Silence is too Loud

This poem was written by a friend of mine
Hani

he went for a walk
deep inside the snowy woods
the night was so dark
the snow looked so black

he looked for someone
he found no one
he felt so tired
sleep was nowhere there

he sat on a rock
everything looked bright
so dark, so black

winds moved the trees
snow was falling from the top

he heard them talking
everything about him
what's he doing here?
they said to each other
he couldn't understand

it's dark
it's cold

he sat there looking
to listen he was trying
the wind was still talking
the trees were still wondering

shedding snow
he kept looking
wondering what they were saying

he felt so warm
the dark snow
the cold breeze
gave him comfort and relief

why did he go to the woods
scary place, scary time
he felt so warm
the dark bright woods
he couldn't get back
he can't see where
he felt so warm
he didn't want to get back

just sat at the stone
wondering what everyone's saying
they were talking so loud
not a word he could understand
what is he doing there?
all alone, all by himself

it was his home
it was his paradise
with all the darkness that covered
with all the brightness that glowed
it gave him comfort and relief

should i leave soon, he thought
but that's my home, he thought
it gave him comfort and relief

the rock was so strong
all the snow couldn't break it

he looked up at the sky
it was so dark
it was so far

but there was one star
it looked at him
it gave him comfort and relief
he wasn't alone
everyone was around him
he was at home

everything was so white and so bright
the star shined upon all the snow
the trees were still talking
they couldn't see that star
it was his star
he stared at it

he was sitting at the strong stone
hundreds of trees around him
all shedding snow
all talking and whispering
they were so loud

he took out a cover
lied on that snow
closed his eyes
tried to sleep
but sleep was no where near
he felt so warm
he fell asleep
but sleep was no where near

Strings of a Violin

A violin player
sounding under a fallen leaf
of a bronze rusted fall
searching for love and other lies
he plays his moves
her eyes wide as flames
no shadow, secrets
a burning obstacle along his tune
the strings are long and thin
one can fall over an edge
listening leaves tear down
laying on a moist floor,
feeling his firm posture on the ground
her dark hair wails, the wooden violin
a moving solid within his hands
curves boil through his bloodstream
and yet the road is left mute

7ajara Waraga Makas

7ajara Waraga Makas
My new blog :D:P
just the random stuff that intrest me really!
you can see it on http://7ajara-waraga-makas.blogspot.com/
and i'm loving it!

Angel of Death in Lust

A lit room is empty,
without the shadow of laughter
sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, lost
some under the soil of a
country they once fought for.
Some fighting in countries
where all language is gibberish
blood shed, on their faces
dripping off their mothers' cheek
bullets shot, through bodies
dead used as new age cartridges
Angel of death picking daisies
"I've seen the men,
young and old
in a haze, rushing
towards an enemy, no
running to me they go"

The Riddle

He sat there.
A pinch of cold stroke him.
thinking, writing, laughing
The space is diminutive,
The clean fragrance within an atmosphere.
Tiles surrounded him.
He sweats as he pushes himself,
nothing, but an odor,
the cleanliness fades.
Boulders of fists,
a splashhe smiles in relief.
Not yet, It's not over.
The smell is striking.
Blood around his body is seen in the color of his face,
until it leaves his naked body.

I am Whatever

I am whatever
I am whatever
breath in, this is reality
just like a flying stone,
it will hit the ground
space is an after like
where rocks float on.
Food is practically shit
put in a presentable form,
just like tears
they are full of it.
Life is simple we die
I am whatever
Isolated in the numbers of years
we believe in illusions or what they call feelings.
Broken glass spill blood.
I am whatever.
Clock ticks a 360,
a routine we play in our minds,
everyday 360.
I am whatever.
Specs of air we are
with wind, we fly, with trends.
A life style.
Until we are disposed,
life is suicide
pollution, wars, illnesses.
Corruption.
and I remain
Whatever

I want to "be"

I feel light, my head
tasting the puke in my mouth
yet nothing coming out
hearing the air I breath
thinking
deep, no thoughts
My body lays dead as the
feel of cool air runs through my throat, relieves me
I'm Alive, I'm thinking :
feelings, felt.
memories, left
future, Void
A thought :
"be"
just be
I will "be"
I am.

The feel of Existence

he whispers in her ear
in an empty room
she giggles.
they face each other
he comes closer
wraps himself around her
helpless, her smile fades
the glare in their eyes
passion,
their eyelashes cross
she feels his heavy breaths on her mouth
so does he,
lips not touching, yet.
his chest pressing against hers
his hand running down her back
the beats of their heart create yet another African dance
The moment before
beautiful,
they have been patient enough,
as their lips meet
their mind float through,
gazing into her eyes, she
looking deeply back
as the drool runs down their necks,
existence at that moment is questioned,
but she feels the softness of his hands in his eyes
he smells the scent of her body in her eyes
They feel one another

Photograph

Flashes of light
Clicking echoes and an old man's voice
he remembers,
in front of the lens stood fake smiles,
Catching a memory
of a dead mother
...
That morning
A supportive father, shaving
A young sister, living
A sick mother faking excitement
with pills behind her back
...
he sheds a tear
...
he feels the body heat that once surrounded him
his mother's arm around his shoulder, was.
Heavy, he feels light
...
That night
A supporting father holding his daughter
A young sister trying to understand
A son in tears
A pack of pills left for a bin
and a mother that never got to see the photograph
and we live

Labyrinth

Locked in a room with no door
wall, white walls
lost, wearing last night's clothes
pressure seizing my eyes, barely open
the air, pure. No smell,
I touch the wall, I feel nothing.
A light bursts through
Have I found God?
gazing into bright I wait
pure air running out
I struggle
The room turns dark, no windows
Have I found the Devil? until
You took off the white sheets
Where i found Both.

Colors

The fact that I am color deficient made me think about a subject that might intrest you as much as it did to me.

Colors were never born, they have been on earth ever since ever, however what I want to talk about is the how we view colors:

I see blue as blue, Based on what I have been earlier taught.
however what makes us sure that the blue I see is not that green you see.

Imagine people see the world in different colors.

A Dedication

From Johann Wolfgang Goethe


Once more you hover close,elusive shapes
my eye but dimly glimpsed when I was young.
Shall I now try to hold you captive?
Do these illusions still attract my heart?
Nearer yet you crowd! So be it! Do your will
as forth from mist and fog you rise about me-
the breath of magic that surrounds your train
stirs in my breast a youthful strength of feeling.
Images of happy days accompany you,
and many dear familiar shades emerge,
first loves and friendships too,
like ancient tales whose words are half forgotten;
pain is renewed, lament reiterates
life's perplexing labyrinth
and names kind friends, cheated of joy by fortune,
who have disappeared ahead of me.
The souls for whom I sang my early songs
will never hear the songs that follow;
those many friends are all dispersed,
their first response, alas! is long since muted.
My tragic song will now be heard by strangers
whose very praise must cause my heart misgivings,
and those to whom my song gave pleasure,
if they still live, roam scattered everywhere.
I feel the spell of long-forgotten yearning
for that serene and solemn spirit realm,
and like an aeolian harp my murmuring song
lets its uncertain tones float through the air.
I feel a sense of dread, tear after tear is falling,
my rigid heart is tenderly unmanned-
what I possess seems something far away
and what has disappeared proves real.

Cliche

Grief, Guilt

meaningless words

A cliche

loved people were meant to die

every bullet was already aimed to a head

every virus was meant to disease a person

Tears,

created by people to share attention

every person is capable to deal with death

it is the people around us that Make us cry

...

tomorrow is a new day with a new cliche

Disturbing as it is

I do not care if people die

not that they should

but why wouldn't they

the feel of dropping

the feel of music

life is overrated

...

A Fall Afternoon

lying there I couldn't stop thinking
In the corner of the bed
gazing
the room was dim yet bright
A fall afternoon,
The room was crowded, messy
however with light racing through the wooden shutters
the combination is magical
behind the light came no sound
but the sound of fingerprints running down my wall
I raised my back to the side of the bed,
I felt the numbness in my legs as the blood filled my veins
placed my head against my wall
I felt the hair on my head bending
the nothingness of the moment,
Serenity

Corrupted

He writes his letter on her handkerchief

sitting with her,breathing

her last breaths

his writing is smudged

fractured by the color of her blood

the stench of corruption fills the room

remains of her sweat and his

beautiful,

he tears

her stains on his shirt

her blood burns him in grief

dead she is, he stood stiffer

still holding her hand

her grip never weakened

with silence came a ray of light

she glowed as her sweat dripped

beautiful she is

corruption was her sickness

taking in her last breath

corruption choked him

Fifth Grader Love

This was my first poem ever, I wrote it to a wonderful girl in my class in fifth grade. I will not be fixing or changing anything in this poem, please excuse spelling or grammer mistakes.

here it goes:

...

Simple word can describe

you took my eyes ever since I saw you

but i hid my feelings

when i wanted to tell you my feelings

I was affraid,

affraid you would burst my bubble

But in the end I gave up, I had to tell you

and i was surprised that you feel the same way

you made me smile

I was so happy that each time I look at you I become shy,

as if its the first time I see you

again.

Each time you look back at me

you make butterflies bursting from my stomach

just because they want to see the angel

I was telling them about

I enjoyed you teaching me,

even if sometimes I would appritiate a wrong answer or two

My butterflies went up to GOD

told him about u

about us

now if u listen to the rain drops you can hear a rythem

"he loves you"

you have Romanticated my life

i love you

...

Vertical

The hand of God leaves him within the skies

Terrified with his eyes shut he Flies

He feels water around his hands

warm and comfortable he doesn't fright

he gently opens his eyes to find

Darkness still, with holes of light

he moves his hands,the waters fly

he feels the wood around him from eight sides

...

Terrified with his eyes searching he freefalls

he places his back straight with the wood

with all his might he springs his legs

breaking a side, he can finally see

light and wooden spears rushing towards he

the longer he waits the faster it goes

Heavy breath

He turns his box, looking at the hand of God

he knows of what is to be

...

Terrified with his eyes set he falls

The closer he gets to ground below

sands fill his eyes

Blurry images of land and blue

The closer he gets,

he feels the box is smaller he can't bare to move

the closer he gets,

his breath hardens, his lungs aren't rising

Close,

his eyes close

Black ink

White paper on a dark knight, bright in his eyes as he writes.
.
A Drop of ink
Lost
Fallen on to his shield
One drop of ink stranded on the paper.
he can look nowhere but there.
The black spot
It's brightness is blinding.
he fears, he panics.
Lost in thoughts
Black spot
he fears

Sickness ripping his mind down to his throat
It burns
Like the drop of ink on the paper, integrated

Will this fear go he wonders.
Stuck in his thoughts as they fly wandering,
but nowhere.

he looks at the spot he fears it is too deep, to far inside
he could see the darkness of his ink dripping through the insides of the paper
Like a virus in his blood
he urges to throw up
he cant
he fears

I don't want that black spot

1st Post

Hello Everyone, I will be writing about whats on my mind - Poems, Stories, Issues, and many other "Random" Topics.

I prefer criticism rather than fake reasoning. So if you disagree with me tell me,argue with me. If you don't like my Poem tell me.

I personally enjoy Philosophy, and Humor . So mainly I'll be speaking about those topics however I tend to speak also about anything random that pops into my head.

I hope you will enjoy this Blog.