How does one claim to be an empath and not be self destructive,
What does it actually take engulf ozymandias, and not be retroductive.
trying on a metaphor
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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Mike Driver
KIROKAZE

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
taylor price
DEAR READER

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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Claire Keane
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
$LAYYYTER
d e v o n

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@dosto-pesky
How does one claim to be an empath and not be self destructive,
What does it actually take engulf ozymandias, and not be retroductive.
I'll tell you story of a life-time
There She is
On a dewy sunset
Like a stiched golden feather, shining on a
fine line,
Her musky smell,jasmine-euque shade,
I wouldn't be lying if i said
"she's being of luz , wholly divine ".
I wouldn't mind if she were to walk upto me and say, sacrifice is the key to me and shelter of mine,
I'd chip off myself bit by bit
looking at her copper-esque off white chin"s shine,
And call it the call it the alter of venus in making,sipping the somber wine
, while chanting it out as the margin of sanity
I'll slowly dip in the eternal slumber,
Tripping up through the love's twisted vine,
It's exactly how i expect to feel her lap, through the shade of umber, across all the weather's, but some sweet yet harshest anguish from august to November,
Giving me about no time to whine
As flimsy as the world may see it,
I'll let everyone know,
I only bow to the our intertwined shrine,
To Let her know how riddled i am,
Ridiculed to the point of klein,
And at the end , if I'll ever elaborate to myself, I'll let her know,she's so fine
It's repetitive yet clustered that she's all over my mind,
I want to grab her, feel her to the core,
So that i can feel the shift of her gaze to my shivering yet sublte hand sign,
Her waist to be felt by the grasp of my thought, as if she's escaping yet on top of my zine,
I'll pull her to myself, feeling her throughout, from her forehead to spine,
Splitting on my knees, Spelling my love,
Knowing whatever happens, i definitely condign.
चलो हो जाते हैं चुप दोनो,
कहीं लिख देता हूँ मौन मैं,
तुम हो जाओ 'मीर' सही,
हो जाता हूँ 'जौन' मैं ।
What keeps you at bay?
Why even write?moreover twice a day?
Are you insinuated to bigotry?
Towards us not so vocal, but vandalized within an inch of our dreams?
Are you perhaps of the same cloth as us
Or severely deaf and ignorant of our screams?
Will this life yield any results at all,
Or is it yet another flash in a pan,
Such a hassle , wasn't the theory true?
A core of determination is in a broken man?...........
लिबास ओढ़ कर चलिए, कफ़न की ज़रूरत नहीं,
आखिर कब और देखेंगे महबूब तुम्हें,
और तुमसे कोई खूबसूरत नहीं,
मिरा इस्तिक़बाल नहीं करते अब तुम,
इतना गैर परस्त तो हुकूमत नहीं,
लोगों के शोर से हार जाऊँ मैं,
इतनी तो किसी में भी क़ूबत नहीं,
वो अलग है कि दोज़ख़ के उस ओर ही राब्ता हो,
पर ये ज़रूरी नहीं कि इन्तिज़ार भी खूबसूरत नहीं
अगर लिख दूँ मैं हर निवाले पर तेरा नाम,
तो क़त्ल-ओ-ग़ारत-गिरी, छोड़ आएगा मेरे पास,
क्या इतनी उम्मीद भी अब तुझसे किफ़ायत नहीं,
बाद-ए-सबा , मैं किस ओर हूँ दुनिया के,
क्या, मेरी मोहब्बत मेरी ज़ियारत नहीं.
मैं रंग दूँ आज फिर अपनी दीवारों को काला अंदर से,
मैं ढक दूँ ये सारे निशान, बुझा दूँ ये अपनी ज्वाला अंदर से,
खोखला करके खुद को वापस, दफन कर दूँ ,मिट्टी इसमें,
हो जाए जर्जर , या भर जाए फिर, ये प्याला अंदर से,
रोका हुआ है जिसने इस तूफ़ान को समेट के,
तुम कहो तो अभी ख़ाक करदूँ, ये क़बाला अन्दर से,
ऊपरी सतह को करके मज़बूत, बहुत टूट के रोया जाना चाहिए, फिर बाहर निकलो और छोड़ दो बातें बनाना,
किसी को नहीं जानना चाहिए, कि बरसों तलक निकलता रहा है, दिल का दिवाला अंदर से .
The sky is limitless only because it is unstained from the virtues of men
ये भी तुम्हारे ही ख़ाब हों,
जो मेरे सवालों को अंगार दें,
तुम पकड़ सको हाथ मेरा,
यही एक बरकत काफी है,
मैंने तो कभी कहा ही नहीं
कि पिंजरों के परिन्दे मुझे प्यार दें !
ये भी तुम्हारे ही ख़ाब हों,
जो मेरे सवालों को अंगार दें,
तुम पकड़ सको हाथ मेरा,
यही एक बरकत काफी है,
मैंने तो कभी कहा ही नहीं
कि पिंजरों के परिन्दे मुझे प्यार दें !
The strings are all worn-out,
The sounds have all died down,
The "human" is yet to begin,
But the gods are all long gone,
The gore is the purest of us all now,
Even The brave and the bold has to fall down.
How mighty of it ,
To tie the reds of me to the bleeding books,
To take what's mine, unfairly by crooks,
What else do i say, in pursuit of your favor,
Does it not end with a bitter taste in your mouth,
Or has the blue bird finally eaten it's heart and flown down south,
Or have you already tasted almighty, even in this drouth.
So many words, yet no solace around, teach me how your "peace" was found,
Is it dishonourable, uncouth of me, to cut to the chase, not suffer for it, to understand it all, to be profound .
मेरे और भी शौक हैं, तेरे सिवा ,
यकीन मान, ये ज़ख्म पुराना है,
पर खुद को बहुत तलाशने पे मालूम हुआ,
ये भी अलबत्ता एक बहाना है,
चुभने लगे हैं अब बदन पर लगे चमकने वाले सितारे,
हो सकता है मेरा मकसद अब इसका कर्ज़ चुकाना है
अब नहीं कर सकता हूं मैं और भला ज़माने का
इस बीमारी ने मुझे मेरी उम्र से पहले खा जाना है
मैं आज फिर तन्हा घर लौट जाऊँ, ये हो नहीं सकता,
मैंने आज घर में चराग़ जलाना है ।
इतने भारी भारी शब्दों का बोझ लेके कहाँ जाऊँगा ?
ये दुनिया है उबलता हुआ ज़हर,
मेरे खून का इसमे क्या काम,
इसमे मैं शब्दकोश लेके कहाँ जाऊँगा
At the end of this road, life shot me in the depth of my core,
I shall lie down once, and my 𝐿𝑢𝑓𝑢 shall wash ashore !
The noises in my head, and the days ahead,
It all feels a little too heavy, lying in my bed.
I would be careful to not let humans in,
They tend to more shallow,
breathing but dead.
The scaffolding of my heart and the sand in hands, both, are going to be disappearing ,before my dread.
How deeply have you stabbed, to even discolour my blood's red,
The pale walls of my room look nothing like the moonlight,
Have i hallucinated, all the loneliness instead.
The day becomes dreary with every dying breath,
perhaps in some tiny corner of the world ,
There's really every elitist emotion's shed.
Perhaps i was born for the wrong one to claim,
All i could reach for in the end was the blame.
" I hold my hand out to you, Pick a finger
No no, not the second one,
i beg you, please linger,
The world might be full of butterflies,
But I more often than not,
get a bee with stinger "
जिस्मों के रेशे बिखर उठते हैं
रोज बिस्तर पे,
रोज़ समेट कर खुद को ' खुद ' बनाता हूँ
गैर और अपने अब एक बिसात के लगते हैं,
नज़रें मिलाने के लिए भी खुद को बुत बनाता हूँ
हमें आदत है बदलने की
तानाशाहों को देर से,
उन्हें सर पर बिठाने की,
जी हजूरी करने की,
मुर्दा घरों से वापस उठाने की,
उठा कर मसनदों पर बिठाने की
जहान-पनाहों को ढेर से,
हमें आदत है !