Poetry

By Aditya Nandkumar Garde You can’t make a human, a human, unless you first make him believe he is one. He must remember softness, before he can show mercy, He must recognize pain, before he can heal another. Today, we walk upright, but our hearts crawl in the dust, We have names, not identities; faces, not reflections. We speak of love, as if it were a lost art, something traded long ago, for comfort, for control. You can’t make a human feel, if he believes feeling is weakne

By Aditya Nandkumar Garde Mortality ends us, but forgetfulness kills us twice. The first death, when breath leaves the body, and silence takes its seat, The second, when names fade, from even the lips that once trembled to speak them. Graves are kind; they remember, It is the living, who forget. We build statues, but not memories, We light candles, but not warmth, And what was once a soul, becomes just a date, a name in stone, without the voice that carried it. The dead sleep

By Aditya Nandkumar Garde जंगल की खामोशी में, पंछियों की चहक गुम गई, उनकी चहक चुप हो गई, तेरे शहर के शोर में दब गयी।  नदी खुद माँ बनकर, छोटे जीवों को जल से पाल रही थी, हाथी अपने भारी कदमों से कहता है, “क्यों तू ने तोड़ दिए हमारा जंगल, हमारे पेड़ हमारे घर?” गाय की आँखों में आंसू भी नहीं, बस उसके बच्चों की जुदाई का समंदर है, प्रकृति ने जीवन दिया, तुमने उसे ही मार दिया, पर इंसान सुन नहीं रहा, देख नहीं रहा।  शेर, बाघ अपनी दहाड़ रोक चुकें, क्योंकि उसका शिकार पहले ही खत्म हो गया, पंछि

By Aditya Nandkumar Garde विचार पिंजरों से निकलकर भटकते हैं, सलाखें टूट जाए, तो मंजर भटकते हैं।  खुदा बनाकर जिन्हें सजदे में रख दिया, हकीकत सामने आए, तो पुतले भटकते हैं।  अंधेरों में छुपकर जो खामोशियाँ रही, विचार जागे, तो वही अलाप से भटकते हैं।  हुकूमतों के तख्त, जमीनों पे टिक ना पाए, जब भी सवाल उठे, तो ताजो-तख्ते भटकते हैं।  खामोशियों के होंठ पें सीलें लगी रही, विचार छू लें, तो वही नगमें भटकते हैं।  कलम की धार ने ही सदियों को मोड़ दिया, तलवारों के साये भी, फिर डर से भटकते हैं

By Aditya Nandkumar Garde अगर जीते जी कोई उसके लिए कह दे वो अच्छा है, तो उस इंसान को, सच में मौत की जरूरत नहीं।  दिखावे की माला कब्र के सिरहाने खूब सिंधी जाएगी, पर जो जुबा अभी एक कहे दे, वही दुआ है, उसे फिर मौत की जरूरत नहीं।  घरों में सुनी हँसी, बचपन की टूटे खिलौनों की नाराजी,  एक हँसी दे दो आज, फिर उस बच्चे को मौत की जरूरत नहीं।  वो बुजुर्ग, जिसकी आँखों में वक्त का हिसाब लिखा है, उसके होंठों से “ठीक हूँ” हटाओ, हाथ थामों, उन्हें फिर मौत की जरूरत नहीं।  तस्वीरें दीवार पर नहीं

By Aditya Nandkumar Garde धरती ने दिया था आंचल हरा, नदियों ने गाया था मधुर तराना, आसमान में फेले थे तारे, हवा में भी बसी थी जीवन की वाणी पुरानी।  पर इंसान आया लालच के साथ, अपने मन का ही गुलाम बनकर, उसने मापा पर प्राकृतिक चीज़ को सोने से,  और बेच डाली संवेदनाएं, मन के कोने से।   जहाँ प्रेम था, वहाँ द्वेष बोया, जहाँ शांति थी, वहाँ शोर संजोया,  धरती की छाती काँप दी उसने, प्यास बुझाने वाले को भी जहर पिलाया उसने।   मंदिर, मस्जिद, गिरजा, गुरुद्वारा, सभी में उसने दीवारें उतारी,  ईश्व

By Aditya Nandkumar Garde There are moments, when your smile becomes my liberation,  the very instant you smiled,  my words, once captive, found the courage to fly,  they spilled onto paper like whispers of my heart,  finally free to sing your name. But, beloved,  had you sat there wrapped in your own sadness, my pen would have remained shackled,  my thoughts would have bowed to your silence, for How can a poet write,  when the very eyes that give him ink are drowning in tear

By Aditya Nandkumar Garde Your image rests gently in my eyes, yet mere reflections cannot quench this longing,  even when the moon accompanies my nights,  it fails to offer the comfort your presence brings. Though my tongue may fall silent,  my heart still clutches the threads of unspoken words,  for in loving you,  there is no thought, no question,  only a quiet, unquestioning peace. Raindrops kiss my face as the skies weep,  yet my eyes continue to seek you,  there are ment

By Aditya Nandkumar Garde There are nights when the world forgets to sleep,  and I, despite all reason, find myself waiting. Then, like moonlight upon still water, you arrive…  quietly, without announcement, without permission. In the delicate hush of slumber, you step into my dreams,  with the gentleness of a whispered promise. And somehow, somehow, my sleep no longer belongs to me. You colour my dreams in silver, in warmth, in a stillness that even the stars envy.  You stay

By Ian MacLean White hot. Tendrils caressing me, Flicking me. Licking me. Making rigid My once hard shell. The heat of her embraces me. Rhythmic gyrations o’er take me. Achingly I fall prey to her spell. Twisting.  Thrusting. Rolling, Near busting, I swell. Her heat, now my heat. I feel her inside me. Here now, the end. From the inside  I melt.  By Ian MacLean

By Ian MacLean Sundry items from my past Haunt me, Taunt me. Hollow memories of who I was Last week Last month  Last year. A carefully curated collection  Of stories long past. Collecting dust on the shelf Eager to be picked up, Eager to be read anew. By Ian MacLean

By Ian MacLean Bloated. Rotting. Festering. Littering the floor Before ominous doors long locked. Keys,  long lost in the sands of time. This great hall Sang once of courage, of hope. A chapel bathed in the light Of love,  of dreams. Now dismal,  silent. A tomb of intent long dead  ‘neath a mountain of fears By Ian MacLean

By Ian MacLean A perspective shift Brilliant colours of decay Find beauty in death By Ian MacLean

By Ian MacLean Bane of my existence Thorn in my side Stealing much Giving little  Fourfold resistance Persistence is futile Well laid intentions  Set aloft at whim Yet still  I put my face to you Yet still I stand  In spite of you By Ian MacLean

By Ian MacLean Perspective t                      i                       l                        t                         s Life wi            lt              s Sweet aroma of decay A catch of breath  Stunning hues of death Renewal                Not far away By Ian MacLean

By Rashad Booker A breath, a spark a whisper born, From silent night to crimson morn. The heart learns rhythm, eyes find light, Dreams unfold in tender flight. Seasons turn, the colors fade, Footprints soften where hopes were laid. What once began in hush and bloom Returns again to nature’s Womb. No end, no start just flowing thread, Life’s gentle dance of quick and dead. Each ending hums a new born song Where we were, we still belong. By Rashad Booker

By Rashad Booker Wounded heart is a wounded soul that’s been through a lot that is slowly growing old because  the love and respect that they once had pain and rejection stole. They seek passion, crave  attention, and demand validation from others because their self-image has been forsaken, hurt to  the core current perception of love has been shattered and shaken. The pain manifests in which it destroys the mind and heart, impairs the vision and corrupts the  thoughts. So, t

By Rashad Booker No horned fiend with cloven hoof,  no pitch fork’s gleam, no fiery proof  Of brimstone’s wrath or hellish cries,  the truest devil in mankind lies. It seeds itself in quiet thought,  A sly suggestion, subtly wrought, A whisper oft when truth is clear, To plant the doubt, to foster fear. It is the greed that claws and takes, The envy that spirit breaks, The pride that builds a golden throne, Where pity is a seed un-sown. It crafts a mask of righteousness,  for

By Rashad Booker Lust Skin like burning silk- Ecstasy drips, thick as wine- Now the bed is worms. Gluttony Feast of crimson fruit, Juice runs down my starving chin- Stomach bursts with rust. Greed Gold fills my black veins, Pockets heavy, heart still starves- Midas turns to dust. Sloth Dreams cling like spiderwebs, Soft arms cradle my decay- Rot becomes my crown. Wrath Blade sings, hot and sweet, Fury paints the walls so bright- Now the dark won’t speak. Envy Eyes chew throug

By Rashad Booker In the warm light of her kitchen, she stirs the pot of forgotten dreams spices swirling like  thoughts she dares bot to season with words. Her fingers dance on porcelain counters casting  shadows of magic, yet her heart is a heavy stone, tethered by fears she cannot sever. He, with wings of earth, darkness, and light walks softly through her stormy skies of emotions  unaware of what the temptress is brewing. The flickering flame of unspoken affection Masked b