Why You Should Never Stop Being an Artist

Why You Should Never Stop Being an Artist by Sarba Roy

Eventually,
As life goes on,
A lot of terrific artists stop creating art,
Life takes a toll on them,
How can you write a poem,
Or create a piece of music,
When you have a presentation to make,
Or a sick child by your side,
Or you simply are tired with the race,
And the drama of life.
But you know what,
The only way to stay truly alive,
In this depressing world,
Is to do things once in a while,
That liberate you,
From the self-imposed prisons,
Of society, situations and your own mind.
Never stop creating art,
No matter what.
A life filled with art and adventure will eventually,
Set you free,
A juicy creative life,
Will become your precious legacy,
It will inspire starry-eyed teenagers,
And hopeless adults alike,
To invest themselves,
In the pursuit of art,
In the things that make them feel alive,
Above all,
A life filled with art,
Will be your best birthday present,
You would gift yourself,
On your eightieth birthday.
So, don’t give up on yourself,
Or your art,
Not yet,
Not just yet.

<strong>Sarba Roy</strong>
Sarba Roy

Sarba loves poetry, she reads it, breathes it, and scribbles it on the last pages of random notebooks. She wants to use her voice to make a positive impact in the world, no matter how small.

She loves candles, dream catchers, books, and rainbows in no particular order. She currently lives in Hillsboro, Oregon, with her best friend who also happens to be her husband.

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Like Me

Like Me by K. Exum

Like Me:

Hearing your struggles hurts my soul‬
‪If only you knew how many times I was a tv to someone’s remote control‬
‪They make moves based on their opinions not knowing they ripping the uniqueness that you hold

‬Right out your great soul‬
‪The channels they switch you to leave scars in your heart‬
‪That can’t be erased with a simple apology‬
No, it’s not that easy
These scars fill pages
And pages of this notebook

These scars robbed me of my time and I can’t call the cops for these crooks
I wish you weren’t a replica of me
I wish you would stand up for me
I meant you

Why oh why are you like me?
I feel like I’m looking in the mirror when I hear you speak
It starts with you holding those words you so wish you can say behind your teeth

Then you can’t sleep
Because your eyes are so drippy
Then you start looking in the mirror wishing and hoping that you weren’t you
That you were raised somewhere else
That these emotions weren’t something you felt
Then you start grabbing weapons
And trying to leave your body bloody in the same bed you slept in

Thoughts begin to creep in
Like if I do it my body will be left in this bed
But in heaven, my soul will be free
Those very thoughts still reserve space in my head
Don’t be like me
Be better
Please

<strong>K. Exum</strong>
K. Exum

K. Exum is a shy poet with a love for fashion. His poetry comes from the problems he faces going through depression. Most of his poetry is based on pain. That can be boring to some but is relatable to others. If there’s any message to be received from his pain poems is that he wants you to learn from his mistakes.

On other days K enjoys writing on his blog Pieces Of K Blog and recording spoken word songs. His love for creating takes over his life. 

You can follow his Instagram below. K posts mainly spoken word videos and pictures of himself. So if interested give him a follow and I’m sure he’ll return the favor.

https://www.instagram.com/k.exum/

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The Fabric of Love

The Fabric of Love by Kai Lazarus

No I will not

reap what I sew.

I will burn the quilt

stained with a lifetime

of mental beat-downs,

which brought for

the muddied perception of warmth and comfort.

Then take on the task of creating a new thread,

to handcraft the virgin wool embroidered into an unique

pattern of solace and vehemence,

laced with a soothing touch of

unbridled loyalty. Which can

only be described as the

white mulberry’s cocoon,

as the finest of silks form

from the metamorphosis of a being.

Growth by Kai Lazarus

Growth is not

old flames

with new names.

Or reminiscing with the background of rain,

watching it all go down the drain.

It’s getting crippled by the pain

while still loving to play the game.

Religious Texts by Kai Lazarus

I pray to the goddesses that sacrificed their sanity for mine

Even if that useless dream was futile,

much obliged. Through our trials my obedience was abolished.

Survivors remorse does breed a new sense of Stockholm’s syndrome, but subservience isn’t desired around these parts anymore.

My vulnerability is something I gift willingly and openly.

No more a hidden fetish I give up in the dark,

it is my grand showcase.

<strong>Kai Lazarus (the medøchï)</strong>
Kai Lazarus (the medøchï)

the medøchï is the healing spirit of Kai Lazarus Antoine. Who was constructed through therapy, meditation and artistic creation, to mend a broken soul.

Now after obtaining that goal, the medøchï has taken on the task of growing to a status similar to where the name was derived from, the Medici family. All to be able to be the benefactor of many artists and innovators, while creating a haven for the creatives, the broken and the unheard.

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French

French by Shreyas Karanth

What does this special place hold for us?

The city of love as it’s called,

The charm of Paris is always surprising

From Autumn branches and sun kissed faces,

To blurry skies and cold winter nights,

Everything sets the mood right

We might be seen in a café,

Sipping dark bitter coffee and having freshly baked du pain

Or seen sitting at a mini bar,

Tasting the classic French wine young and drunk, but ever so lively

Holding hands, exploring the scenic beauty and the depths of Paris,

And admiring the artistic expressions of love,

Enjoying the good times, we vibe

There is an intoxicating feel in the air of this city,

French after all

Aesthetically beautiful yet dark,

The city of love remains in our hearts forever

<strong>Shreyas Karanth</strong>
Shreyas Karanth

I’m Shreyas Karanth, a 17 year old writer from India
Writing was not my forte, until I found out that I was good at it. Poetry is my form of expression.

My personal favourites are love poems, with lots of hidden stuff to it. 

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Whenever I am with You

Whenever I am with You by Kashish Lahrani

I am a star shining in the milky way,
Blinding eyes as I radiate through,
And dazzle in the endless navy sky,
Whenever I am with you.

I am a daffodil dancing in the breeze,
Embracing that light effortless view.
As the sunshine falls upon me,
So does my grace fall upon you.

I am a serene wave in the ocean abyss,
Subtle and cerulean blue.
Rising and returning back into its depths,
The way I dive back into you.

The First Kiss by Kashish Lahrani

We were in the basement,
It was completely dark down there.
He looked me into the eyes and wore a tender smile,
As I gave an ingenuous stare.

He pulled me closer and held me tight,
He got me glued against his soul.
He gently pressed his lips against mine,
Paradise were these moments that we stole.

Intimacy was flowing through our veins,
Heavenly it felt on the inside.
As he caressed his tongue with mine,
Onerous it became for the affection to hide.

My cheeks were red, I was in a state of ecstasy,
My heart was filled with bliss.
I had always heard of it, but today,
I experienced how special the first kiss is.

<strong>Kashish Lahrani</strong>
Kashish Lahrani

I’m Kashish Lahrani and I live in Mumbai, India. I’m 17. I’m a business management student. Besides studying, I work as an accountant.

Life hasn’t always been merciful but writing has been an escape for me time and again. I look up to the works of Mary Oliver and Maya Angelou. I try to associate my poetry with sketches. My writings have been published in 4 anthologies and also in the school magazine. 

I’ve a profound interest in psychology and I wish to be a psychologist someday in my life. Besides music and cricket, painting soothes me the most lately. 

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Believe

Believe

Believe by Hamza Waleed

Ground your fears and rise above them high,

Believe in yourself and you can fly.

Leaving the darkness behind

Believe in the dawn,

Inspirit your heart,

And strive to carry on.

Life is strange,

It has twists and turns,

The lessons lie within, pay heed to them and learn.

To mount the summit of your dreams,

You must move on and leave behind the leisureness of shade,

For the process must be followed,

And the prices must be paid.

Chasing your dreams, sometimes, you may fall,

But Never Give Up, Even if you have to crawl.

Those wreckful storms,

so many times, will knock you down,

And you’d pe pained,

But stare back into their eyes,

Commit to yourself, and stand back up again.

Those hardships will at last, come to an end,

Endure them with courage, and so on you will ascend.

Looking for the divine spark, beyond yourself,

The mind despondently strife,

And you’ve to search your own heart,

For out of it flows,

all the issues of life.

All of the respect, integrity and excellence, you’ll retrieve,

And all of it would be possessed by you,

From the moment you start to Believe.

<strong>Hamza Waleed</strong>
Hamza Waleed

My full name is Hamza Waleed. I am from Pakistan. I live here with my family. I’m kinda entrepreneur and just started writing poems.

I write to manifest the feelings of my heart and soul. It’s so soothing to put your feelings in words. My Hobbies are book reading, travelling and writing.

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The Mail Plane

The Mail Plane by Camden Michael Jones

I.

We erect our tents on the hardpack

of the town’s airport,

rows
of stakes and guidelines

like
a fishing wharf in the tundra;

the
mail plane comes at one,

an
overfull vulture circling above

before
looping North towards the
Gates of the Arctic for the approach run.

The
landing is a front row rock concert where the bassist only knows one
chord and the drummer is still setting up: the tone resonates in the ooze of
our marrow;

that
is to say, the landing is simple, drifting
over alpine fir and spruce tops

with
ballet grace before cutting power

and
slamming wheels to gravel.

II.

Yesterday’s
rain feeds the Yukon today.

Its
hands reach for a hard cloud ceiling and
its lows, its troughs call my name,

call
my name, call my name,

endless
waves in the river’s center,

arcing
with storm energy

and
grip strength.

III.

Other
planes come, and leave,

and
helicopters set down near us.

We
play cards in their wind,

drink
camp coffee that strains

through
the teeth and plugs the gaps;

we
watch and we wait for
seats that never come,

waiting
to leave this airport runway,

waiting
to fight the big fires.

IV.

We
hear the boats before we see them,

curving
around the clay banks

and
we line our packs along

their
aluminum walls. We
sit in plastic bags to
keep dry of river spray,

I
hear my name again,

and
watch another mail plane

take
off. The hardpack vibrates

under
the wheels, the engines scream

their
one note show, and
the DC-3 sinks off the runway towards

the
Yukon – and us – before catching itself,

then
slowly, so slowly we can almost touch

the
silver belly, it growls to the North

and loops
South towards Fairbanks.

Origami Hands by Camden Michael Jones

We
sit on white plastic chairs and watch
the rain

wash
these streets.

This
is not a last meal;

let us
origami our hands

and
sing our departure songs

to
the mirror glass of the sky.

<strong>Camden Michael Jones</strong>
Camden Michael Jones

Camden Michael Jones will earn his BA in English and History from Western Oregon University in June of 2020, and has won multiple literary and creative writing competitions during his undergraduate years.

His poetry focuses on his experiences as a wildland firefighter, with love and death, and with the randomness of life. Every poem he writes is inherently personal and as a collection may be viewed as a collective self-portrait.

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Bruised Heart

Bruised Heart by Veronika Sivka

You pushed me away
And put your past to blame?
That is not an excuse.
For you, I’d open all of my wounds again,
Hell, I’d even take a new bruise.

<strong>Veronika Sivka</strong>
Veronika Sivka

Sometimes we don’t let ourselves love again because of what happened to us in the past. But we forgot everything that we can gain from new love. At the end of the day, if we meet someone we truly love, it is worth it. Even, if it causes us some pain.

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Paper Wings

Paper Wings by David Smith

At my lowest, I’m flying so high
with these paper wings of mine
I’m gliding through the midnight sky
on this journey of lies

Paper wings didn’t protect me
A painted picture of deceit
Tear soaked wings of paper
I crashed down 6 feet deep

<strong>David Smith</strong>
David Smith


I’m a 35-year-old poet/writer/lover of words,
I write to read my own stories. To read how far I’ve become…

My debut title Heartbreaks & Heartbreaks and my latest book Streetlights & Night Lights are available through Amazon and Kindle right now, ❤thank you so much!

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Bard’s Doleful Song

Bard's Doleful Song

Bard’s Doleful Song by Gitanjali Kapoor

Bewildered, I sit here
staring at your richness
Silk robes, marble floors
and expensive incense.

Whilst down there on the roads
crieth a child in hunger
clad in tattered rags
waiting for his toiling Mother.

Will she get him some milk
or only dust in that bowl
How do you sit there benumbed
whilst she beareth a hundred cracks on her Soul.

I now sing your hymns
louder than the Gong
Oh, these voices
I try to drown with doleful songs.

Aren’t you bewildered too
with your temple’s mocking serenity
Whilst last night
a five-year-old lost her virginity.

Oh, How I wish to shake you hard
Wake you up with Poems after dark.
If my words have failed to rip your heart
then I don’t deserve to be called a Bard
then I don’t deserve to be called a Bard..

<strong>Gitanjali Kapoor</strong>
Gitanjali Kapoor


Gitanjali Kapoor, well known and much revered in Writer’s World by her pen name Laughing Soul, is an articulate single lady in her 40s from Mumbai, India. 

After carving a fulfilling career in the hospitality industry, her Poetic soul found solace in penning words.
 
She’s an author and publisher of 2 Anthologies.
Crimson Kisses and Ishq-e-Watan, Priceless Pearls, is her debut solo collection of Poems. Also Co Author in many books globally. 
 
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.”
 
https://laughingsoulme.wordpress.com/blog/

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