LOITER EFFORT

 

Is it true the one who sheds scales of effort receives only drought?In the process of indulging in the role they become the very thing they eradicate, as if the energy they transfer never cease.

I have been given a garden

But deep down its drought

Maybe I 've disgraced its value

I don’t look like the war kids at all

 

Despite having everything I possess none

I destroy the perspective within depth's

The depths, which I hold never existed

I realized I know nothing in search of it

What will you say about the contrasting nature

Where the garden is visible but what's left! only drought

All the garden was given as a facade

As I slipped through the cracks I know it lacked

 

I tried to protect the garden with water

But soon I realized it's one sided loiter

It's just a half effort that’s guiding through

As I remember I am always a helper

Img: The ladder of depths.

Text:Peculiar observation

From:journeytopoetry@gmail.com

EMPATH SPEECH

 Just a mere spill after the void took over control.Some readers could relate to the dynamic shift from silence to violence not in action but words.

 

What type of words are left from me to bleed in paper again

Where did it got wrong it's just I don’t know about it anyway?

The art of hiding began after search of light in the lighthouse

But alas it was burned to ashes just left with reminance of a thought to share

 

Why is it that its only my job to remember, understand and make you comfortable?

While for you all it taken and guarantee you blantly tell you don’t want to know and ask just share it

If it was only for the sentence to be formed Why would I tell you? I want to be understood not heard

I also want the priority which I give not taken as guarantee

 

The rage and anger which shadows and wear's a mask are destructive

It lashes out suddenly even during unexpected time yearning for understanding

A small thing also can be a great deal for someone why won't you understand

A vague word understand stands only in my dictionary while for others it’s a vanished word

 

At the end I want you to be curious and let your desire to understand me

But alas that’s only in my dictionary I should only understand that it's your trauma that makes you like this

Also, what about trauma you will induce to me after all this

I still don’t know what words are left from me to bleed in paper again

 

Img: The fusion of colors denoting expression with art.

Text: Empathic tale

From:journeytopoetry@gmail.com

RIVARY AND JOKES ASKED FOR

This poem is dedicated to SAPTARSHI who is the muse of this poem highlighting joy with jokes.

Rivary = a softer, playful form of rivalry, more teasing than conflict

A colorful phase of apple in stage

A huge talker of science with escaping philosophy

Is a philatelia diving into miniature art works

Maximum dementia! ending with question what Is this folk?

 

I bet every words forming sentence which is layed will be questioned what is this again?

It’s not a complain to not know but without the will to dwell it’s empty and numb

Nicknames are staged for the play talks are in circles make dusk till a dawn a day

Details are in loss never remembered or even tried, always a need of re-explanation to play

A hornet is confused? Should I pick on bees or collect honey

   A part from the jokes and playful rivalry

   That’s all that sustains you are ‘bro’-’ther’ and again

    Where are the gifts? I’m just ‘tea’-’sing’

Img: An aged man dwelling in philatelia

Text: Jokes with joy and rivary to play

Suggested by: SAPTARSHI 

From:journeytopoetry@gmail.com

 

ETHEREAL LOVE

 A very odd way to reminisce and collect memory of soul's, dripping with honey.The softness and brightness as sun and moon.A verbal representation that locks tales to sail reaching the traveler ships and sea.

The love everyone describes

Confuses me! when it's my turn

For me this word has a different view

I don’t search for physical, emotional romance

 

This is very difficult to tell

But promise me, you won't judge first

I don’t love like the other do

I have a different taste in it

 

I love everyone randomly

I know it's pretty odd to tell

Now, you may tell it's the love for dear ones

Or for the closed ones, NO! I would say.

 

It’s the same love how you portray

But in a different way

I love many things different way

Many times, I exist and sway

 

I’ll begin, I love the way someone moves,

The way they smile, laugh, speech and so on

It’s the love not like but for temporary period

I exist as their lovers playing the guitar cord

 

I don’t care about the gender at a moment then

I just hide myself using a fan

I hide my expression while living the moment

But when it arrives its only expressed faintly

It's an odd love I would say

I cry with their tears

laugh with their joy

At the moment I love dearly

 

Despite being a stranger

I connect internally deeply

After the moment passes out

Neither they remember nor me

 

I just feel them from afar

Than leaving while closing the bar

I capture the moment in my heart

They never know I created this art

Img: Branches carrying childrens representing innocent love

Text: Artistic people in life

From:journeytopoetry@gmail.com

PARANOMA

The flower blooms again without the need of support.To become a moon from the sun, takes alot with acceptance and trust in one self.To accept the flaw! a mere ink saves souls, marking journeys for others to stay.

 

The thing called love is a cruel word

It was something I searched for around the world

I also searched in lands

But finally found seated in my heart

 

I learned to love gradually flaws

I learned to let go and accept all of them

But when it was the time

I became the dreamer searching for understanding

 

I don’t expect love, from anyone

But the least just understand and know WHY?

Hold your breath, close your eyes, and dig deep

The ocean formed from droplets has it all

Despite reaching this stage of no love no hate

I know it's me who will change not you

I began inking my soul in paper through hands

Remarking my journey with new stands

 

I just want to be the moon

which is pretty from afar

The close contact would stop the encounter from

the inks and bar

 

I was desired, a choice, and a maybe once, I won't let the door open say!

The key has burned to ashes and formed manure in soil, now there's no escape from this door that leads the way

I had already lost the fragrance of my flower once

My story isn’t for the people to listen or mark but maybe can help some in their name I write

Img: The ocean representing layers similar to humans. 

Text: The play of emotion and reason to express not impress.

From:journeytopoetry@gmail.com

FAROUCHE SPEAKS ABOUT POETRY

A small glimpse of words carving sentence of existence.The help of pacemaker is the sole reason of existing.An opportunity given to express, feel not impress but collect a whole emotion in small boxes within chapters of poems.A place where empath could share the emotional point of view. 

Poetry is my heart

It’s a replacement, transplant that I got!

The day I forget how to write

I declare the land is deaden

 

It's because I was given a second chance

To feel, bleed, cry, and joy altogether

It’s a new life which I can feel

It’s a ray of light in the darkest sea

 

One of the gifts that I received

Comes from the hardship by sailing my broken ship

I was given a pumping heart

To see, hear, feel and to let hear my call 

A boon that one receives with heavy price

Comes only after a second heart is born

In-fact the first can't lean and immerse with care

As they haven't experienced creation and mystery

 

We can cry, laugh, and express in poetry

It’s the blood that pumps in my heart

It’s the pacemaker in my heart that makes me alive

I am glad to be reborn with freshness

Img: The skeleton like hand is scribbling words of existence in           dead trees(paper).

Text: The similarity of a paper and a human if they both are       dead is visible either in the medium of paper or the words of   creation.

From:journeytopoetry@gmail.com

SEEK PEAK THE INBETWEEN

 

This poem represents the contrast existence between heaven and hell.The mere existence of humans and there part in the play.It talks about the cycle of emotion and it’s representation in between the strings which adjust and shapes there emotion with good or bad feeling.Is it really true?Are we actually the good from heaven with wings ?or Are we the bad from hell with shackles?The confusing tale separating human individually with this delima.The fact is you aren’t heaven or hell it’s the external factor.You are human the purest form and beautiful creature if you stop comparing and expressing without environmental change and emotions of course you are different?

Life up heaven, life down hell

I am in between found no where

I am both bonded with thick layers

I can curse also speak prayers

 

The chaos in mind remains alive

The temporary place family, friend, or wife

Will shatter the reality with dear knife

It's hard to understand though its rife

 

The ominous existence symbolizes the raven

Shackle of hell and wings of heaven

Is what remains we all are deaden

Your memories are lost because your leaven

It's time to gain what's lost

The chest box remains beneath hidden covered, rusted

Suffer with deaden to clean views dusted

Else you can live as usually adjusted

 

Raven: Grief, loss unease

Leaven: Modify transform

Rife: Common

Deaden: Dull pain

Img: It represent's the combination of heaven and hell with the junction in between a human smaller enough to be visible climbing stairs in the mist

Text:It express the human and delima of emotion

From:journeytopoetry@gmail.com

SILENCE

This Quote is about the hardness and difficulties in the path of progress which shapes in the form of fibers to yarn with struggles to get tighten up with schedules of life.It is a mixed representation of life with the comparison of the yarns formation.To form a single yarn with colors and a furnished one it takes effort and time.The same way you will grow with time and experience.It also reminds the point to learn to analyse and think about your progress and trust within the process.The silence of the grave is the way you learn to analyse details in silence.The troubles and turbulance swirling to create a single yarn who is you!.It's only you waiting for you!.

AS SILENTLY AS THE GRAVE THE TURBULENT LEADS TO THE SPINNING FIBERS INTO YARN

 

IMG BY: Lonneke v Breukelen

Basically this img potrays the growth of a small pupa to the adult in poetry we say: The star's and wings you see today was born from the same me: who was trampled in the ground.I learned to pick myself so I was able to see the new.It's easier to be said then to be done.The same silence I gulped has paved  the path which flares my light ahead.Did I ever expected this?NO ! I never imagined I could even see it.

IMG BY:Tanu

Img:  The change of butterfly from pupa to adult

           A girl staring in the balcony

Text: A quote about struggle to success

FROM: ADMIN journeytopoetry@gmail.com

VEILSCAPE AND FAUXSCAPE

It was written on a gloomy day when trials of self-existence and its unwelcomed gesture of truth started to display. The way my mind works is confusing. Have I ever imagined myself as my own, or am I still learning about my existence? Partially speaking, Do I exist? I am unaware of my speech. My actions are mine. A puppet who is writing just because a skill exists with no use or value. What is my value? My worth?My existence reason? Am I immortal or mortal? Are the speeches I speak really mine? If it is true, then why do I change with emotion and speak sometimes against my will? I am still searching for things that are or aren't concerned about mine.

 

It is shocking to know the soul I call mine was never once mine

For the string to align with the desire it wished I am just a mere puppet aligned

My skills, hobbies, and characters all remained to remind

The existence of this mere soul has no control from divine

 

The soul that wishes to break the chain free

Is still a part or a bit of the divine?

Though the thoughts, wish, and feelings I consider were found to be never mine

The desire to hold the shackles and become a leader was demised and shut my eyes becoming blind

 

When quantum physics enters the chat

I can mark my story within the prideful hat

And so, the believe in psychology and science

Has led to believe my existence as a lie

 

I still wait for the people and the right time

When someone can come and open the rising eye

Then can I enjoy the lemonade and lime

The beauty is also mysterious hidden within lie

IMG BY: Alexia Anonima

Img:  A girl with guitar attached at the back

Text: A poem about psychological confusions

FROM: ADMIN journeytopoetry@gmail.com

THOU IN POEM

 

Written to express the beauty of every individuals even apart from the descriptions to create a poem of everyone so you can never tell nobody created a poem about me. It reflects the beauty of words illustrating and paving to grasp the beauty of people like you, but still, it is incomplete because it doesn't match the description. Of course! I could never capture a heavenly being like you NEVER! So I try to shape you with my hands, but alas, I never could. You are the water drop destined to find me ;) So that I could capture you with my camera of poetry and stanzas. You were destined to become my muse. You are the photo frame hanging with hazy faces in my heart. Your beauty isn't even captured by my heart! Now what do I have left to capture you?

Though this look will not remain permanently

It's just for memories to flip, freely

The pages are flipped over to reminisce

The sculpture is made again for betterment

 

A beauty present within the celestial eyes

The eyes shine's as the cosmic star rise

The fluttering lashes blinks for a while

Filled with the flower like beautiful smile

 

As the eyebrow tilts with mystery within

The cheeks blush with smiles like lantern

The hair flutters as the wind teases

The pretty dress is covered with creases

The books thou carry is always a mystery

Sometimes science, philosophy, poems, essays, and history

A quite reserved and silent sea

Splashes waves of emotions just for me

 

The Agave plant is what Thou is

Thou bloomed with patience purity and free

The moments together are short for me

The picture is admiration I 'm lost definitely

 

The definition of surprise is thou definitely

Thou are a poet self-indulging in poetry

Thou describe self with stanzas not words

Picturing self in a frame very beautifully

IMG BY:Mary

Img:  Two individuals making promise with hands representing friendship

Text: A poem for most of the readers

FROM:ADMIN journeytopoetry@gmail.com

JUST A RANDOM CONSCIENCE LANTERN

 

Written to express trust and its betrayal, just like the lock and key provided among multiple individuals about secrets. It represents the fragile nature of trust. Who should be trusted? Maybe it is situational or a change with the drift of time. It also expresses the pain of bleeding using papers, unsure and confused whether it will ever see the light or reach the world. The symbolic relation of lock and key expresses loyalty and bonding deeply. It shows that trusted individuals are given keys, but the game begins when you can trust and remain free. Even the bonding of the lock is confined, and it can create fears of uncertainty. It represents the bitter truth about trust and partially about the nature of empathy. It expresses the pain hidden in every action, the minute melancholy is expressed even in great times. It's subsided due to the grand opening ahead, but still, that emotion is also validated.

 

I am inking the paper with poetries

The swift movement of the pen is what remains free

Just like the doves given wings and directions set free

As soon as the autumn sheds tree

 

The pens are dropped, wings are locked within confided locks

Then the days spin, nights ring winter begins

The papers are locked left over in stocks

Every little thing from synchronizing beats are kept in box

 

The change of season is very fast in here

But the emotions are scattered in it is what I fear

The ones who could decode and peek into deep layers

Are the keys I want to hide from I am scared

Just like those keys made Kafka's writing flare

But I'm still confused partially was it in his prayer

It was a piece he didn’t wanted to show hidden in layers

Out there are lots of keys who don’t care

 

 They just want to understand and give hopes isn’t it trespass, won't you fear?

Just because he is dead doesn’t mean your authorized to share his works, I think the soul will bear

Now tones of people will tell me it isn’t right, cause his works flared and is shining bright?

For I am not concerned with his success and fame after life cause I believe there are lots hidden when he was alive

The piercing fate is what lies

No one was there to share his cries

After his death everyone lured and tries

Well it was his dream he could have raised high and fly

IMG BY:Bored Panda

Img:  A girl is a lock in her back with key in hand

Text: A poem about trust issues

From: Admin journeytopoetry@gmail.com

TO THE WORKS NOT HEARD

Written to collectively promote and support individuals and their skills despite their destiny which plays. It expresses the melancholy and pain when you write not to impress but to express. The individual piece of creation of one's own feels a burden when compared and disclosed. However, it gives a turn of heads and minds when you write to exist, be it in this century or any other, where destiny takes shakes hands and plays with the rhythmic beat. It stretches it's arms until it reaches but alas doesn't confirms will you be there to even peak? Or Will you be the search and the missing piece waiting to flare your own writing?

I just wanted to be heard

Not remembered

I bleed with my art and passion

Just to let them know I exist

 

I want to leave my marks on land

So that when someone shuffles the deepen sand

They will remember me with my work of hand

I know it's not that big or grand

 

Out when the wind blows

Hoping the time slows

All the paths my life rows

It remains as my memory flows

Covered up in the graveyard

Remains all the death cards

The floriculture began to grow

After the demise works lays low

 

Just the thought everyone around have /had the skill   

Shouldn’t have let me down when my arts fill

I should have remembered out there are people who would hear

Be it now, another century or decades and I shouldn’t have fear

 Img by:Samantha Mathews

 Img:  A glimpse of a girl running

Text: A poem about creative individuals

 FROM :ADMIN journeytopoetry@gmail.com