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The Lesson

When you left I looked for you
in all the faces I saw,
in every crowded street,
in all the places we had been.

When you left I finally understood
forever is but a moment
and happiness is usually hidden away
in all the small things.

When you left I learned so much
about myself and my defense mechanisms
about my lack of self-esteem
about all the little annoying things that made me.

I cried at first.
I felt such void.
When you left
I thought life was over.
So I should thank you,
for showing me myself,
for showing me I’m stronger than that
for letting me know there’s so much more to life than you.
© Máh Lima


Photo by Eric Nopanen on Unsplash

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Blind Faith

We are a group of travelers.
Each speaking a different language,
with the same goal in mind.
Failing to reach the destination
for lack of communication
as we muddle through space and time.

It’s a predictable predicament.
Useless eyes that refuse to see
through the lies. Hopelessly shuffling
towards an edge that leads to our own demise.

At some point in the journey,
an agenda was birthed.
Divide and conquer
was the propaganda.
Unity could no longer be served.

We jump into the void with our blind faith.
Eyes closed. Holding back the crocodile tears.
Failing to hear the message
muffled by the sound whistling in our ears.

 

___________________________________

Art Credit: Nour

@sparksflyidraw

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Through the Hurt

At some point communication was ignored.
The pain rose like the sun, every single day
Every time a word was said
It was meant to cause more pain.
Silence was like air
But minds were too loud,
Too loud to hear what was said behind it all.
Because pain kept rising with the sun
And refused to set
And at some point silence was all they had
When they got so caught up in the self
They forgot the meaning of “us”
With the ego constantly screaming “I”.
And the light that only shone from the hurt
Couldn’t illuminate two broken hearts.
© Máh Lima


Photo by Daniil Kuželev on Unsplash

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Merciful Dawn

Justify. Such an apologetic word.
Nonetheless–yes, I’ve used a transition,
to transition to the fact that we are justifiable.
Do you need to see me to know I am smiling?
Of course not. You are more than aware that
your green makes me bloom and let go of any
frequency of fear that may frequent my space.

What is it that you want out of this world?
Go to the zenith of your thoughts and
tell me what you deem momentous.
I need to know what pushes you to feel
alive to the point that it’s near deadly.

Isn’t that how life juts out and meddles with time?
It pushes us to feel like it exists differently, more naive.
And yet, we sit and meander through our thoughts
in order to turn over the real beauty that surrounds us.
I hold still to the belief in love and light,
your eyes more bright and telling than
a crystal or a merciful dawn.

_________________________

Photo Credit: Lanaya

@writing.for.the.calm

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Born To It

 

Born To It

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a poem is conceived in private
much like a child
the wild, Holy consummation, all consuming
born of love
but bearing so much pain and suffering,
muffled cries, truths and lies,
sometimes the difference is hard to find.

I was born with bated breath,
fresh and clean,
once they wiped off the blood and amniotic fluid
and cut the cord
scissors like a sword
severing the most sacred connection
that I will ever know.

I was born to it
and there is no place quite like home.

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What is Poetry? – part 3

What is Poetry? – part 3

Poetry doesn’t necessarily rhyme,

it just climbs out of the mind,

out of a recess in time,

obsessed with success

and blind to the cold shoulder it usually finds.

It’s a mess, it’s sublime,

it’s a knife as a prize,

it is life in the eyes,

it is death, of a kind,

it’s leaving something behind,

it’s caressing the past

and the future that lies,

dormant though brooding

ahead.

Who says poetry is dead?