Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words.

Paul Engle

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The Colour Red

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Bright, mesmerizing, enchanting, Be it a bride’s dress,a lover’s heart or a lonely flower. Blazing beautifully everywhere, the color red you are. The day I was born Swapping down the uterus wall of my mother’s womb. You were the one who nourished me The colour of my mother’s blood, the colour red you were. When

Ashes To Ashes

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Oh, the leaves of green that exist no longer As the days grow cold and a little stronger My heart and the seasons intertwined The child dies; the man grows less kind Experience is the lesson hard earned Best of all was the companion spurned Yet from the ice cold ashes of the fire Turns

Desire

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Desire, an ever burning coal within us awaiting to be fuelled by a lover or fame or money for others An unquenchable thirst for touch and breathless acts of pleasure Desire, the dreams of devils and angels A driven force un-yeilding to so many pleas An urge that can tear us in half or simply

Fried Green Spinach

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Walking in the bush, late in the afternoon: Spring winding trails Among Plantae et Animalia. An independent world —Sort of realm of alien species Welcomes your senses with a storm of small flies (genus Drosophila) Which playfully floods the air, all of a sudden, humming Around and annoying each other like microscopic crazy drones. In

The Poetry Of Life

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I feel the tiredness of my years, those quiet times when breath appears in melting mosaic imagery, upon the mirrors of a sea that only calls so many names, through pious sunlit tortured flames that scrape themselves away from light, then wander off into a night of promises and empty eyes, the kind that used

Swan Lake

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O Swan of this enchanted lake Let me wander inside your magical dimension If melancholy causes the charm to break With your melodies, I beg thee, heal this pattern By this lake tendrils twirling Humming with an exuberant fashion One with the amity in your songs flowing O Swan let me stay in this blissful

To Breathe

a girl

Where is the breath That I crave so much Hiding and playing games Just beyond my reach Fingers too stiff to touch To breathe To live To need what is aloof and Teasing me to beseech The air in the vacuous room What have I done What did I say Why must I suffer These