I bet a lot of you wonder sometimes
why do i smile so much?
why are you so goofy? what is so funny?
you know what…
sometimes i wonder the same thing
cuz my life is no joke at all
i keep a smile to leave off my pain
i joke alot to keep away my thoughts
of being insane
Continue reading Smile for No Reason — Poem by Darius Myrick
What you say could be wrong or right
how i react may not suit your interest
we could one day love each other til the end of time
and the next have this worldly intellect disconnect us from our private society
Continue reading Tears of Pride – Poem by Darius Myrick
This is me,
My face, my skin, my hair
What I wear, how I think
My interpretation, my life, my story
I’m proud of it.
Continue reading Proud — Poem by Darius Myrick
Have you ever heard the song
That I never wrote
It was the song I never sang
Or even played one note
Your kisses were the melody
Forming a tune in my head
The sweetest harmony
That orchestrated my senses instead
Continue reading Poems — by Hans Albert Lewis
The night outside has only just begun. It is youthful, jaunty with the stars perked up for an eve of dance and delight; much like the twelve princesses from childhood stories. The stars row down the alabaster stretch to a clandestine ball held at some obscured corner of the sky, conspicuous to only lovers – or believers.
Continue reading Waiting… Story Poem by Sheikha A.
time is not the deepest of times;
it is an unslept hour of breaking light
stirring lazily after a spent night
of copulation with its denseness
gloom, in visitation of hope
for the crescent moon to have tilted
sideways up into a smile, half
concealed by the veils of frothing
clouds speculating its revelation.
Continue reading This — Poem by Sheikha A.
Drape me in the purdahs of your being
as I cave into hundred thousand deaths
per night; relentlessly I lodge my spirit
in the empty taverns of your existence
wishing to grow a flower, not very red
like shimmering rubies found in Mahals
of kings richly adorned of any despair,
but a plant common that you colour,
I hope, with the red of your blood warm.
Like a nomad groping towards an oasis,
I had disciplined myself to survive you
through these very nights, manifesting
sanity to stubborn senility; from lover
to patient, to broken as is what became
of a once curated heart.