surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Be where your feet are
Be where your feet are We often find ourselves either guilt-tripping in the past or ruminating about the future. The present is all that we have in our hands yet we tend to often forget the importance of living in the moment. In a world that constantly holds our attention, it becomes difficult for us to catch a moment of what our primary requirements are in the present, to catch a glimpse of what it is that we truly want for ourselves. Everything that you have ever dreamed of, wanted and will ever need, all of it stems from the present moment.
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets
A Modern Dating Tale. Content Warning.
In the period of swiping left or right and computerized romance, it's not difficult to accept that certifiable associations are more enthusiastically to drop by. However, once in a while, a dating story arises that revives our confidence in luck and the wizardry of human association. Such is the situation with the wonderful experience of Emily and James, a story that advises us that affection frequently tracks down us in the most startling of spots.
By Kazi Hasebul Hasan Naime 2 years ago in Poets
The Scourge of God
You punctured too many holes into my heart. I had to carry it in my arms like a sieve. I had to go numb worse than novocaine to preserve myself. I was forced to realize that we had simply run out of time. A prison made to keep us together out of nostalgia. I had my illusions but you completely shattered them. You had to prove you could do better than me. But loyalty cannot be bought, it can only be given. What drove us together was a spark that quickly dwindled. We called it love but settling resembles hope too much. You were too far away even when you were right beside me. I didn't want you closer, I wanted you to be something you could never be. You weren't searching for the truth like I was, you just wanted to cover up your mishaps. You couldn't fill the holes you created so you found a clean slate instead. The chasm in between just caused more space to ignore. You're no longer any of my concern. You told your lies in order to survive. I had to levitate myself in order to burn. Two worlds divided in order for us to finally die. I don't know when but this lesson has got to be learned. You were the salt in the wound I didn't think I deserved. You tried to take credit for all the accomplishments I knew I would earn. This pain isn't mine anymore, now it's your turn
By Anna Torres2 years ago in Poets
Pit of Doom
Memories of us are just hazy and incoherent. A myriad of conflicting personalities and pretentiousness. This is the end of all verses that have run of fuel. We have reached the pinnacle of martyrdom. I wanted you to try as much as I did but that proved to be out of your reach. I always strained more and further out than your body ever could. Our engine ran on hope and four flat tires. Our locomotive couldn't find the best route so we drove blind anyways. It's like you threw us down into this pit and wondered why I kept trying to escape. I wanted you to want to escape with me. To change every flaw in your corrupted design and be what you were supposed to be. Heaven forbid we change ourselves to accommodate who we claimed to love. Isn't that what love is supposed to be? How could I have accepted you as you were when I couldn't even accept myself? There's no hand reaching me to help me out of here. In order to get out, you descended and dug even deeper. You found the coward's way out and I salute you for it. Leaving me in this doom forced me to introspect. What could I do differently that I ever tried before? Why can't I just accept your resignation and be at peace with your departure? No, I must prove to myself that your retirement from this hell would not be the end of me. Just because you absconded into the twilight does not mean I was going to wait for you until dawn. I have renounced my oath and am loyal only to myself now. My memory will eventually forsake you but for now, this abdication is what drives me forward. No magical staircase was built but a rope was painstakingly made to climb out of here. This pit of doom no longer has any room for me. It has weakened its jaws and released its grip on me. You can make a prisoner out of someone else. I am no longer willing to be that sacrifice anymore. The void that is you got left behind. I can't hear your echoes anymore, I will pay them no mind
By Anna Torres2 years ago in Poets
