Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
woman of the poem Somniloquy in sleep transforms into ecstasy in the heart, while desire, born as dreams in the eyes, manifests into reality.
By Malleswari2 years ago in Poets
All my lies and truths Every moment of my life My diary hides them ------------------------------------------------------
By Maryam Batool2 years ago in Poets
Habit made me spend my life In the dispersion of my soul my flowers bloom And he began to look at me with your eyes, my moon
By Kisama Riyo 2 years ago in Poets
When you get angry, my country, don't withdraw Because your anger stirs the sea And the stars turn into meteors You hang your laughter on the hanger
I cried until a day I don't know cried And gave me a sleeping pill to calm down and sleep And when I woke up I was sad about my condition
A friend came to me one day when I needed peace He asked me about my pain in the land of my ancestors? And if I break his promise, will I turn into a long letter?
I never imagined that I would be a redeemer for poems And the soul cries and sadness has invaded it? What curse has befallen me that has distanced the heart
One day I carried my dream in my hands In my sleep and walked with it in my illusion Searching for a strength that had vanished long ago
When I left my notebook open I didn't know the rhyme would go Those in the heart reveal The secrets of the soul that loom on the horizon
Quiet waves, drawn in calm and leaving light, they roll and fold, a steady pulse— soft as breath— gently drawing near, then gone.
By Printique Studios2 years ago in Poets
Soft clover carpets, stretching green beneath the sky, cradle every step— in this boundless, fragrant calm, I drift where my thoughts are free.
And in the heart a thousand questions The answer is absolute denial And the spirit of a bird looks down upon me from above the hills
