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#english poetry
feral-ballad · 12 days ago
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Yves Olade, from Bloodsport; “When rome falls”
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ancientsstudies · 4 months ago
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Thomas Hardy, An Upbraiding.
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divineandmajesticinone · 11 days ago
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Siegfried Sassoon, “The Death Bed” (1917), written in his own hand (via)
[Text ID: He’s young; he hated war; how should he die / When cruel old campaigners win safe through? / But Death replied, ‘I choose him’. So he went.]
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mavisylvania · a month ago
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I was thinking how Virginia Woolf once wrote I want to write a novel about silence, the things people don’t say. How Jaun Eliya said that mustaqil bolta hi rehta hoon, kitna khamosh hoon main andar se (I constantly keep on talking, how wordless I am from within). How Sylvia Plath wrote All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence and then Firdaus Gayavi wrote ilm ki ibtida hai hangama, ilm ki intiha hai khamoshi (beginning of knowledge is uproar, extremity of knowledge is silence).
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siir-poesia · 9 months ago
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Poetry in 5
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Vuelvo a sentir amor en tus labios. Vuelvo a sentir pasión en tus manos. Vuelvo a sentir las respuestas en mis oídos. Contemplo tus ojos y no encuentro otro mejor lugar  en el cual morir bañado de pasado y olvido. Tus ojos, colisión de reflejos marrones. Tu existencia, puerta cósmica al infinito irreal.
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★ ★  ★  ★ ★  ★  ★ ★
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I feel love on your lips again. I feel the passion in your hands again. I feel the answers again in my ears. I contemplate your eyes and i can't find a better place in which to die bathed in past and oblivion. Your eyes, collision of brown reflections. Your existence, cosmic door to unreal infinity.
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 ★ ★  ★  ★ ★  ★  ★ ★
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Je ressens à nouveau de l'amour sur tes lèvres. Je ressens à nouveau la passion entre vos mains. Je ressens à nouveau les réponses dans mes oreilles. Je contemple tes yeux et je ne peux pas trouver un meilleur endroit dans lequel mourir baigné de passé et d'oubli. Tes yeux, collision de reflets bruns. Votre existence, porte cosmique vers l'infini irréel.
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 ★ ★  ★  ★ ★  ★  ★ ★
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Sento di nuovo l'amore sulle tue labbra. Sento di nuovo la passione nelle tue mani. Sento di nuovo le risposte nelle orecchie. Contemplo i tuoi occhi e non riesco a trovare un posto migliore in cui morire immersi nel passato e nell'oblio. I tuoi occhi, collisione di riflessi marroni. La tua esistenza porta cosmica all'infinito irreale.
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 ★ ★  ★  ★ ★  ★  ★ ★
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Eu sinto amor em seus lábios novamente. Sinto a paixão em suas mãos novamente. Sinto as respostas novamente em meus ouvidos. Eu contemplo seus olhos e não consigo encontrar um lugar melhor no qual morrer banhado no passado e no esquecimento. Seus olhos, colisão de reflexos marrons. Sua existência, porta cósmica para o infinito irreal.
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊
 ★ ★  ★  ★ ★  ★  ★ ★
siir-poesia ©
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vanwssa · 9 months ago
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April is the cruelest month, breeding/ lilacs out of the dead land,/ mixing memory and desire, stirring/ dull roots with spring rain.
T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land (1922).
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wordsareinmysoul · 3 months ago
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Gone Cold
I can't write a word
Maybe because I don't think.
In this foreign world,
My existence is on the brink.
They say I've gone cold
When I seem to have melted.
Am I too bold?
Am I hot-headed?
I'm not sorry for me
Or for who I am.
Because, here I can only survive
Without having any self-shame.
There are vultures everywhere
I land my eyes.
They hide here and there
And fly above in the skies.
There are judging eyes hidden
Behind the mask of smiles.
Jokes are mistaken
For the sharp swords and knives.
2021, October 9th
_MJ
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classic-literatures-btch · 3 months ago
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I’m convinced that some poets that write ‘complicated’ or hard-to-understand poetry don’t know what their words mean, but write them anyway in hopes of sounding poetic and profound.
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tayyabaa · a month ago
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In the museum full of art, my eyes only searched for your gaze.
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feral-ballad · 12 days ago
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Yves Olade, from Bloodsport; “When rome falls”
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hallucinated-desires · 3 months ago
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No One is Waiting For Me
As I come home with a heavy back
I don't see anyone waiting for me at the gates,
Only shadows of myself welcoming my fate.
The train line passes across my house
My bedroom resides in a dark corner
Pieces of blade grow from my palms
Each day, growing closer to my throat.
The gallows far away scare me to death.
Death-
- a quick nap is much needed.
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nemralam · 2 months ago
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اسے ہم یاد آتے ہیں فقت فرصت کے لمحوں میں
مگر یہ بات بھی سچ ہے اسے فرصت نہیں ملتی
_وصی شاہ
ہم تسلیم کرتے ہیں کہ ہمیں فرصت نہیں ملتی
مگر جب یاد کرتے ہیں تو زمانہ بھول جاتے ہیں
_مرزا غالب
زمانہ بھول جاتے ہیں تیری ایک دید کی خاطر
خیالوں سے نکلتے ہیں تو صدیاں بیت جاتی ہیں
_علامہ اقبال
صدیاں بیت جاتی ہیں خیالوں سے نکلنے میں
مگر جب یاد آتی ہے تو آنکھیں بھیگ جاتی ہیں
_ساغر صدّیقی
They remember us only in moments of leisure
But it's also true they don't get the chance
_Wasi Shah
We admit that we do not get the chance
But when you're remembered,world is forgotten
_Mirza Galib
World is forgotten for the sake of your look
Centuries go away when come out of your thoughts
_Allama Iqbal
Centuries go away,in getting out of thoughts
But when you are remembered,eyes get wet
_Sagar Siddiqui
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aisherk · 2 months ago
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Though Lovers be lost, love shall not.
(Dylan Thomas)
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lionofchaeronea · 9 months ago
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"Let me not to the marriage of true minds" - William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle’s compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me prov’d, I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
Happy birthday, William Shakespeare (April 23, 1564 - April 23, 1616).
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William Shakespeare, Martin Droeshout, 1623 (from the First Folio Edition)
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poem-today · 18 days ago
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A poem by Thomas Hardy
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A New Year's Eve in War Time
           1915-1916
                         I            Phantasmal fears,            And the flap of the flame,            And the throb of the clock,            And a loosened slate,            And the blind night's drone, Which tiredly the spectral pines intone!                          II            And the blood in my ears            Strumming always the same,            And the gable-cock            With its fitful grate,            And myself, alone.                         III            The twelfth hour nears            Hand-hid, as in shame;            I undo the lock,            And listen, and wait            For the Young Unknown.                         IV            In the dark there careers —            As if Death astride came            To numb all with his knock —            A horse at mad rate            Over rut and stone.                         V            No figure appears,            No call of my name,            No sound but 'Tic-toc'            Without check. Past the gate            It clatters — is gone.                         VI            What rider it bears            There is none to proclaim;            And the Old Year has struck,            And, scarce animate,            The New makes moan.                         VII            Maybe that 'More Tears! —            More Famine and Flame —            More Severance and Shock!'            Is the order from Fate            That the Rider speeds on To pale Europe; and tiredly the pines intone.
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Thomas Hardy (1840–1928)
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wordsareinmysoul · 4 months ago
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I remember
My heart hurts
When I remember
The way you left me
With a hot burn degree.
And my brain cuts
When I try to remember
Our not too long ago memories
That you left with me.
My eyes bleed
When I remember
Your promises and words
That were sugar sweet.
I deleted everything
In order to forget you
But when I read that one poem by you
It makes me hurt for you.
I can't believe
That we ended
Before we began
In the simple span
Of a few months.
I wonder,
Did u go back to her?
Or is it still me,
That you’re hung-over?
My throat dries up
And I swallow my tongue
When I remember our time
Even if it was just one time.
I wonder
Did I ever hurt someone
They way you did me
Is that why I still bleed?
And my chest still hurts
When I think bout you
But then I realise
You were never you.
10/09/21
_MJ
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crystalclear-tears · 18 days ago
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Terrified of heights
Gazing at the stars, searching for a sign,
Pondering hope, just enough to believe
Terrified of heights, but here I sit
Cliff bound, oceans pooling in my eyes
Thinking of my life, and how it all led to this
The night sky beholds hope, but sadly it’s not enough
My body lives on, though my eternal flame burnt up
Resenting the beating of my heart, and the uselessness of my lungs
Serving me an injustice, I belong to the stars
The clock strikes 12, I’m ready to be free
The abyss, my only chance, I need to be released
Before plunging into nothingness, I think of who my soul would miss
Many faces come to mind, maybe in time they’ll come to see
This courageous act is for all that lives,
A step off the edge, spiralling to a new life
One I can cherish, one where I can grow
My insides shatter into the darkness, no feeling In the slightest
Something I had hoped for, something the stars kept a secret
I’m happier this way
Or maybe I’m not, there’s no way to tell
Maybe this isn’t heaven after all
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haqeeqat-se-umdaa · 2 months ago
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I'm so sorry
I'm so sorryy
For being by your side
When you had no one
I'm so sorry
To believe in you
When no one did
I'm so sorry
For holding your back
When you were at your weakest point
I'm so sorry
To give you my time
When you were in desperate need
I'm so sorry
For loving you unconditionally
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faeritas · 8 months ago
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‘Well, if my heart must break,
Dear love, for your sake,
It will break in music, I know;
Poets' hearts break so.
But strange that I was not told,
That the brain can hold
In a tiny ivory cell
God's Heaven and Hell.’
— Oscar Wilde, ‘Roses and Rue’. Signed manuscript circa 1884-1885.
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feral-ballad · 12 days ago
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Yves Olade, from Bloodsport; “When rome falls”
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