Eyes + Words

Written by Jacob Ibrag

You shed light on my blind spots, thought I

had my life figured out. Responsibility was a bad

word, one that you’d consistently bring up. And when

I looked into your luminous lights, I had realized my

true crime. I had been running away from myself,

yet you can’t run away from your shadow.

Photographer Unknown

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An Artist

Life is all about PAIN


Pale fingers

filled with nicotine

On the white paper moved well..

Red eyes

In the imaginary world

glanced and gazed !

I wonder

How far your imaginations reach?

But they never fly over my roof

Where I stand

Each night

With a wish to feel you !!!

Come out of my dreams and imaginations.

Thank you dear Artist. Please contact me, if you ever see this !

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Atop of the World, Mom! (two)

Rantings Of A Third Kind

Posted in the Daily Post: Atop

“Climbing to the top demands strength,
whether it is to the top of Mount Everest
or to the top of your career”
A. P. J. Abdul Kalam

Atop of the World, Mom!

Fully glass plated houses
All the way up to the very top
This is no place for louses
Nothing hidden, nothing secret
But soon enough, some regrets
As the gazes will never stop

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Love is brief

We don't know anything

Some will love you with all their being
when you stand naked in the kitchen,
because the scent of you is still like roses to innocence.

This is not the professing sort of love,
that begs to be heard,
it is the love that speaks through kisses and silence.
Love that stands alone in just a moment,
then is gone.
Momentary adoration.
Always unspoken.

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The Boy Unable To Speak by Federico Garcia Lorca

Leonard Durso

. .The small boy is looking for his voice.
(The King of the Crickets had it.)
The boy was looking
in a drop of water for his voice.

. .I don’t want the voice to speak with;
I will make a ring from it
that my silence will wear
on its little finger.

. .The small boy was looking
in a drop of water for his voice.

. .(Far away the captured voice
was getting dressed up like a cricket.)

translated by Robert Bly

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That Boy is a Pane of Glass

Unto Dogs

That boy is a pane of glass,
He is seen right through with ease.
That boy is a blade of grass,
Unable to stand among the trees.

The boy is an old floor mat,
Unseen as you step in the door.
That boy is a plank of wood,
An identical piece of the floor.

That boy leaves no impression,
Forgotten as soon as his words are done.
That boy never shows his aggression,
For it would be noticed by no one and none.

That boy is a shadow at night,
Unremarkable, barely pronounced.
That boy is an infrared light,
Invisible data left all unannounced.

That boy is a poem unfurled,
Unread ’cause it’s crumpled and dirty.
That boy is alone in the world,
With no one to ask where it’s hurting.

That boy is a pane of glass.
A victim of thousand-yard stares.
That boy is a pane of glass.

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