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If any man has any poetry in him he should paint it -Dante Gabriel Rosetti
See, I have engraved you on the palm of my hands.

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Paint and Poetry

a distant prayer
approaches
like a smile,
inching across
the pebbles beneath my lips.

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contemplating your thoughts
and the
arc of your cheekbones
how many
years have passed?

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your body is a
sacred sanctuary.
desecration
has made your pain ivory
the smell of your
skin is
brokenhearted
and you sit
on the altar
of loss.

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my itching heart.
my darkening soul.

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Do you love me now?

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abstractions are like a balm made of emotions and dreams.

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Sometimes I am not able to stop my thoughts from throwing themselves against the wall.

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I do not know where to go.

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More of feelings less than polite
Screaming with my childish might
A heart of anger is boiling, seething
While lungs like rocks are heaving
Dreadfully revealing
cruel spite.

— Less Than Polite

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Lay your head to rest
While I, wide and dried-eyed awake
stare into the dark
paper
trying to decipher
what my hands have
blindly wrote.

— Wide Eyes

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The Exhilaration of Poetry

Passion’s Poverty

No more can all my feelings fade

Than can the sun’s light cool and ebb

your absence makes my yearning age

and still the longing will not wane.

Oh restless feathers in my chest

oh itch of unfulfillment, rest!

Un-fluttered yet doubtful, sanguine, serene

this veil of calm, this masquerade.

If separation sharpens thirst,

Closeness makes the craving cease

Undeterrred desire persisting,

unerring and singing deep down in me.

Ungraspable! I cannot express

why disquiet conquers stubornness

living in fear, in fright of loss

in poverty and in hesitance.

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Viciously, she brushes the strand from her face
Gently reprimanding,
He reaches out with thick fingers
Her head snapping
She fumes, eyes ablaze.
Sneering, he continues
His crowded teeth, smiling

Behind those black eyes, there is no mercy
Glinting lights betray the greed
nauseous, repulsed, but unable
to disobey
reminded of the belt, the knuckles, the metal in flesh.

Swallowing the pride and burying the anger
Stonily, she brushes the strand from her face
He smiles, his crowded teeth
Sneering

Marraige Arranged.

A poetry response to Khaled Hosseini’s “A Thousand Splendid Suns”

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Needles in the eye
And thorns in the chest
The clench of the stomach
In paralysis; drenched.

Needless of grief
I would suppress
my shipwreck, my silence, helpless, spent.

Deep waters, down-drag the soul to end
cold capzised. splintered, broken.
Tears fall fast, without control fast fall
Devastated, shocking, rocking crash.

Loose limbs, let eyes look on light growing dim
Brief, let lids drop, let eyelids, let blink

After weeping, sleep struggles with me
the sudden pain. the swelling vein.
Insomnia in the suffering heart,
bears not the sight of day.

cry, clouded eye.
Exhaustion wearily climbs over you
Guilt follows you with drowsy feet
Defeat is not fooled
Confusion now crouches
Fear spits, sick and frightened of disgrace.

Now

Violently shaking inwardly
trappped inside the shell of me
Stones move slowly, in throat and belly
anvil shrieking in the skull
swirl of thought and dizziness
twist my neck, my trembling might.
twist my neck, in trembling night.

— Devastation and Lament

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Two people, butterfly shaking

Shadow staring, and leaning in shade

Trust not in each other’s aching

Overwhelmed with pain

— The Way We Love Is Corrupted

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