In another life we walk the streets in daylight side by side holding hands
In another life we celebrate our love every waking moment we can
In another life I am your woman you are my man
In another life
Nikki C Mercer
Nikki C Mercer is a wordsmith residing in Adelaide Australia. She manages a family, a financial career and a passion for creative writing.
Nikki’s pursuits include endurance running, eating way too much sugar and experiencing the depth of life. Nikki is co-author of The Thing Between Us and is published in a number of anthologies worldwide. Connect with Nikki on Instagram by searching for handle: ImagineExploreCreate
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Blood in my veins, In a frozen state, Sliding like wine On his curved, red lips.
Smoke in the air; My thoughts burning. Gaze stuck on the window, Is the rain coming?
Lock my hands, Throw the keys, Push me in the fire, Watch it melt with me.
If love is a tale, Then what is your role? Dying for your lover, Or let him kill you on his own? Or let him kill you on his own?
I am from Uttar Pradesh, India. My hobbies include writing songs, singing, and sketching.
I am a high school student. Writing is amusing for me, but I also plan to publish my work. I have my poem “Rain On Fire” published in the book “Bloom: Poems of Loss, Heartbreak, and New Beginnings” presented by Poem Wars and edited by R.J. Hendrickson.
I have a poetic account on Instagram: @_ocean_mind_
As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases at no extra cost to you. This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here.
No Autumn is more beautiful than a woman dropping her inhibitions in the Aura of the Man she loves.
She blooms like a Moonflower on a starless night when the Wolves in him calm her ocean of ecstatic Tides.
A Poetic saga flows through the rustic crispness of sheets just like the music born in Autumn by the soft murmurs of the golden leaves.
No Autumn is more beautiful indeed and every woman awaits her call A rebirth from darkness to the myriad shades of Fall.
We burn many bridges in life but why do we save the ashes? Ashes that pierce every time like a sharp knife. And when it rains, the first few drops that kiss the dry barren mud of the heart we become slave to the petrichor of those rotted dead memories.
Strange but there seems to be no threshold for pain.
I often find myself standing in front of that mirror left back in the deserted woods on one of the pages of my life.
I stare at her happy face, decorating her forehead with a bindi and wearing those bangles with a coy smile. Ah someone needs to shake her up and tell her that she hasn't moved since years and it's high time.
I turn back and look at me now and see the huge walls that I've built over the years. Don't we all have those walls which we laid brick by brick to simply hide or shield whatever little is left of us?
But then I noticed that there ain't any roof and I felt like a fool, when I had the sky then why didn't I fly, why did I believe in the hoax that all is well within these dark sombre walls.
And if there wasn't any roof then why didn't someone come looking for me and take me on some wings which seemed clipped for me.
A Hero we keep searching for outside, didn't you listen to Mariah Carey say that the Hero lies in you.
Ah yes, I keep forgetting and every time someone appears like a shadow I've been imagining since so many years on those walls, remember those walls I've built, yes they do hold some vague images, vivid imaginations that comfort and soothe my aching soul.
And suddenly I try to lean on that shadow but hey shadows eventually fade when it gets dark and there you are left with one more brick for your wall.
So all I say to this little vulnerable girl, burn those bridges and let the winds carry those ashes to some forbidden land of no return.
Build your walls but keep filling those cracks so no shadows can be formed. And finally believe that you are your Hero and you have survived those storms and nobody promised there won't be anymore but remember this time don't give in to a shadow but only the one who promises you endless rainbows at night is the one who'll hold your hand for life.
Gitanjali is known in the Writer’s World by her pen name Laughing_Soul. She is an articulate single lady in her 40’s from Mumbai, India. Born in a loving family with its share of ups and downs, and after carving a a fulfilling career in the hospitality industry, her poetic soul finally found solace in penning words. She is a full time hobby writer, author and publisher. Gitanjali’s making waves in the literary world with her work, adorning many anthologies. She also invented a poetic form called the ‘Mirror Alphoppbet’.
Her debut publication, Crimson Kisses, was featured in the Mumbai edition of Times of India newspaper. Dated 25/07/2018, and praised for highlighting issues related to adolescent girls. Crimson Kisses is available on Amazon.
In her words “Poetry is when my Soul breathes through my words, pain bleeds through my ink and I witness a rebirth of my thoughts.”
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It is not the day that seems special, But the people who make it so. For it is just another day; The same sun, the same sky And the same universe that guides the pass. But you speak of it as a day of remembrance And insist it be celebrated.
But is a day worth celebrating Life? And given you, given your love, Celebration and gratitude are an enormity. Life and Death are a game of scores; Each second that brings us closer adds on to Life And each moment that pulls us apart add on to Death. You ask for my choice of gift, But I already have you. What could be more dear, than a heart which beats in a rhythm similar? A soul that bows in prayer for Eternal togetherness, And happiness that unleashes at the smile that brings the dawn to your day.
You urge, and I finally ask you for a gift And you instinctively say yes. Don’t, for this may hurt, promising a thing prior knowing its price. And I go on to tell you: If ever a lonely soul you stumble upon, A shoreless sailor, with all hope gone, Promise me you’ll hold her hand And be the loveliest roses on her barren land. For a heart that is dilapidated, Life happens not in worldly dreams, But in a feather-touch that brings joy untold And shuts out one’s inner screams.
Thus begins the celebration of the heartbeat, knowing that Gone is the chasm of bitterness; A life awaits anew. I say this, for I have once been a shoreless sailor. Give you such a life, know that our love lives then As the Heavens doth forever.
Tis my birthday today, and you can’t refuse me. All I ask for someone, just like me, is a reason to celebrate; Not just a day, but a life; A life that gives glories, a life that gives pain, But above all, a life that brings you home And prepares you to set sail again.
Joyasmita is from West Bengal, India. Current job: pursuing Graduation course in Mathematics.
Hobbies: Sleeping, watching cartoons, sky-gazing and muser. A hardcore bibliophile and a music lover. Instagram handle: read_andrelate Focus for writing: A break from everything boring.
Oh mother, I've got a fear so fatal I cannot rid of it in the rivers Oh father, I've got a fear so lethal I cannot rid of it in the skies Oh, this fear It's got its claws clasped into my skin Penetrated deep enough to reach my soul
My soul, my soul, my soul! Tell me of your hiding place Let me in on that secret space Is it close by or up so high? Tell me it's in space Right outside the milky way Tell me it's chill and nice Tell me it rains and hails Tell me joy is there Tell me a lie
Cloistered soul, I know you long to be set free I know you wish to breathe But breathing is condemned a sin A sin so horrific I cannot behold its magnitude
No eye must see you Not even a tiny glimpse For walls keep you safe Even during a hurricane
Oh pure soul, I'll feed you for sure I'll read you letters And I'll mold them into sounds Smooth as a cat's fur
They'll serve as a catalyst To your deepest desires They'll beg you to yell They'll beg you to scream They'll beg for their freedom With fisted balms and glaring eyes
Oh mother, let me spell it all Oh father, let me cry it out Oh, oh, oh, let me let me let me live
My fear's source is them They cannot know the truth They cannot know it all They must not know me Else I might become published Exposed In between their balms Right beneath their fingertips Naked In front of their eyes In front of their glaring soul In front of them
My Muse, My dearest friend, When I die, Look through my notebooks Set my words free Give them wings And let them fly But for now I'll howl into the night sky Hoping Ginsberg replies
My Morning Play
By Noor Alzaghal
Subdued lighting melts through the curtains Marking dawn As the hushed blue fills up my four walls Birds chirp their way up to the highest sky Then, Tranquil silence fills the empty pockets of the day And soon my dear Soon my Eyelids will become the main actors of this beautiful play. A Romeo and a Juliette aching to reunite.
Noor Alzaghal is a 19-years-old Palestinian young woman with a burning passion for arts of all sorts. She is mainly a writer of poetry and fiction, but she also likes to dip her fingers into some photography and drama from time to time. Although unpublished, she is in the process of writing a novel as well as publishing a collection of poems hopefully soon. At the moment, she is a full time English Language and Literature student at An-Najah National University, and she is the founder of Englitopia; A Creative Writing and Drama Group , which aims to provide a safe space for students to find and express themselves through art.
You can find her on Facebook and Instagram where she shares most of her work. Instagram: @noor_poetry Facebook Page: @Noor.Flicker ( https://fb.me/Noor.Flicker )
Hair woven tightly knit, Stretching the corners of the lenses, Brown polka dots, On the bridge above the white picket fence smile.
Body taunt, upright, Arms reaching out and extending tight, Tummy tucked, breath in, Skirt flittering at the bottom of the rim.
Pointed toes, angular and rigid, Foot flexed, legs strong, At attention the parts are ready, For the sweetness of the song.
Notes flutter through the air, Striking out and inspiring the motion, Head high, body bound, Fair hair bounces up at the notion.
Floating through the sky, The skirt abounds unlimited in flight, The strength is freed into the light, As the smile is suspended in height.
Her inner steel weighs nothing down, It makes her apt to launch above the crowd, Unfettered and suspended above, Defying physics, my metal dove.
Untethered by Alicia Thompson
The vessel floats next to the dock, A rope haphazardly connecting the two, Waters touching the bow and pile, All seemingly separate, yet the same too.
The sailboat begins to rock and hit up against the dock, Bumping and now bruised the bow and the pile, Tides lapping on the side, Causing the clash of elements that will not subside.
The haphazard rope that now seems like an afterthought, Has no chance at resolving the dispute, As the sideboard crashes into the dock, Binding, frayed and worn, gives irresolute.
The boat tithers to and fro, Hanging low, the mast leans towards the waves, Nothing and no one guiding the way, Cast into the disheveled and roaring waters.
The rope drags behind flailing about, It reaches and screams for the piles in the distance, Unanchored and adrift, serving no particular purpose, A failure from the outset, no chance to begin with.
But then the rope’s knot is lodged in the rocks, Catching a break that could not have been foreseen, Now wrought, the vessel standing at attention, Swinging and swaying, tethered again.
The jagged black rock, Connected to the distant fray, Mast, pile, rope, and dock, All seemingly separate, yet proven the same.
About the Author
Alicia E. Thompson
Born and raised in Pennsylvania, I spent most of my childhood playing in the woods and the fields surrounding my home with my neighbors, siblings, and my cousins. When I was a sophomore in high school, I moved to Columbia, South Carolina and was introduced to a new life in the South. Although I traveled back to my home state of Pennsylvania to pursue a degree in History at Penn State University and later to New Orleans, Louisiana to attend Tulane University Law School, I landed in the low country of South Carolina to be closer to my extended family. Myrtle Beach is now home; I am a partner at a southeastern based law firm where I focus on real estate matters, I am married to my husband Greg, and we have 3 children.
Poetry in a new outlet for me. While juggling motherhood and practicing law for the past 12 years, I prioritized work and family above self. Struggling with the daily grind and trying to find quiet time, writing poems helps me tune into the outer world and to be present and grateful for the everyday life. My poems focus on my children, nature, coping with work stress, and my travels. Eleanor is about my 5-year-old daughter who is enamored with ballet. Her strong will juxtaposes her ability to glide through life, like the juxtaposition of the strength and grace of a ballerina. In my spare time, I enjoy the beautiful South Carolina coast, yoga and meditation, organizing a book club with other professional women, and spending time with my family.
You can follow me on Instagram at @aethompso and on AllPoetry.com @EleanorT.
It is though in those years⠀ I was lost at sea⠀ ⠀ Longed hard for love’s arms ⠀ to wrap warmth around me⠀ ⠀ Instead glacial glares ⠀ Frost dealt cold as ice⠀ ⠀ Left to tread frigid dread⠀ Just so you would play nice
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Lover you will not be the death of me ⠀ Never have I relinquished such power ⠀ Allowing you only the idea of it ⠀ Raving lunacy of self absorption with eyes to see ⠀ only what they wish⠀ My aura billows abundant radiant light⠀ consuming me⠀ And I embrace it⠀ ⠀ Ex Lover⠀ bound in darkness too blind to ever see the light
Forgiveness is not black and white⠀ For layers peel back in their time ⠀ A placid beast of delicate skins⠀ expose deep lesions ⠀ Wounds cannot forgive ⠀ Their sting stirs memory⠀ Only time can heal⠀ Never to forget ⠀
The little shed is painted blue with two old chairs for me and you We sit and talk till stars shine high Discuss wild dreams and sometimes cry The shed is dark and meant for tools but staged just right for dreaming fools One day we'll laugh and reminisce Having checked off goals from our shed dream list