
and it is appalling
as you lay sprawling
sticks and stones
can break your bones
but only when you're falling
-A.B
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She finally voiced
her deepest desires
in vivid detail.
She just disguised it all
as a distant dream.
- G.L.Angelone
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It happens: we rise, we fall. My dear friend, nothing about being human is lasting.
– Abdulsamad S. M.
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trying my first hand at instapoetry <3
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stuck in my throat and heart
words feelings
universes of displaced
and unshed worries
tears that refuse to
run flee
set me free
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Life seen as a bus ride
I've heard once that some people believe
That a soul chooses it's life
And I find that an intriguing idea
I don't agree with it in the slightest
But still it's intriguing to think about
Who was the soul that chose this life?
And why?
And would it choose it again?
It's weird.
For the soul, the essence of ourselves
To become a foreign body
An invader so to speak
That decided your life for you
And just hitches a ride
Well get your tickets ready I guess
Since a life might just be
A bus ride through destiny
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