Poetry: Summary

The pages flipped
But the end had a core
so this is the encore:

Before the curtain fell, it tore
And the lights came through like a sharp sword;
The messenger was seen
The message was on screen
All she delivered was the truth
with a tiny caption in between
It was over.
The singer had overdosed the composer
There was a target on her back
So moving to the next track
would override her.
She needed a controller
In front, the crowd is the zoo
Behind, backstage is the wild
underneath is a grave pit waiting to bury you
What are you going to do?

You’ve walked amongst the people
Learning wasn’t that simple
When fear sat in class
Confusion did the maths
when pride met with ego
their communion hit a glass
and that’s when we trespassed

There is a colony asleep
Let the pages flip
Don’t try to rewrite
just write.
That’s how you get there
Without fear

Some would dare to come
Others will only tarry
They say when you’ve found the SUM
Then It’s the right time to MARRY

So when they choose the grenade
I’ll walk away with the pin

End of scene.

‘I’, was Monday
Spying into cosmic affairs
The zodiacal convergence
Days and months conspired
Thus, I was.

Tuesday was wrapped in ‘her smell’
Soaring on wings of memories
Traversing blue seas
And deserted deserts
Drinking from oasis of time.

‘Ecstasy’ was Esther’s to see
Lost in a rainbow
Counting backwards in gibberish
Floating on dreamy clouds
Sleep walking through passion street.

But I missed ‘you’ on Thursday
Lost in the wallet of errands
Cats and dogs poured
I was the collateral damage
I had to clap an apology

Friday, we make a bowl of ‘summer rice’
From an unscripted recipe
So we fly free on Friday
There’s a beach in sight
Spread my pen a mat
It’s a Saturday.

In conclusion,

The heat has risen off the sand in waves.
A lie of truth, a way it paves.
Love sounds disgusting .
Passion reformed to be toxic.
Feelings like a burning fire turned rusted like a steel.
Far above fire.
Heritage and lessons.
Century and uneven revolution.
New year and resolutions.
Ignorance very deadly.
Yet what you don’t know doesn’t kill.
Death and rebirth.
Fire and snow flakes.
Nuts and ginger, mints and ecstasy.
Exquisite chills, cloning my thoughts.
Pieces of broken words, framing the scroll and ink for its fall.
In conclusion,

Feelings are not felt.
Broken hearts are reshaped art.
Faded memories are just unforgettable experiences.
You, I is just two selfish.
One without cheer.
Hoping this whirl wind takes away the pain.
And the rain keeps to heart those drifting apart.
Words aren’t just words.
In this confused state, everything beautiful had once gone bad.

It started with a bang
then a thud
then a steady sum of
veins, blood and emotions
creating progressive algorithms
that didn’t add up
but that was not the equation
we had all forgotten our formulas
open brackets had remained closed.
And that was just the summary

Jennifer Dafwat
was doing just fine on Monday until,

His smell,
eluded my senses and drove me crazily insane on Tuesday. In

on Wednesday, an elated bliss it’s called with all the good feelings of happiness leaving out the pain and hurt. On Thursday,

made me realize ugly is another form of beautiful. Broken is wholeness in a way. Loneliness is being in a company of myself. Being clueless is actually another direction. Pain is healing in itself, and hurt is a different type of love.

Being in love doesn’t mean I have to lose myself. I will still love me, be me and fulfill me while with you. So i’m too busy loving me all week to care if you don’t.

Hijab Gurl
Chapter one
I stood before myself, unashamed.
Recognized my face and all I’ve faced.

Chapter two
It had me reminiscing about a scent,
One I can no longer perceive.
Of saints I am too clean to touch,
And sunshine now a few shades darker.

Chapter three
I woke up less ecstatic,
On the bed of past time.
It brought me to a realization,
That I was not meant to play the key “bored”.

Chapter four
I am now in sync with my own misdeeds.
The “you” in me is unique than ever,
It comes with a twisted tale (tail).

This does not end where a prose stops,
Where proses stop, it proposes a line.
This end justifies another beginning.

Long story in short words
starting from the time I moaned the hour clock.
My sinister pen chose a page
then took some actors and we’d them to the stage,
after a lot of bragging and paddling
they landed on some words as old as an aquatic horse.
I described this performance as yet to be done
so time wouldn’t fry its second hand.
Ha ha ha the audience would have clapped
but again I say it’s almost the end of this show.
The show would have begun when the ink jitters to the quill
and marked the humble seats as a sad day.
A quiet storm.
I told you fore’now the long story is short,
and this so called one
has some characters like you.

In short
In truth
I mean to say
I say to mean
If there be
In fact
I love you


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