glopowrimo day 13

Same Thing

We are roaming through this brand new city, hands in hands, intoxicated
We’re here to wander this dreamscape for a while
And the web-news features a few kids colored in happiness..
A predictable prelude to the helpless crying of mothers, fading in from the far corner of the screen

glopowrimo day 10

RIP

Piece is a part, and peace is a mere word.. or maybe it’s the other way around

Piece being a word, in that case, we should all have a peace of this pie

glopowrimo day 8

 https://www.napowrimo.net/day-eight-12/

glopowrimo day 8 

glopowrimo day 5

The Joy is Gone

___________

I was tapping my left foot to match the dubstep mix on the radio,

And their first responders were waltzing around unconscious kids to save what was left

When my cat was dozing off wrapped in blissful wool,

They were running, all at once, through the shattered glass and stone

With a hint of frenzy 

flowers

 

april

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

---

The Waste Land

By T. S. Eliot

random

On Missing

I pick a handful of clouds 

Standing at the top of the cliff 

Mother calls from behind, the usual “be careful” 

happiness floats

- happiness floats.

It doesn’t need you to hold it down.

It doesn’t need anything.

Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,

and disappears when it wants to.

You are happy either way.

Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house

and now live over a quarry of noise and dust

cannot make you unhappy.

Everything has a life of its own,

it too could wake up filled with possibilities

of coffee cake and ripe peaches,

and love even the floor which needs to be swept,

the soiled linens and scratched records . . .

.. and it flows out of you into everything you touch. 

____

So Much Happiness

by Naomi Shihab Nye

قید

کچھ علاقے ایسے ہوتے ہیں جن میں آوازوں کی جگہ نہیں ہوتی۔ شائد وہ مقام اپنے تمام قصے وقت کے بہاؤ میں بہت پہلے کسی اور دن بیان کر چکے ہیں اور اب اظہار کی بے سود آزمائش سے گزر کر خالی ہاتھ بیٹھے ہیں۔ یا شائد انہوں نے اپنا قصہ ہر گزرتے مسافر سے اتنی بار دہرایا کہ وہ اپنی قدر کھو بیٹھا۔