#genuine_readers

549 posts
  • artistano1 5w

    ...



    My soul floats
    on the mirror of the sky.
    Whining moon, a traitor, a voyeur,
    like a reflection of nothing in my dead eye.
    The mud forged the plan.
    My cheap rags are worn out
    and lips glued to bare thighs.
    I drink selfishly and greedily,
    until i drown in sorrow.
    I toast the bones of a dead fish.
    That livid and fleshy -
    It will be me tomorrow.

    The pain cut my nerves.
    More rags of miserable flesh,
    lying numb in my bed.
    The darkness of my blood screams,
    blade buried in veins.
    Red, I love you, red.
    Rusted in chains.
    Paint me with your fire of ruin.
    Take me tonight for your slave
    and do with me what you will,
    behind the curtain of my grave.

    The footsteps tremble, uncertain.
    Kneeling knees ring on my face.
    I'll see red drops of dew and insects.
    I'll see a hundred lightning pictures
    as they travel through space.
    I'll see myself lying down
    on a cloud of fog which reds.
    I'll see Invisibly,
    Closer and closer and closer -
    Insects and beds...




    By artistano1
    #Genuine_readers
    @miraquill
    @writersnetwork

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    Insects and beds

  • pillai_geet 6w

    An Absent Malady

    Young love ! One could brood over its absence
    Pleasant mysteries of an ever evading romance
    Fortune smiles for now there's a better chance
    Meet n' greet all , elusive serendipity plans
    To know , to cherish love of odd sorts n' dance
    To this pulsing grateful heart , lost in rhythmic trance.
    ©pillai_geet

  • officially_ray 6w

    #genuine_readers #whatever

    Me to writers block: I know you'll always stay!��

    There was a concert today, I'm so overwhelmed ��

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    Teach me.

    You asked me why I couldn't smile
    It was just a picture, soon will be a memory
    Everyone with brightest smiles
    And I'll be searching for my lost one
    Looking at people smile
    Like its the only thing they've
    been doing all their life
    Oh how wish I could make you feel the same
    You came without a warning label
    Made me feel extraordinary
    And the next moment, discarded me like dross
    You were the same person
    Who said - "I'll be here for you"
    Only to push me away when I needed you the most
    Now you're standing here smiling like psychopath
    Could you teach me how to push away my anxiety
    cause I know you're good at throwing things away
    Oh common, Please show me how to smile,
    Even if you'd throw me away again
    I need you the most, right now, just now
    And I hate myself for that, because I can never push you away like you did.
    I'm in a mess of unrequited love.
    ©officially_ray

  • artistano1 7w

    ...


    When I wandered one night
    into Untoldland,
    the white hill of the moon turned on the light
    and out of nowhere she appeared
    with one her firefly friend.

    Damn,
    she stay and smiled at me,
    the night was hot like a heater.
    To pour honey from all the baskets
    in the world, she would be sweeter.

    Night or day, or both, silent as nightwatch
    just prettier, like a day with moonlight.
    The willows down looks like dancing,
    maybe it just occurred to me,
    maybe everything danced by her touch.

    It is not the moon, but milk,
    and it's not bird's milk,
    but the milk of the moon,
    she waved at me and say
    "I have to catch my firefly,
    see you soon!"

    Those who are awake will miss
    the most beautiful dream,
    Yup,
    and those who sleep will miss much more
    ... when they wake up.

    I'm just afraid
    my breathing won't disturb
    the perfect peace of the trees.
    God, how beautiful land is,
    how it is nice to be alive tonight,
    how it is nice to see you, miss Moonlight!

    All my worries,
    the beasts that have me,
    resting now down deep,
    like the anchor of a ship.

    So if is necessary
    that something happen to me,
    let it be tonight,
    and let it be
    miss Monlight...




    Miss Moonlight
    Written by Artistano1

    #patheticfallacy #wod

    #genuine_readers #daadigotyourback
    @miraquill @writersnetwork

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    Miss moonlight

  • artistano1 9w

    She looked a little sad
    in that dress.
    In that dying summer.
    It's like she loves me
    for the last time.
    Art died in the paintings
    in which she fastens her bra.
    My skeleton is rotten.
    Collor. Column. Corona.
    Under infrared rays,
    the Moon is plump,
    airy and accurate
    in its appearance at celestial parties.


    We have started
    to unknowning each other.
    But flashes and dreams come by habit.
    We have joy and fun
    in that past life.
    The cobweb grabbed the door
    which was closed in one direction.
    After she left,
    my palms plowed more
    than when I started my circle.
    Circles. Plows. Pillows.
    Under infrared rays,
    the night is dark,
    and poetry stalks me
    on this celestial party.


    Just me and the mirror.
    Show must go on.
    I'm just an artist in circus.
    What's wrong with circuses?
    - At least I can walk on the wire
    and stumble ... and fall ... and...
    It'll be part of my show,
    the kids will laugh.
    Everyone laughs in the circus.
    - I'm crying.
    Circus. Citrus. Cycles.
    Under infrared rays,
    this town is empty place,
    and stray dogs bark
    to their celestial bones.


    The motive is the same
    for kill and locking the door since you left.
    Five years later
    there was a parade
    of charged gay particles in the city.
    I paraded among the bookshelves.
    The letters shone under the lamp,
    words fell from the sky,
    sky created us,
    we created books,
    books created shelves.
    And the circle closes there.
    Round. Scream. Click.
    Under infrared rays,
    your face haunting me in the mirror,
    and our roles dancing
    on this celestial show.


    But I still laugh.
    It was Sunday.
    I was at the cemetery.
    And it wasn't black as I imagined.
    I was happy to feel sad.
    I fastens her bra in letters on the paper.
    I was standing on the moon
    trying to touch the sky...
    - Don't let someone...
    - Don't let anyone.
    Artist. Atheist. Arthritis.
    Under infrared rays,
    the moon is plump,
    we are just a stain of wine,
    in this celestial life
    but i'm yours and you are mine.






    by
    Artistano1
    #genuine_readers
    @miraquill
    @writersnetwork
    #artista

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    Infrared rays

  • artistano1 9w

    One,
    then the other,
    then more and more
    piece by piece,
    I leave myself in the ghost town.
    And I'm going down,
    old,
    like in the ashes a log
    And so cold...

    Piece of me
    is still out there,
    somewhere in a bunch
    of crumpled smiles.
    There,
    where the morning
    dresses in purple the roofs.
    There,
    where are no more amateurs
    with rented costumes
    and cheap roles.
    There,
    where I stopped dreaming
    about spoiled doll's.
    And I'm lying down
    old,
    like in the ashes a log
    And so cold...

    One piece of me
    is still somewhere
    confused by your growing obligations.
    Where the world fell asleep before us,
    and where, at least for an hour,
    we had our first dream.
    And one piece
    stayed there
    where my songs made sense,
    and my dead hands wrote
    black letters on your white body.
    And now I'm leaving town
    old,
    like in the ashes a log
    And so cold...

    Piece by piece, by piece,
    I leave to your memories.
    All I have to do is see you tomorrow,
    and move your mind, the way I know.
    And all I have to do is bite your lip
    for some new year
    while burning balloons fly over us
    in Paris, or anywhere
    And all I have to do is dying in the fog
    old,
    like in the ashes a log
    And so cold...






    Written by artistano1


    #genuine_readers
    #daadigotyourback
    #poetry
    @miraquill
    @writersnetwork
    #piece #artista #end #wod

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    Piece by piece

  • artistano1 10w

    ***


    Ten thousand days on earth,
    in space, in something
    Ten thousand nights eaten by moths,
    in a mess, for nothing ?!
    Ten thousand sleeps
    in one place
    which will never stop.
    And you will come one morning,
    in a small town,
    after ten thousand days,
    and I will be your friend
    and a complete stranger
    and it will be love that you feel,
    those ten thousand seconds,
    you just won't tell me that.
    I would like to share the cross with you,
    which I carry ten thousand faiths
    and tell you fairy tales
    on the roof of the world.
    I would like to fit into a mold
    and in other's shoes,
    and walk other's paths.
    If only you were
    instead of memories collect dreams.
    - How will you remember me if you forget me?
    It will remain your formal white dress,
    to flutters in the wind,
    ten thousand centuries.
    It will remain an abandoned railway,
    to wait some new train
    and collect dust from universe
    another ten thousand rides,
    and before you fall asleep
    imagine a wish,
    and imagine the falling stars
    above us
    ten thousand nights ...



    by ArtistaNo1

    .


    #genuine_readers #daadigotyourback
    #miraquill #Us #poetry
    #tabularasa #tenthousand
    #artistano1 #writersbay
    #love #imagine
    @writersnetwork @miraquill
    #end

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    Ten thousand

  • artistano1 10w

    I believe you fly,
    as I fall.
    I believe you dream,
    as i try.
    I believe you shine,
    as i fade.
    Like one ray of sunshine
    in the middle of the shade.
    I believe you sing,
    while i'm a song,
    happy with freedom,
    to which you belong.
    I believe you fly,
    I believe you dream,
    I believe you shine,
    I believe you sing,
    in your pain,
    i believe you fly like a butterfly
    whom I saved from the rain ...



    Don't let me die,
    turn me into letters,
    put me on paper...
    ... I still believe you fly.


    ArtistaNo1

    @miraquill @writersnetwork
    #believe #poetry
    #genuine_readers

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    Believe

  • artistano1 10w

    It was raining,
    Gloria,
    the morning carried the smell of the sea,
    and in an unknown language
    I tried to write shapes
    of your hair while you asleep.
    You'll never be mine,
    but while you asleep you shine.

    It was a sad day,
    Gloria,
    and your eyes laughed at me.
    Words came from those depths,
    and what the meaning of life is
    if I don't drown in them?
    You'll never be mine,
    but while you asleep you shine.

    I dreamed of a fog,
    Gloria,
    one ordinary morning,
    in your student room,
    you held out hands to me shyly,
    and I think I realized then
    where the Danube kisses the sky.
    You'll never be mine,
    but while you asleep you shine.

    Life is so short,
    Gloria,
    to pass on the screen.
    Here or anywhere in the world
    in Madrid or Mumbai,
    in Belgrade or Rome,
    wherever your finger would stand
    as the globe rotates.
    And while the pictures change
    on canvas,
    beam projector lights
    creates shadows on the wall,
    like craters on the moon,
    and go into oblivion
    disease
    money
    fake laughter
    promises
    plans
    notes
    sadness
    troubles
    simpletons
    memories
    losses
    peoples
    infections
    risks and compassions
    and fear of death,
    here or anywhere in the world
    wherever your finger would stand,
    Gloria,
    as the globe rotates.

    Slow music
    Curtain goes down
    I'm going down
    Darkness going down
    Silence going down
    Just
    your heartbeats
    Lust for lost years
    And you'll be
    forever mine,
    but while you asleep
    you shine...





    ArtistaNo1

    #Gloria
    #genuine_readers
    #lovepoetry #poetry
    #writersbay
    #daadigotyourback
    @writersnetwork @miraquill

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    Gloria

  • artistano1 11w

    An old umbrella,
    called a smile,
    has been leaking lately
    so i try to find a verse,
    or a role,
    bigger than all
    and whisper it into the ether...

  • artistano1 11w

    ...

    Is there an answer in those blank papers,
    or i'm lying down, cold,
    waiting for a death?
    Your panic attacks
    come at dawn,
    and you are no better
    if you take off your clothes.
    And you're not the only one,
    you just don't understand,
    you've been a woman for too long.
    But where am I?
    A thousand wings on my arms,
    played the blues for a distant friend,
    which I don't have.
    A mocking romanticism
    I choke the crumpled paper.
    Open mouth fireplace,
    as on dead guard,
    still gaping and wait,
    like he can't find,
    and seeks
    a word,
    for a terrible curse.
    And I'm so tired
    of periods, commas and letters.
    You take the bait,
    like any fish.
    And you're all waiting
    for one of your Godot,
    and you tattoo my words,
    but I need a mirror,
    for my fantasies,
    to look the void into the eyes.
    - A mirror for a hungry stomach
    and a cold sleep;
    - Wait for me even when you know I won't come.

    Life and death
    pass each other for days
    and find a compromise in statistics.
    You and me,
    already mad;
    like a wind and plain.
    Show me your breasts,
    and hold your breath tight,
    that in those few heartbeats
    I hear I'm not the only creature on this planet,
    languished under cross.
    Someone's at the door,
    maybe just a day.
    I'll stay here anyway,
    engrossed in a mindless dream,
    I will sleep for hours.
    What does this mask mean
    which I can't take off?
    I know I'm under her,
    in the middle of a party bell
    which intoxicated the crowded city,
    when dealers procure them,
    everything is the same on this ground,
    and smell and stench.
    I don't need medicine,
    to forget sin;
    I need centuries
    to forget the applause and laughter.
    We will never see
    Paris with the same eyes.

    I will play for a long time
    this role assigned to me,
    in the defeat that will save me.
    I'm not Godot, don't wait for me.
    In the city of sold souls,
    in the city of passion,
    you ask a stranger to listen to you,
    as you cum on my strings,
    you do not hear the song in the birds;
    and you lose your wings.
    And that's all you need,
    in a dirty room,
    while your hair stinks of oil,
    you don't need love
    you need a vaudeville
    but you just don't understand.
    It remained dark in the room.
    And a couple of pale pictures,
    dead tonsils,
    and some things.
    Nothing knocked on the door
    with a large suitcase
    ready to unpack
    and settled right there,
    in my room,
    and to sleep beside me;
    and to wake me;
    And to look at me from every angle;
    I will remain only a messenger of life,
    new world order;
    "Hannibal ante portas"



    #start Artistano1 #wod

    @miraquill @writersnetwork
    #genuine_readers

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    Coetry- Corona Poetry

  • officially_ray 11w

    Puppet

    I wonder how different I used to be
    I loved myself and the world around me
    Like a wave you came, splashing at me
    A fool I was to let you drag me deep within
    Love is what I felt it was
    Nightmare it turned out to be
    You didn't let me drown
    You didn't let me breathe
    Trapped in your dreams
    You won't set me free
    All I am is a pitiful puppet
    You play me all day but won't throw me away
    Oh how bad I wish
    That it would come to an end
    I'm sick and tired of being a game
    ©officially_ray

  • artistano1 12w

    Fragments of happiness
    days by habits,
    and who we are now?
    Chasears of rabbits,
    pair steps in snow.
    Don't say you love me
    Fragments of happiness,
    words on the wall,
    that's all.

    What will a poet to do with you,
    with dark in the words
    on the blank paper,
    with a torn reality
    under a hat.
    Go somewhere
    entertain your humbled years,
    at least try,
    and come back when you realize,
    where wild boars go to die...

    Fragments of happiness,
    blind to world,
    colorless and fold.
    That's how i stay,
    in cheap treals,
    lost in milky way.
    Fragments of happiness,
    words on the wall,
    that's all.



    ArtistaNo1
    @miraquill @writersnetwork
    #poetry #artist
    #genuine_readers

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    Thats all

  • pj_animation 12w

    I am a mess
    With lots of less
    Seeking out a bless
    To shine upon me face

    The streets of my mind
    Filled with rage being blind
    Seeking peace hopes to find
    Among the chaos hoping to climb

    As the heart seeks peace
    Among a shattered pieces
    As blood pumps in a race
    Violent peace in a chase

    Clearly can't see
    Fogged like morning sea
    Conflict within won't flee
    The violence within at its peace

    Finding peace in the violence
    Finding voice in the silence
    Finding rush in patience
    Finding in a sense

    I am a mess
    In the streets of my mind
    As the heart seeks its peace
    Yet clearly I can't see

    Hoping to find sense from non
    Hoping to find patience within the rush


    #pj_illmind #mentalhealth #soul @miraquill #genuine_readers

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    VIOLENT PEACE 2

    Taking a simple walk
    But me heart is racing
    Making a simple talk
    But me mind is messing...
    ©pj_animation

  • artistano1 12w

    Once when i was young,
    a long time ago,
    she ask me
    to write her a song.
    And I wasn't sure I would make it.
    Words are my toys,
    they come to me out of nowhere,
    but there are some things in us
    that cannot be translated into words.
    Maybe i wanted to find
    a special one for her,
    but time passed...

    "What about my song?"
    Ten years later she asked me again.
    As she cuddled, clinging to me,
    on a meadow
    from which the whole universe
    could be seen,
    when it was a clear night,
    like that night,
    when we hung,
    once when i was young.

    And I really didn't know
    how to make it.
    Somehow,
    the words I know,
    the letters i've got,
    the signs i've seen,
    were blurring in my head,
    wanting to inspire her.
    Wanting to leave a mark on her,
    on her body.
    As I counted the birthmarks on her bare back,
    there, on the meadow
    from which the whole universe could be seen,
    that I could only look at the sky instead of at her.
    That night, silence istead of tongue,
    once when i was young.

    And time has taken us far...

    I'm not sure I could calculate
    how many starry nights have passed
    since she begged me to write a song for her,
    there,
    a long time ago,
    while I was counting the birthmarks
    on her bare back.
    Even today I can clearly see that picture,
    of her,
    of birthmarks,
    on the meadow,
    under the whole universe,
    as if I were there again,
    only this time I looked at the sky,
    and saw the arrangement of stars
    identical to the arrangement
    of the birthmarks on her body.
    And my fingers like shooting stars
    fly over letters,
    like over her bare back,
    and,
    what an irony,
    here's your song,
    you little fool...



    #genuine_readers #writingsongs #daadigotyourback #writersbay @miraquill @writersnetwork #once #wod

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    Once when i was young

  • rohitmahariya_0105 12w

    I Keep smiling but Deep down,


    "Tuta hua saaz hun main,
    Khud se hi naraz hun main'
    ©rohitmahariya_0105

  • artistano1 12w

    I bought a Bedouin guitar,
    old and out of tune.
    It was cheap at first glance,
    but music that come out are painful,
    difficult and she's cost me a lot,
    I can see now.
    Sometimes I don't know anymore
    did that tones are mine or Bedouin's,
    -my fingers on the strings
    and his music coming from nowhere.
    Damn, he really screwed me over.

    I bought a book from a rabbi,
    even though I didn't even want
    -and I'm afraid to open it and read.
    Some words, as if they were mine,
    and as if they were writing about you,
    so that I no longer know
    do i read it or write it.
    My blood is on the cover of the book,
    but my boat is lead by his rowet.
    Damn rabbi, he made me a poet.

    The nomad sold me shoes,
    even though I didn't need them
    Then I realized that shoes only go my way.
    And so i wander, from city to city,
    under the open sky above,
    and I don't know anymore
    did I looking for something,
    or I just wander among the crop.
    Damn shoes, it will never stop.

    I bought love from a thief,
    i didn't know she was stolen
    and belonged to someone else.
    I bonded quickly and naively,
    as if she were really mine.
    Sometimes she comes to me in a dream,
    uninvited, and walks barefoot into the room. Although I want to get her out,
    stays until morning and then disappears,
    while steals a piece of my heart,
    every time, and leave me in the faint,
    Damn thieves, they don't take complaint.


    Thank you ladies and gentlemen,
    see you in another city...

    Applause
    Curtain
    Darkness
    The end




    Written by artistano1


    #acting #story
    #poetry @writersnetwork #art #act #wandering
    @miraquill #genuine_readers #writersbay #writersnetwork

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    Wanderer

  • artistano1 13w

    At the end,
    You'll wake up one Sunday.
    Alone.
    Wrinkled hands, old.
    And June will be all around you,
    in the mirror,
    in the eyes,
    in gray hair,
    on the window,
    below which
    the world more and more
    flee for nothing.
    A world that more
    it is not what it is
    once was.
    When I loved you
    in all languages.
    With eyes that
    they shine with desire
    and hopes for a better tomorrow,
    for a world in which
    are serenades
    sang under the windows,
    and kissed the hands of the ladies.
    And so as you stand,
    in the room,
    in front of the window,
    in Sunday
    in June,
    you will want to fly out
    down a long artisan street,
    to one dilapidated house
    in the ghetto,
    and change everything,
    with all the strength of your heart,
    which you don't even hear anymore
    to knock.
    To bring back all the hours,
    and a face that becomes a silhouette.
    But in vain,
    you don't even know what you want anymore,
    nor what you once wanted.
    It's not even that Sunday,
    it's not even June,
    and those dilapidated ghetto house,
    no more ...
    And only in the old one
    jewelry box,
    there is a picture,
    smiling character,
    etched in memory
    etched in June
    while the world was
    nicer place.
    And as your heart slowly stops,
    it could last an eternity
    live in memories,
    and you don't hear anymore
    last beats,
    and you don't know
    that you dream awake.
    Day by day, goodbye Sunday...




    @writersnetwork @miraquill #poetry #genuine_readers #writersbay #daadigotyourback #etch #June #artistano1 #Sunday #day #wod

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    In Sunday

  • artistano1 13w

    ...


    When I wandered one night
    into Untoldland,
    the white hill of the moon turned on the light
    and out of nowhere she appeared
    with one her firefly friend.

    Damn,
    she stay and smiled at me,
    the night was hot like a heater.
    To pour honey from all the baskets
    in the world, she would be sweeter.

    Night or day, or both, silent as nightwatch
    just prettier, like a day with moonlight.
    The willows down looks like dancing,
    maybe it just occurred to me,
    maybe everything danced by her touch.

    It is not the moon, but milk,
    and it's not bird's milk,
    but the milk of the moon,
    she waved at me and say
    "I have to catch my firefly,
    see you soon"

    Those who are awake will miss
    the most beautiful dream,
    Yup,
    and those who sleep will miss much more
    ... when they wake up.

    I'm just afraid
    my breathing won't disturb
    the perfect peace of the trees.
    God, how beautiful land is,
    how it is nice to be alive tonight,
    how it is nice to see you, miss Moonlight!

    All my worries,
    the beasts that have me,
    resting now down deep,
    like the anchor of a ship.

    So if is necessary
    that something happen to me,
    let it be tonight,
    and let it be
    miss Monlight...




    "Miss Moonlight"
    Written by Artistano1

    #genuine_readers #daadigotyourback @miraquill @writersnetwork

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    Miss Moonlight

  • rohitmahariya_0105 13w

    क्या पूछ लूं उसे एकबार,
    या फिर सिमट जाऊं अपनी ही उलझनों में बार बार।
    ©rohitmahariya_0105