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  • vaqif_nama 5w

    Salt

    The walls from the bedroom, stretch out,
    They pound at the first light,
    Leaving webbed cracks behind,
    Anodyne to the hits,
    By the pebbels, turned to rocks,
    As I still lie on my bed 'bout the same.

    And when through the blood soaked grocery store,
    The city says, adieu! my love...
    I hide in battlefields,
    Each time, forgot to bede to the elation,
    And now I don't, iron growth,
    Quick-passed my throat, as I
    Morbidly close, to being drunk at five.

    And the reverends are all asleep,
    But I have no melodies for the new symphony,
    A speaker of automated in betweens,
    I mend the gaps to the big salt sea,
    As half of my salvation gets wasted
    On smothering breeze.

    We set sail back to the vast waters, again
    And I will be born again in your womb,
    With cracked lips,
    Dried river beds by the cheeks,
    Will try to hold the damage down,
    Till I become the sailor of my salty grave.
    With my half blown poetry...

    ©vaqif_nama

  • vaqif_nama 5w

    Furry Love

    Meow my furry lover,
    Make your fur giggle with my bones,
    And let these scrawny fingers roam around your purring belly,
    As the melanin spots gyrate over my lap softly,
    Seeking comfort...
    Eyes crawling from the window to ceiling above.

    I am a bit jealous now...

    So don't miss a single stroke love,
    For it's the last bit of chintz to my lonely soliloquy.
    ©vaqif_nama

  • vaqif_nama 5w

    Crossroads

    Tall tides rumming the crossroads,
    Green neon lights flood the rear windshield,
    As the steer steadies for the next,
    And the wind blows down from the sides,
    Like a montage of butterflies with steel fangs,
    Finding out their wings for the first.

    The awkwardly tucked lether jacket focuses on the back-seats,
    But the reel of overgrown solitaire breaks through,
    And the damped Virginia Slims slips between skinny fingers,
    The radio mumbling blues from the lovers' bites.

    Eyes voluble, soluble,
    Peaking forward in that bleak euphoria,
    Miserably rammaging across the cold empty streets...
    As empty fields beat the horizon,
    Smoke rings ring the bobbleheads over and over,
    As the seat belt loosens its grip,
    Letting wild flamingos enjoy their Lyrid dreams.

    ©vaqif_nama

  • vaqif_nama 5w

    Under the table lamp

    Under the table lamp,
    As the paperback gets lit
    And the pillow stretches out...
    To the checked prints,
    Reeling at the edge of my cramped single bed,
    There at the motionless limbo,
    Languid dreams lead me to your lips,
    As I lose everything,
    Everytime...

    ©vaqif_nama

  • vaqif_nama 5w

    Awkward lines

    As you write these lines,
    They seem boisterous sometimes,
    Maybe a bit too grand,
    A tinge of melodrama to the existing ones,
    But as the smoke by the river's bank,
    Heaves in sight,
    The ratchet words bounce into play,
    They had been out cold for too long,
    Shut for the longest time they know,
    And the pages starts to drivel,
    As the mind, distraught,
    Sings itself to sleep again.

    ©vaqif_nama

  • vaqif_nama 6w

    Word Prompt:

    Write a 10 word micro-tale on Opaque

    Read More

    Opaque dreams lead to your lips,
    And I lose everytime.

  • vaqif_nama 7w

    Ditty II

    Her eyes, became fireflies,
    Graved unto the teary shades,
    Black and Blue...
    Waiting for the last bubble,
    Rising up and up and up and up...
    She watched it blot,
    As it danced like strawberry jello,
    So sweet.

    The winter orchestra was too late to take over...

    Foliages sat quietly over the green drapes,
    Sandy blonde shores,
    Lugging her spreadsheets,
    With turquoise trance at their disposal
    And spring's sepia,
    Waiting for her return.

    The little paper town,
    It might not be California,
    Its citizens, frail...
    Unable to rush to the Wastelands swift,
    Unable to make love over weed smoke,
    But they do no harm,
    Struggling with their own lovers.

    At best,
    They colour the shadows a bit,
    Conquer the skies a little,
    Then fade away into the distance,
    But they will never be blinded,
    Their torii gates opened,
    To let in new air gusts,
    Always.

    A moment's strike,
    Hands...
    One after another,
    Paper palms, strived at the sight,
    Propping against her structure,
    Pushing above,
    Till they became a road,
    Less travelled by.

    Time...

    Downtown abbey,
    Everyone starts singing
    To the winter's leave,
    Treading on her shoulders, still...
    And her ditty sings along with them,
    With a smile,
    Ringing the pearly whites over and over,
    The paper town holds on...
    Maybe for another turn.

    ©vaqif_nama

  • vaqif_nama 7w

    Eulogy for Patricia

    The settled dusk,
    Never reached her ashtrays,
    You see...
    She was waiting calm,
    Lying soft under the dormatory roof,
    But the stars could not wait for the chintz,
    She had to put on...

    As they grew bigger and bigger,
    They were not sure where to keep,
    So...
    They left and the rope that was bitter at first,
    Was fisted down by somebody else's.

    Left barren, bare,
    Her giggling laughter,
    Ringing sweetly over the orange leaves of fall,
    And the styrofoam Patricia,
    Would live another day,
    Another twelve hours whole,
    Till her voice would become an eulogy,
    For her and her and her only, at best...

    ©vaqif_nama

  • vaqif_nama 7w

    To smell Gasoline

    To smell Gasoline,
    You gotta smoke,
    Smoke to the haven's last ecstasy,
    Smothered by jibberish volenska thoughts,
    Paralyzed for too long.

    Eyes have it;
    They'll soar, above the smoke,
    Reach the cotton candy clouds,
    And viola!!
    Spreading it's dark feathers,
    A crow!
    It'll gasp your name,
    And deliver it to the barred windows of someone else.

    You see,
    Their Saturday nights are nothing like yours,
    A whole avant-garde constantly running their lies;
    Their lives;
    And they will take your name,
    Punch it down on papers,
    Making newspaper articles out of it,
    Then send those away to the dandelion fields.

    Hiatus...

    There'll be rats, lying dead,
    Tons of them,
    With rib bones striking above,
    Like funeral flowers;
    Like a swarm of hands reaching out to the sky,
    And gored intestine tunnels getting welcomed,
    By the flies,
    A well performed Nihon Buyō.

    They, them!!!

    Then...
    You'll capture the beauty within the beast.
    Blazes and blazes of bright yellow dandelions,
    Rising beyond Gulliver's touch...
    And you my friend,
    Will smell Gasoline.

    ©vaqif_nama

  • vaqif_nama 7w

    Homer

    As he stumbled again,
    His hands reached to the furnished wood,
    And a moment passes in recognition,
    It's the drawer, he moves,
    Along its damped edges,
    Cautiously.

    Three steps forward.
    Going bout the usual,
    Hands again marching against the cold metallic overgrowth,
    Then, the index and the thumb,
    Settled their cold war,
    Over the edgeless vista;
    A turn, churn, rocked by the cold stern,
    Of his eyes.

    The door opened...
    And now he could smell the sunlight;
    He knows this feeling the best,
    Better than anything or anyone,
    As of, the breath getting a little overpowered,
    The body opening up it's darkest fantasies,
    Swelling like a child-cheek in anger, but in joy,
    A subtle comfort of warm mezzanine,
    As it rings the corners of the palms of his feet,
    And he submits,
    A dank submission,
    He, a true lover of the light.

    ©vaqif_nama