Pantoum of the Antihero Gets no love the one who doesn't love. It's not Karma, but simple logic. Even if he does, it's a sort of odds, Making the canon candid. It's not Karma, but simple logic; Who doesn't like people, will be alone, Who doesn't like water, will suffocate in, Who doesn't like life,… Continue reading Poem: Pantoum of the Antihero
The Curse of Time Woe on the time which is resting under the ground - Been its graveyard tomb or sepulchar mound, Been its object eulogy, or been ne'er mourned, Been mouldered, or b'ing in a funeral morgue; Woe on them, woe! Woe on the time and its living framework - Being the languid killing… Continue reading Poem: The Curse Of Time
Selfie as a borrowed word Just as the "internet", "emoji", or "cola"; the "selfie" word is a gift from the western global language that is English. Every-time, there's a crazy hype to follow like "HARLEM SHAKE", "YOLO", "SWAG" and the list is never ending. The new style is the "Selfie" that makes you take a… Continue reading Selfie as a borrowed word
Meeting W.T. *Shame on the poet!* A catharsis made her voice heardForm a lonely book.I needed nothing more as a hook:"Who? Who dare? Let's find out!" My voice was more scared than fear'd,But surely it was heard:Hideous whisperes came outFrom a lonely lonely book. My steps flutter'd over row to row,"Let's have a look!""Let's have… Continue reading Poem: Meeting W.T.
Stoïc I felt unfelt;My world's unheard.Ignorance!That embraced, beset me. Stoical flow the life is;A shoreless sea.Water is water;Be wavery or plane. Why plaint,On the surrounding sea?Why plaint again,If only desert is seen? Time is a river.Dip, sip, hit the water;Immortal.You are fooled. Life is a diabolic vortex;Amazing mazes.Tunes are to seduce you,A superfluous being. If… Continue reading Poem: Stoïc
Mirror, mirror Mirror, mirror, here I stand. What is my point in this land? Why my heart doesn't fit this life? Is there a thing making me feel alive? Strong … Continue reading Poem: Mirror, mirror
The last lust The Hellfire might hide more pleasure with the pain living and dying again- due to my careless, senseless life- than living with an empty soul that is able neither to live, nor to make itself die. I have no control on the present, the past does not infect me- who cares what… Continue reading Poem: The last lust