Baskadia

A Fool's Tale.

Everyone's got a Fool's Tale, it just depends on when it's told.

THE CHILDREN OF WORLD - ALEXIS KARPOUZOS POETRY

The tears of a child, the pain of a mother! A heart full of memories of a dead father!

KESSY 🌹

A little summary about a friend of mine 😅🌹

"CBIMD" (Come Back Into My Dream)

In memory of my father who left this world too soon (1960-2018). Written on 01.02.2022.

Tears

It's unfair I can't fight you back So I just let my tears out of the dark You've just open a faucet in my eyes Letting my angriness turn into cries But man, don't you recognize I'm just now trying to be nice I can kill you with kindness When I'm in my madness Well I guess I'm a good actress So don't let me undress

Give Your Black Boy A Flower

Your black boy Is a garden of stumps, his heart is rooted out of a fertile ground for you to plant a dream on his Humus skin. he Is a machine Void of human language. He understands solely, his breath on your skin and the sweet nectar of your pineapple lips. Again, he is an illustrative painting of your dad. He watches you grow Into his arms like sweet alyssums sprouting in early winter as he lays on your flower bed nurturing his lovelessness into something. And of all that he deserves... the ros

"New God", 29.04.2022

You may think this is a mindless set of words... And I think I would agree with you😅

ALL HUMANS - ALEXIS KARPOUZOS

All humans on earth are one

"A Bright Spark In The Bleak Sky"

Inspired by Lana Del Rey's music & stuff💙 Written on 03.07.2021

With Known Haters, Enters You, Renown Predators

Everyday’s been the same, within a prayer, of flame, Being ashamed, of the crisis, blaming the fame, for the demises, Teaming fate, with the dices, dreaming late, cheating the spices, Of hope, who beat the mices, of haters, with the vices, Meeting the later part, of our latter future, who greet me, to nurture the carts, with pleasure, And leisure, neat in closure, without the measure, Doubting the plagiarized ensured, about the plague, that raised, and cured, With the trust, as we piggyback, the

THE HEAT WITHIN US.

A Love poem that expresses the intimate feeling between two lovers who are limited by distance.

My Mother Has A Photo Album In Heaven

My mother doesn't read books, she reads people who read books. like she read my cousin who was pregnant at 16 because she tasted lemon dewdrops in early sunrise and the bittersweet experience of motherhood never left her palm like a written note. my mother could read fever just by placing hands on the forehead of her child, you could say she was the MOM in therMOMeter because my mom never kept us in a room temperature... to say, she didn't want us to get spoilt, she tightened up every corner tha

"Altercity", 22.06.2022

I already said that I'm writing a book (actually, there're several). This poem is something of an introduction to my story.

The points accounts only when, millions others, follow now and then

No summary for my darkest poetry, Darkest Stranger Led a peaceable life, When they were not troubled With other folks' strife. -Some random rhymes in summary for users to help what to make with these

IN MY SHOES

When I was born I was without shoes Now as an adult I find myself in different shoes Some of them I choose to buy Some were gifts or so I thought Others, I can't just tell How I got them But, I never stole any. Some of these shoes fit perfectly Some don't fit Some are way too big Others are too tight Yet I wear them Enduring the discomfort. When you see me having them on You admire them on my feet But you may not understand that 'He who wears the shoe knows where it pinches'. We all wear these s

When did I?

When did I lose myself? Was it when I was told their dreams were mine? Or was it when I was gonna die? Was it when I came to exist? Or when I questioned why do I exist? The day I looked upto admire someone, That day I realised what wasn't mine, My aim in life wasn't minr, Because I've been a naive little child. The show, is it really mine? Or am I a puppet in this being ruled by people behind? If I break the strings, Will I still be alive? Or will I be dead, And be refined with a knife? I am pil

"Un-dead"😈

Written back on 11/26/2021, long before all this madness. "Un-dead" are beings who have risen from the dead and have over-human abilities.

Petrichor: His Gaze so Gloomy and Blue

see k1nofficial.blogspot.com for more poems

The points accounts only when, millions others, follow now and then

Let me spit these rhymes first, before I get, to the points, and topic worst, Then the pick, of your crimes, sicking artist, to rehearse, From the core, sweating pore, swearing shore, with the daily chore, To study, with a buddy, for a lady, to be daddy, and be quite shady, With the quiet passion, tearing nights, with compassion, wearing whites, onto mansion, Gearing diet, with a pension, while hearing, me right from, the pension, Cheating the bloody, diddy tension, to beat the Jade e-invasion,

Poetry: Madness

This poetry is a satire on Shakespearean plays and also an urge for writing like him.