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Lomlom Mizo Sep 2020
May the rhythm of the stars lulled you to sleep,
And take you where the sky turns the colour of one’s dream;
And Into the labyrinth of the heart that beats for you.
The forest shall echo with a song,
About a girl who once walk on the moon;
And fall!

-LomlomMizo
#lostlove #echo #hurt #pain #love #moon #stars
Poetic T Sep 2020
When I'm down the sun never
seeks the sky.
                          Just a dullness
that hovers  beyond the grasp
              of my need to rise above

my pain...

I only needed that ray to hit upon my
                                 sighs...

                         I need to not hurt like
before, I cant keep this smile aloft..

It's falling like a shooting star,
   bruised when it hit the ground
             never again found.

   I'm dwindling like the stars caught
                 between the dawn and nightfall.
But never
            a light flickering before its
radiance is just an echo like me..


You'll find me, that star that fell,
        but never wished upon.

Just cold never seen,
               here but missed,
   as I fell from a moment of height
  to a place where I'm low and alone.
Slime-God Sep 2020
This echoed migration of thought,
nightly, through my mind belies a sort’ve contempt for the lauded progression I so heartily cling to.
Knowing this, I turn a blind eye to the abject suffering the repeated offence causes.
I shrug off another night spent whiling away nothing and assert that the ritual is necessary.
I know, of course, that this is a lie.
But when it is the lie which propagates that same self-assured sense of potential for eventual change;
It is perhaps not wrong to suggest that the lie has become reason.
For better or worse, I do not know, nor will I likely ever know for certain.
But still, the pondering of endless, pointless why’s marches on and carries me away to it’s heavy rhythm.
Dutifully I write along to this rhythm, and in doing so,
I begin to call myself a poet, the word itself a form of hiding.
A deterrent for progress.
I turn inward to feelings I now call artful, once harrowing, and I weep.
I understand that the change has indeed already come.
That those things I once sought to rid myself of have in fact changed.
They have become the crutch upon which I carry myself further into my own supposed wisdom; another lie.
Though not for anyone else, no, not another way to convince them that this is healing.
For myself. To swear again that this is comfortable, or right, or at least that it isn’t killing me.
But is it?
Is it okay? Is it killing me?
The thought shifts.
I lose it, just another echo tonight.
;

I wonder when it’ll rain again?
This poem WAS work in progress, I've since finished it c:
Jaimi M Aug 2020
I lay and listen,
the thumping of my
heart, echoing.
Emptiness
wrapped around me,
caressing my skin
invading my mind,
my reminder.
-JRM
Rajinder Jul 2020
If a river had ears, they would’ve heard
songs of the clouds and the rain
floating in the breeze above oceans

If a river had ears, they would bring me 
stories told by gurgling, shrinking glaciers
imploding in warming streams

If a river had ears, the waters would know
all the secrets of dolphins and mahseer
it would play the scores of a whale’s song

If a river had ears, they would be blocked
and, when the waves hit the banks, the river
losing its balance forgets the course 

If a river had ears, those would be pierced
their small holes plugged with white pearls
stolen from an oyster’s shell 

Some rivers have ears
like ones flowing through Kashmir,
with their dainty drooping lobes,
pierced by bullets. Robbed of their
red-threaded golden dejhors,
the ears echo of unheard miseries.
if i disappeared
would i become like echo?
the words on my tongue
fading into the wind,
my spoken words echoing around me
as i’m hallowed out by the silence.

if i disappeared
would i become like eurydice?
my ghost lingering behind my husband
who reaches the light with me not far behind;
only to turn and **** me.

if i disappeared
would i be come like icarus?
too stubborn and
in love with the sun-  
only to meet my fate into a watery grave.

—— if i disappeared would i too become a story? // a.
26. julliet 2020
9:40 am
Simon Jul 2020
Timing is everything when you aren’t certainly prepared to strike down your own advances in the face of extreme fun! Because fun (on the other hand) can’t and will not strike fun at the advances (that is your own product). Only to have (“timing is everything”) shrivel up and die! Except that doesn’t make any sense to have one or the other act as a simple countermeasure conjoin up with an interconnecting way of making things (all the better). But it’s already been like that too begin with! Someone once said as if by the simple means of a very lonesome echo. An echo that doesn’t have any priority to offer itself, except for the many occasions of seemingly never-ending “reverberations” that rebound off an endless process meant to coincide with something more important then itself. (“Itself”) … As in a very lonesome echo that keeps “broadcasting” every chance it could get its own “echo processing” hands on! That is if it’s not already of the “correct sorts” to measure such a claim. (Since a something can’t be seemingly claimed if not for a desire not having its own identity to bear!) For it simply trying to claim something (only to get it right the first time) is only but a fashionable illusion made to show that once something only seemingly happened once… It actually had been going on for an “infinite” amount of time without any specifications for how long it could have lasted? Or how long it’s very “reverberating transmissions” (and the effects surrounding it) would essentially last for? There was never an essential answer to this very question. Since questions aren’t in the correct sorts either, when trying to come to terms with an answer that demanded essential “answers” (right off the bat) in order to carry on forward. True…true…true…. The (someone) again once said, as if by the simple means of a very lonesome echo. How many was that…? And how many times did it resort to acting out in the best interests of something other then itself? The narration of this very passage “ticks” momentarily, as if to really “access” any of what this lonesome echo broadcasting mindlessly was “babbling” about?! When the narration did eventually come to terms about what its own “accessing” safely filtered out in the open for (all to see…not just in itself), it was confused (more then EVER)! What information it simply found out, was about how the lonesome echo repeatedly broadcasted something too many times that of course (it was not seemingly aware of…at first). Because even if it was, it certainly wasn’t caring of the repercussions bending the very instances that are (all the sudden) too alert to take…certainly lightly. Just as the narration of this very passage once took this all to heart (once upon a time ago). (If only for just a single moment). Not long after when it revealed that these very reverberating transmissions were in fact bending the very behavior of this once lonesome echo. And as if the narration hadn’t already been ticking it’s very “accessing protocols” together, revealing also another profound secret piece of information. Is that this all took place long in the past. Showing these very reverberating transmissions were the result of an overly prolonged exposure to something finally catching up too itself. Can you essentially guess what that very (something) was who finally was catching up too itself…? If you did, great! But remember this, as it’s VERY important (so to speak) …. Cast logic completely aside for only just another overly prolonged (“exposure” of a moment) having possibly been the size of another “infinite” lonesome echo broadcasting wildly! (Not to mention fusing its mindless behavior together as one!) You’d (all the sudden) get a random “alerting call” from that very someone who was essentially reaching out with tons and tons of echo’s in order to (not just make a “too long of a point”) when they essentially were only doing it for fun. Except for the fact the lonesome echo was essentially losing itself one reverberating transmission at a time. Strongly revealing another piece of the puzzle…. That it wasn’t just losing itself throughout its own “reaching out” protocol. But simply trying to keep up with its own alerting call it kept casting judgement on in order to simulate some “twisting fate” together. A twisting fate that it initiated together (in it’s reaching out protocol) as “timing is everything”!
Fun isn’t within the priority of itself. Just as someone once said about themselves “once upon a time ago” for being essentially narrated for their very own safety. (Even if it at the time again, “once upon a time ago” was for their good!) Only to have the essential name of this very passage mock itself time and time…again!
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