I write poems that go unread Sometimes because I forget them before they escape my head Other times I write them But hide them instead
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
Here come the hard times Here comes the return of the archons The harkening of our death Not the death of people But the death of our nation
Take my hand, O wind, and show me the path to rest Take my hand, O stranger, to the fragrant flower forest Because I am impossible here and I have come to succeed
By Kisama Riyo 2 years ago in Poets
Alone in this silence and stillness The heart is sad in its darkness alone And sadness enveloped my feelings And awakened all the sorrows in my soul
After a long wait In the march of pride The colonizer became defeated And the heroes embraced the warmth of the sun And ignited destruction in the souls of the enemies
And between the fragments of the dragon's flame I found myself in the prisoner's space What do I have to do with this dragon?
Let the poet's pens write whatever they want May the nations that taught them benefit? Let the notebooks be filled with an abundance of feelings
I remembered the past years It never crossed my mind To meet you complaining about my condition The whispers of my loved ones
Am I tired of my life, bored with myself? Dead from my sadness, broken from my fear In my dream I sleep like a straight rock?
What is the secret in you, O night? Like a star, you depart and return? What is the magic in you, O night? You rise at dusk and take refuge
What's wrong with it? It has a thousand meanings. Most of our sayings about it are endless. Our actions rarely have a goal.
It is an old carriage with good horses Everything one could wish for is available in it A kitchen, a table and a bed tied to take you far
