18890
If I was to choose I would fall for you again. Coz you complete me In a way I can't describe.. For more poems join our channel
Still in the mood for Christmas.
Thank God its Friday. Please have fun.
Weightless Gravity.
Her smile
slips in like spring rain,
soft, alluring, impossible to ignore.
It curls around my thoughts,
stirring something I can’t name,
provoking a pull I can’t resist.
It rearranges the room quietly,
shifting the mood of the moment.
I chase it silently,
wanting it to linger longer.
Each glance is a spark,
brightening the dull in my lull.
It hides, returns,
daring me to notice,
leaving traces I can’t discard,
marks of a presence that won’t release me.
And in that pursuit,
I find myself leaning closer,
caught in a weightless gravity
that exists only where she is.
~ The Modern Romeo
22.12.2025
t.me/symonsaichpoetry
Shared thoughts.
You loaned your friend Kshs 4,000/= last year BUT since then he has refused to pay back, which has really deteriorated the friendship. You beg him to just pay you Kshs 2,000/= and forget the rest because you are in a financial crisis.
Your friend then says he can only get you Kshs 1,500/= since that's all he has.
You feel like you have no option but to accept. You give him your account details to send the amount directly to your bank.
You wake up the next morning, check your account and there is Kshs 15,000/= in it.
You keep staring at the screen in disbelief but it is indeed 15k.
You grab your phone and find 53 missed calls from him and an additional 27 text messages begging you to transfer back Kshs 13,500/= since he only meant to send Kshs 1,500/= and accidentally added an extra "0."
What are you supposed to do?
REFLECTION OF A MIRAGED GRANITE
Hey come let's paint
Paint that eases this pain
Hey come
Sir, sit
You seem broken
Broke yet broken
Artistic stick that boldy moulds
Yet broke and broken
Architecturally stick that picks ideas and bends all fears
Yet broken and bold
Are you okay?
Erase not yet easy,
Partition. Scale down
Plait,
Big strides stroked in past pains
Graphics ,a granite ,grand and greatest story
Good ,so nice
A master piece of hidden torture
Are you okay?
Geographically geothermally and geometrically perfect,
Yet pains plead ,
The black bolt smiles
Echoing for help ,
When the sun goes down,
I might be okay.
I will be okay.
I need to be okay.....
Daybreak, night falls
Mid night traumas
Am I really okay?
Have I accomplished my mission for the day?
Echoes scream,
Flash backs fast forward,
Now plans not accomplished
Am I okay?
Am I to be blamed?
Letter after letter
Paragraphs paraphrased..
It is, as it was
It' will be
or maybe as it was is now should ,
And will be forever
,but,
Maybe my granite fades.
Am doomed to be faint as I paint faintly forever.
Am I all -right in saying
I am alright..?
Granites frowns
© Hurmphrey the poet
The wordsblacksmith254
POETRY IN ME...
The poetry in me moves quietly, as a pulse beneath the noise of days,
Waiting for a moment to rise.
It shapes itself in the spaces I leave open,
While filling the pauses between thoughts,
Like a voice I never fully control.
Sometimes it comes as a whisper,
Like a soft reminder that I am more than what the world asks of me.
Sometimes it surges like a tide,
Pushing against the edges of my calm, insisting on being felt,
Through it all I carry it gently,containing it as an inner current of meaning,
the poetry in me, keeps the othet me noticeable😁.
BLACKX🖤
I’m glad your existence crosses paths with mine.
Читать полностью…
That may mean nothing to them, but that's no small thing to God.
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Real intimacy starts with feeling safe in someone's presence.
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Author : Somdatta Mitra
Country : India
Dated :22.07.2025.
Title : *THE WEIGHT OF WANT*
Witnessing poverty and malnutrition as in a ghetto,
Silent smiles urge for kindness and attention.
Ripping off the ferocity of nature,
Where there is no food or shelter.
The weight of want over destitution,
The fatality today calls for a restitution.
Bawling and desperate distress signal,
Bare the strange nemesis that honk over afflictions.
Indigence and privation has barricaded human rights,
Yowls after yowls scratch every happiness into dark, fiery fires that strikes.
Their helplessness and misery is a tintinnabulation,
For maims that left scars with eternal woes.
In silence with teary eyed they beseech a better life,
Their stigma over massive unemployment in drastic conditions.
In dreadful situations their plight calls for an immediate rescue,
For two meals a day some laughter and a shelter.
Impoverished children stand in a queue,
To desperately seek food in distress.
Penniless, strapped over a destined hunger ,
Their innocent eyes sparkle with an urge, a hope, a compassion.
They have many dreams yet they cannot go to school,
It's a bane for teenage mothers impregnated with twins and triplets.
Struggle turns into hazards that envelop like a monster,
Their pangs lay bare when minimum standards go against the current.
Fate has infused an unrestrained condition,
To go up in flames for any aspiration.
Skinny, feeble babies with wide open eyes ,
Express what is unfair and unjust.
Where haunts of joy tremor with its sharp wretched nails,
Biting a fist of hostile shafts of fate.
Peace remains in a camouflage here,
Wrapped in the disguised ornaments of patience.
Howling they fall over a jerk,
As there is no narrow escape.
Scorching heat tear apart their skin for a zit,
Diseases enfeeble and enervate like a curse.
They seek aspirants who are angels,
Compassion that might uplift their survival.
For funerals of young mothers leave their children into a scary world,
Denying a caregiver over their destiny that clung.
©®Somdatta Mitra
*Lost*
By_Adia
My soul is tired and gray and spent
Its like im sixty but im just a little sixteen
Never been mess like now
Never felt lost like now
Why i can't find myself then feel alive?
Why i can't feel like i have any life?
Why i don't belong to one or two kind?
Why i think everything's just in god's mind?
Oh this cruel questions hunting me
Can i find those answers?it's tearing me
My mother get tired of me
Cuz i ask her am i alive?or it's just a test for me?
How can i race when i dont know where's my offset?
How can i decide when i feel so upset?
How many nights gonna turn to morning and i'll scare?
How many hours take to stop my illusion?
Oh my,i'm afraid,i have a deadly scare
Who am i,where i'll go,someone should tell me
Give me a remedy to keep'em away
But im fading away before i pass away
Looking through a glass,
My life about to crash,
My dreams turn to ash,
It's all happening so fast.
Reality is slipping from my hands
Like water through my fingers.
I feel my heart beating,
The warmth of life retreating.
This cold feeling I can't shake,
My very soul and body are alarmed.
The slightest whisper sounds so loud.
Every sense says something's amiss,
The moment my fears and worries kiss;
I want it to cease.
But alas,
With this feeling is true freedom.
In losing myself,
In being helpless,
Is pain and pleasure I have never known.
In seeking solace,
I have found a goal.
As I embrace my darkest
In the darkness,
Alone.
I am free,
Free to be,
Free of me,
To live and die as I choose.
In chains yet unchained,
My tether to reality is gone,
It has found home in the flames,
And peace in earth.
*song of the nights.*
Wake up.
They whisper, in the middle of the night. You can hear them because you've known them before. You've known they're there all along. Outside the wind blows. A loose roof flaps and it sounds like someone is walking over it. You can hear it too, can't you? In the living room you hear shuffling on the tiles. Pause. Then shuffling again. The coach creeks. Someone has sat on it. You can feel it, right? And it isn't only one person. You know they're there. Waiting. But you don't want to open your eyes? Are you afraid? They call again. But it's your name this time. It's clear, a symphony to hypnotize you. Wake up. Come here. They say. Guiding you to sit with them. The night is alive, and so are it's people. They're calling you, to be alive with them. You won't turn them down, will you? You wake up, in a dreamlike state. Shuffling your feet to the living room. And see them waiting. Some on the coaches. And some standing. You see them right? If you can see them, you can see the rest.
/channel/cul_14_pry
©🅻🅾🅽🅴 ™🤬
*The library of Hours*
In the bid to take what was Caesar’s in twenty-five,
I stepped into the ring just to feel alive.
So much has transpired in the dust and the heat,
The taste of the victory, the salt of defeat.
Many times Caesar stood still, a king on his throne,
Watching me claim what I thought was my own.
He didn't always chase; he let the weight be the cost,
Counting the gold while I counted what I lost.
But periodically, the tide would turn cold,
And Caesar fought back with a strike that was bold.
I carry the marks now, the purple and red,
The echoes of words that should not have been said.
But you should have seen him—I gave what I got,
I landed my punches, I fired every shot.
A symphony of bloody noses and pride,
With nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
I learned the hard way, through the grit and the rue,
Of the ache of biting off more than I could chew.
It follows me home, a shadow in the hall,
A reminder that pride is the breath ‘ere the fall.
I used to think "grab the bull by the horns" was the way,
But the bull is much heavier at the end of the day.
Perhaps the real strength isn't found in the tear,
But in knowing which burdens are worth the long year.
Look at me now: a collection of shards,
Scattered by chaos and the war of the guards.
There are pieces of me left on battlefields past,
And fragments of mind where the shadows were cast.
Shattered by struggle, broken by choice,
I listen for the echoes of my own quiet voice.
I am picking them up—every splinter, every bone—
And mending a self that is uniquely my own.
I am weaving a string, an artifact of the soul,
To carry into next year and finally be whole.
Deep down, the child in me lingers there yet,
In a world of wonders he cannot forget.
Mothered by many, but taught by a few,
He views the world through a judgmental hue.
He is stubborn and small, with a childish mind,
Searching for something he’s yet to find.
But I see him in the walks under the drizzle’s soft play,
And the secrets whispered in the sun’s golden ray.
When I gather these fragments—the child and the man,
The wars that I fought and the races I ran—
The mosaic of "me" always leads back to you,
The one constant heart in a world of untrue.
I know there will come a day, certain and cold,
When my name is a whisper, a story long told.
Inevitability waits for us all in the end,
Where the lines of existence finally bend.
But until that silence, I love what has stayed:
The pieces that clung to my robe, unafraid.
The true parts of me that survived through the fire,
Clinging to love as the flames rose higher.
Despite the collisions, the year had its grace,
A "catchy" momentum, a blur of a pace.
I met the many-faced world, the strange and the kind,
Left a few bridges and heartaches behind.
We toasted to birthdays, we laughed in the sun,
We counted the battles we thought we had won.
But if you should ask for the crown of it all,
I wouldn’t point to the trophies hung high on the wall.
Instead, I would lead you away from the light,
To the "Library of Hours" we spent in the night.
The lost, quiet minutes that didn't earn pay,
The hours we "wasted" just drifting away.
Just like a library, dusty and vast,
These are the stories I know how to last.
They are empty of Caesar, they are empty of war,
They are simply the peace I was traveling for.
Trust me when I say, as the calendar ends,
The value of life on a heartbeat depends.
The best of my time wasn't spent on the throne,
But in the "lost hours" where I wasn't alone.
So here is my toast, as the final sun sets,
To the one who forgives all my debts and regrets:
Thank you for staying through the breaking and mending.
I love you, Love 😘.
Unending.
jc
Good Morning
Photographers, show us a picture YOU took. No description, just a pic. 📸
By: adam hliva
Shoko J/ King Jey
+263779304306
+263715743345
🇿🇼🇿🇼🇿🇼🇿🇼🇿🇼
DEFINED.
I know
What I do,
I do.
What I did,
I did.
And the way I did it
Defines me.
Bleeding on the Asphalt
In a spur of a moment,
shots tore the air,
splitting the day clean open.
People ran, others froze,
their shouts of liberty
breaking into wails the sky couldn’t hold.
Banners fell.
Shoes and bodies lay scattered,
dreams cut from the futures
They were fighting toward.
Teargas rose quietly,
ashamed of its own work.
Yet through the smoke,
a cracked voice climbed upward —
then another.
Fire catching fire.
Proof that fear can wound,
But it cannot silence a people.
History may sand down the edges,
But we remember it raw:
names in the dust,
echoes stitched into our throats,
a dream bleeding on the asphalt
where thousands more will rise.
~The Modern Romeo
10th Dec 2025
/channel/sirmohsaichpoetry/2233
WHAT I HATED..
I became what I hated,
A shape cast by my own shadow,growing quietly behind me while I looked elsewhere for blame,
Never noticing the slow turning of my own hands.
I became what I hated,
Not in a single moment,
but in a thousand small surrenders to fear, pride and comfort of habits that eroded who I meant to be.
I became what I hated,
The realization was a mirror held uncomfortably close,
Revealing a face I recognized only in the trembling of its honesty.
I became what I hated,
The one without a fracture of light for hope to go back to the one i once was,
Happy old days....
I became what I hated,
I stand at the threshold
between regrets and renewal,
Wondering of what happendd to the path that lead me back to my real self...
BLACKX🖤
Second Chance
Life whispers softly through the cracks of time,
A fragile heart beats, unsure but prime.
Mistakes once carved in shadows deep,
Now lie dormant, awake from sleep.
We stumbled once through shadowed days,
Lost in the maze of our own ways.
Yet life, persistent, gently calls,
And love still waits beyond old walls.
And from those days, a lesson grows,
The past may linger, scarred and raw,
Yet hope arrives, without a flaw.
For hearts that falter, hearts that break,
Find courage in the chance to wake.
A second chance, a whispered start,
To mend the pieces of the heart.
Through storms we’ve known, through nights we’ve roamed,
We find at last our way back home.
© Mukami Kinyua
I STILL DWELL IN THE PROMISES
I still dwell in the promises,
The ones spoken softly in the quiet hours, held like fragile glass between our hands, believed in them because hope asked me to believe.
I still move through their echoes,
Shadows of intentions that once felt solid,
Carried like a warm coat in a season that turned colder without warning.
Some days they visit me gently,
Reminding me of what could have been, as if the future paused mid-stride
waiting for us to find our courage.
Other days they press on my chest, heavy with the weight of what remained unsaid,
All forming a landscape of unfinished thoughts stretching further than I expected.
But look at me,
Still, I remain here,not out of weakness,
But remembering,because even broken faith can leave behind a trace of light.
BLACKX🖤
“Look at me”
“Use your words”
“Good girl”
“Come here…”
“That’s my pretty girl”
“Mhmmm…”
“Don’t get shy now”
“I won’t ask again”
“Get on your knees”
“Don’t move, darling”
“Just like that”
“Faster baby”
“You’re mine”
“That’s my girl”
“Say please”
“I’m not done”
People don’t talk enough about the kind of regret that hits when you open up to someone thinking they were a safe space… just to find out they never were. That feeling of handing someone pieces of you they didn’t deserve? That’s a different kind of hurt.
Читать полностью…
They tell me to swallow
sadness like it's a toxin,
but my body is a container for all of it,
the rage, the grief, the longing,
they sit in my throat,
unmoving, and I think
maybe I am not meant to
be happy all the time.
Maybe my heart is built to carry the tonnage of sorrow,
like my mother before me,
like her mother before her.
Why should I lie
about the heaviness I feel,
when it's the only thing
that's ever truly been mine?
We ignore each other,
like it’s something we’ve practiced for years.
Even when we’re inches apart,
we pretend the air isn’t burning between us.
Our eyes meet
and everything stops for a breath,
for a heartbeat too long.
Then we both look away,
as if it didn’t just happen.
Still, I catch you watching me,
and I tell myself I imagined it.
Then you catch me,
and I know you didn’t.
You pass by so close
I could feel your silence brush against me.
I stay still,
but something in me moves anyway.
How long will we keep this up?
Because this wall between us
doesn’t keep me away anymore....
it’s pulling me in,
the way only you ever could.
To my fellow introverts…
What if that next outing you skip is the one where your true love shows up? 💭
You could “save” six hours by staying home — or lose six years waiting for the right person.
Nothing is guaranteed. There’s nothing written in the stars.
Even God doesn’t pick a partner for anybody — you choose.
So maybe this is a prophetic word for someone.
Chance
Uzithepoet
We ignore each other,
like it’s something we’ve practiced for years.
Even when we’re inches apart,
we pretend the air isn’t burning between us.
Our eyes meet
and everything stops for a breath,
for a heartbeat too long.
Then we both look away,
as if it didn’t just happen.
Still, I catch you watching me,
and I tell myself I imagined it.
Then you catch me,
and I know you didn’t.
You pass by so close
I could feel your silence brush against me.
I stay still,
but something in me moves anyway.
How long will we keep this up?
Because this wall between us
doesn’t keep me away anymore....
it’s pulling me in,
the way only you ever could.
THE LOST GENERATION.
My generation is in shambles,
The chieftain inheritors left six feet under,
The man to uphold sanity is busy chasing the wind,
Who will help us reinstate morals and culture.
Not one is left able to sit on the elders stool,
Address the village and restore unity,
The city swallowed the best and sold them as crows,
They only patch on beauty, breasts and behinds not love.
I miss the well breaded generation,
Those who commanded respect from the least and great,
The one's women ran to for comfort and peace,
Sadly the vipers left only dance to the tune of drugs.
The days love was sacred ended,
The feminine generation is full of deceit,
Elders pouncing on the young while the young ran after madam sponsor,
Where did we go wrong? what part of us did we shed.
Morals are no longer passed, they claim it's old fashioned,
Clinging to the west culture destroyed us,
Dressing up for the alcohol turned us into monsters,
Hoping from one bed to the other for comfort has us on our knees.
Grandpa im wailing over your boys,
The ones you sat under the iroko tree and poured knowledge on,
Sadly none remembers of your wisdom,
They all cursed the earth and threw future away.
Today is a day for them tomorrow a mystery,
None can offer the other a hand, they all are weak in nature,
The eateries have cursed manhood with unhealthy takeaways,
I can't put a pot on fire early like mama cause it's old fashioned.
The elders of my land wake and curse,
They are dying during the sacred deed,
They have no zeal to satisfy generations like your time,
My tears are for those we lost on the way while chasing lust.
My time's up my people,
Men of my time rise to the occasion,
The elders are spitting in the direction of the sun with arms raised,
This time maybe the god's will look down and restore sanity,
To be continued..........
The Lost Generation.
©Amirah Writes.