Poems

H.H

𝒜nd I will seek
to live as bleak
As the man alone on the moon

For if there exists
a heaven or hell
I shall see my loved ones soon

But if that man
can form a plan
To crawl his way into light

Who’s to say 
that I cannot pray
And chase him through that dark night
			

Picture of the Moon

 •••••••••••••••••••••••••

Ghost of The Past

𝔗he old house stands alone and abandoned 
Where life once used to thrive.
The old picket fence is broken.
The roof is opened up to the sky.

The well-trodden path to the doorway
Is overgrown with the passing of time.
The garden where once as kids we would play,
Now only a broken swing and memories remain.

Rooms which once echoed with laughter
Now lay silent, forlorn and bare.
Boarded up windows lock in the past
Where only ghosts now meet to confer.

If empty rooms could give up their secrets,
So many stores I’m sure they would tell.
But stubbornly they cling on to the past
And of childhood they refuse to reveal.

The old house now stands abandoned
Derelict, forgotten, all alone.
Locked inside are my childhood dreams
In this old house which was once my home.

John P. Read,

Back to Top!

Picture of House

 •••••••••••••••••••••••••

A Stranger

𝔗here is a love that I reminisce
like a seed
I’ve never sown

Of the lips that I am yet to kiss,
and eyes,
Not met my own

Hands that wrap around my wrists,
and arms,
That feel like home
I wonder how it is I miss these things
these things,
I’ve never known.

Lang Leav,

Back to Top!

Picture of Hands reaching out for each other

 •••••••••••••••••••••••••

Rain

𝒲ith thick strokes of ink 
the sky fills with rain.
Pretending to run for cover 
but secretly praying for more rain.

Over the echo of the water, I 
hear a voice saying my name.
No one in the city moves under 
the quick sightless rain.

The pages of my notebook soak, then curl.
I’ve written:“Yogis opened their mouths 
for hours to drink the rain.”
The sky is a bowl of dark water, 
rinsing your face.

The window trembles; liquid glass 
could shatter into rain.
I am a dark bowl, waiting to be filled.
If I open my mouth now, 
I could drown in the rain.

I hurry home as though someone 
is there waiting for me. The night 
collapses into your skin. 
I am the rain.

Kazim Ali,

Back to Top!

Drawing of Raining Cloud