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

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

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