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This is why I never get books on a loan! hahaha

At first, I nearly cried when I saw what had happened. Then, I thought:

Rule of impermanence. Everything changes…do not get attached.

I have been working on this, since life has been constantly showing me, life does not go according to plan, but it works out, eventually. All falls into place.

So, I learned something with that.

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Eulogic

What shall be your eulogy hymn? Work backwards. Find out how you wish to have lived and set this dream in motion!
Do not follow the ordinary tracks… it does not lead to the treasure at the end, not if you walk on concrete. Walk on rainbow, instead.

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On the chalkboard of life
What do you want to inscribe?
Tomb-ble down
Merry it’round
Live how you want it to be.

Re-member-ed,
Once you exit the land of the living.
What is this anthem,
That you will sing,
Before embarking
On an everlasting sleep?

The Purging

Release. I want to release
Remove this out of existence
Take it out of my system,
Wipe off this slickest grease.

This extracting requires exerting.
A push that comes to shove,
Such weight falls on from above,
Resulting in a chance for spurting.

So, the snowball grows until it rows.
Gravity is the invisible hand that nudges
Descending until it no longer can be enclosed.
It splashes around your globe, leaving traces of sludge.

The secret is out, no longer your curse.
A sense of lightness dominates the frame,
Once used as a road for pain to transverse.
Now, this path, is ready to be reclaimed.

The Branding Act

Your words, rejection spoke
My heart was covered in tar.
You inked it in my cells,
An inner river of blotted scars.

The moment comes, once more
Where I choose what to impart.
I call love from above
To skin into me, whole.
Create me a symbol with a kohl.
Incorporated into a life goal.

Those black latex gloves hold my trunk
The alchemist turns black charcoal gunk.
Into subliminal material etched on flesh
Beliefs and meanings, forever enmeshed.

Your life history gets in your body, written.
New voluntary scabs mend old cuts once riven.
The art of healing is comprised in this ritual.
Engraving your soul is a process most blissful!

Check out my Blog Post for LovePain&Poetry.

Hi Guys,

I hope that you are all well and that poetry has been ruling your life, as it does mine…with pleasure!

I just wanted to express my appreciation to the Love, Pain&Poetry Crew! I wrote a blog post for their esteemed page, on the “Healing Powers of Poetry”. It basically explains why I write poetry, what prompted this passion and more.

Do check their website also, it contains blog posts from other contributors, poetry, poetry courses – which I am enrolling on, soon and it seeks to connect with other writers and poets, so as to make this a community of supporters and word lovers, through lessons in suffering. I would appreciate if you did.

My blog post:

https://www.lovepainandpoetry.com/write-for-life/2018/1/20/the-healing-powers-of-poetry

Love, Pain& Poetry can be found at:

https://www.lovepainandpoetry.com

https://facebook.com/LovePainPoetry/

https://www.instagram.com/lovepainpoetry/

Twitter: @lovepainpoetry

Here is a sneak peek of the post:

A Sister to You

 It’s incredible how losses propel poetry! Loss inspires and gives you a reason to write. At the end, it is not a complete loss, for you have just created something. Alchemy, thus, happens.

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Yes…you are gone. I need no remembering. I hear this silent gong No greetings in the morning. I wonder what tragedies you battle alone, The worries corrupting your soul, Consuming time, as questions circle, Resuming us to an inaudible counsel.

I wonder, why can I not take them down?! Like an older sister to a younger brother, Someone red nosed your clown. I would trample on their faces, like on ground!

If only I knew, this bane is part of your twisted doom. Ironically, their tomb will lay beside you. Though many mountains I have moved, Against self-reproof, There is nothing that I can do. You cannot seem to slice, the thorns out of your spine. You must learn to live with bruise.

In your exclusive grieving cocoon I cannot embrace your bag of bones. So I cast a rune, to make you immune. While dreaming we fly, out in the infinite sky, On clouds of assexual love, reaching new highs, Only me and you! Eclipsing the moon…as our friendship balloons.

How to Flirt with a Poet

Poets are lovers of words
If you are going to approach
Make sure that you boast
About your vocabulary.
Use everything that you carry
Use everything that you know.

Poets like verbal displays
Being able to express how you are feeling
Otherwise, we won’t hear what you are speaking. “Hey beautiful” is just a mere sentence that echoes.

That might just mean, they don’t really know how a poet operates.

Poets adore serenades
We like to play with the words
We substitute them with grace
We like to hear definitions
We paint life with letters that won’t erase.
But when you get simplified sentences,
Copied and pasted.
Everywhere, in your space.
It frustrates you to some disgrace.

Poets see the world with creative variance.
We seek novelty, diversity and new experience.
Not the simplification and limitations that the superficiality of a “hey gorgeous” brings.

Next time you come near
Make sure to sing me some epic hymn.