That's How I Feel..

Closing my eyes into your face,
apparently walking, but trying to trace,
your footsteps to see if, just in case,
they lead to my heart.

The longing in my heart never seems to fade,
have been thinking nothing of late,
save you...I feel fascinated by the wait,
that your eyes bring with you.

Your words ring in my ears,
In those long hours with newfound tears,
Thinking of the long gone years...
How did I survive without you?

Your mere shadow gives me company,
Your mere laugh is a symphony,
You make my foggy day sunny,
Isn't all this enough?

That you then enter my dreams,
Spark across my skies like a multicolour beam,
Pull my fantasies upto extremes,
And still saviour enough for my day,
Making me feel all-supreme.

I'm not alone, just lonely,
I'm not mute, just silent,
I'm not a statue, just still,
And I'm not in love, just obssessed.

Drishti Sharan

Wake up and farewell

Another sunny afternoon, near summer.
I woke up.

Do one last recall, and this is the real farewell.
Last summer, those unbridled loud cries and laughs --
Floated away!
Quietly flowed through my body, as swept by a gust of tornado, ran towards the opposite direction and disappeared in waves.

Glossy leg fell asleep.
It will no longer wake up. I knew.
You hold my face under the moonlight. When tears become pearls, my reborn life is announced.

So screw those miniskirts!
Even wearing black nail polish, I have miraculously regained virginity.

Let me use the gentlest voice to talk to you.
If there is no tenderness, how can we survive?
You must take me with you.
I'll grow between your fingers.
When they clench, I obediently fall asleep.
When they open, I show the most coquettish erotic dance to you only.

And then, I will sit among crowds and listen to the stories of countless others.
I listen to stories.
I write stories.
I tell the stories to lots of irrelevant others.
It also gives me joy.

Apart from you, this is the second thing I feel happy for.
And this will do. I am very satisfied.

Another sunny afternoon, near summer. I woke up.

The soul in the flame died along with the evil body.
The reborn life stands in the ocean, with so much excitement.
Darling, let me show the most coquettish erotic dance to you only.

Xi Nan
Hometown: China
Country of Residence: UK

Silence

These are the silent times, the best of times
Where reflection is the handmaiden of realisation
To soak in the tallow glow of a candle flickering dimly
And find memories laid bare to analyse retrospectively
To hear the voices in the still nothingness
And observe the shapes eldritch formed which try to defile
This is the calm before the storm when all will come again
To seek to confuse the namelss scribe of introspection
Sounds from a distant melancholy invading cunningly
Seeking to make true on the harpies' seductive deception
But never to find their way into the protective stream
This is the moment of our benediction to higher powers
When we put pen to paper and let words flow like liquid cyanide
A curtain call to those who would but listen for its instruction
And a calling card for the dissolute, disaffected generation
So bask in these moments well my friends
For they will only come when least expected
And once we float away on the obsidian wings of angels
We shall find our truth, before all is lost in the maelstrom of consequence

Reg Davey

reg_davey@hotmail.com

Country of Residence: UK

Hometown: Nottingham

These Things

for Kelly K. Moran

I have longed to be
the quiet, fading light
that helps you sleep;
and sunrise through the open door.

I've stayed awake for hours,
wondering how I could channel
the most beautiful things
through your eyes,
and into your heart.

I have wished to be
the warm, child-long summer
that stirs your playful curiosity;
and dreams across the long winter.

For a time I doubted I could
be any of these things,
or the myriad others
that fill my head each day.

But the stronger my life
bonds with yours,
the less I doubt my abilities,
the more revealed is my part.

With love, all possibility follows;
it follows me, it follows you.
And all these things wished for
are already true.


Jason Sturner
Wheaton, Illinois, U.S.A.
www.jasonsturner.blogspot.com

Child Labourer

Uncle, uncle he cried as he ran behind me
When I turned around, a small child did I see
He pointed to a fireworks stall and asked me to visit it please
I frowned in the gentle autumn breeze

I’ve already brought my fireworks I said roughly I don’t need anymore
I turned around and walked away never seeing the tears that did flow
I didn’t even known his name was Ramesh, his age was seven, I didn’t care
But at night peacefully I slept after my dinner and a prayer

In my dreams I walked in his shoes
God’s way to help me choose
He was only seven
When his Father left them

How he cried when he worked his first day in the cracker factory
How day and night he slumped into bed in a hungry and exhausted sleep
How he worked for twelve hours non stop
How he was made to exert till from exhaustion he dropped

Silent child, tears of silver
Won’t someone ever come near?
Mothers touch oft forgotten
Life is but a ball of cotton

How did fate deal him such a bad hand
This is something Ramesh will never understand
Here we cry if we don’t get into McDonalds and for money is what we pray
Ramesh would be lucky to get a Sunday off and a square meal a day

There was a fire in his factory which almost burnt him to death
Brave lad, he never wept
Simply got salves on his hand to stop the pain for a while
Started working the next day but he couldn’t smile

He sees many men getting rich off his hard work
Is their any justice in the world?

So many children like Ramesh are made to work in the Sivakasi fireworks factory, this Diwali remember them before you light a fire cracker, it may have been made with their hard work, the profits of which they will never see in their life time because it will be swallowed by greedy business men and fat politicians.

by Rahul
Home Town Chennai, Tamil Nadu
Country, India
Email: rahul.gomez@gmail.com

Spring Came...

Spring came. With clothes of winter still
wrapped round me, I walk to the bus.
Growing craftier everyday
To a world on its hinges.
The noise and wind work at the nerve,
I only have to look at my jacket
And I became melancholy.
I only have to speak of shoes and
I weep. The misunderstood nature
of conflict swallows the world's truth
With a dogs decorum for concern.
Working everyday wears away the
Immunity like a pair of
Shoes. You can repair the laces,
The heels but when your soul gives out-
It's over.

Tom Harding
www.tomarianne.net
tom.harding@talk21.com

The Voice of Despair

Triangles of half-open doors
Reveal all the truth that is hidden:
Just condoms and cans on the floor,
Black papers with verses, forbidden -
Unfinished remakes of the song,
Deprived of the right to speak loud
Of wicked intentions gone wrong -
Erasers have muffled the shout.

The only illusion-proof mind -
A poet, the voice of despair,
Sincere, the one of this kind
Throws verses far into the air
Right there, in a dirty old flat
Among once great talents, now rotten.
They all have deserved more than that,
But even their names are forgotten.

April A.
St. Petersburg, Russia
beautiful-disaster-90@hotmail.com