Baskadia

"Paradise"

Thinking of you is my favorite hobby, With Darling heart and thoughts foggy, When I stare down in your dazzling eyes, My mind skips all those wistful goodbyes, I still feel your presence all around, Hearing to the voice, sewing my wounds, Here am I , Still wanting you , In this world or shall I make new? My eyes are waiting for your presence, Engulfing my hands into your fragrance, My heart is now melting for you like an ice , I'm still finding you up to the seven skies, I believe one day it wil

Truth remains and rise

Reports and scene can be altered, elements introduced or introverted so that certain theme is portrayed, but the truth shall remain and rise. Truth can be buried underground, and be sealed by cement around so that is shall never be found, but it is proud hence it shall rise. At eminent time it shall blossom, converting cement to soil of loam so that it branches until we goam While putting shame to undertaker.

Two Future saver

Is just a memory of my friend when we are in school what we plan to become and where we are now

Prayer

O Power whose presence is our soul's delight, From whom alone our being and our life Flow forth, and unto whom at last they drift, Accept our prayer to-night. For we are weak, and bowed with many a care, Oppressed with grief, and troubled with the sin That doth defile our souls and make us bare Of all that makes us kin. We pray for those we love, who are to us More dear than life itself, and for the rest Of all Thy children, whom Thou dost not thus Forsake and desolate. We pray for peace on eart

Marriage or Obligation

Often in Africa, or in many parts of the world People don't marry because they are actually prepared, But because the circumstances led them to do it as if it were something better in the world. Was it marriage or an obligation? Since people are already united! Getting married because the parents made it or because there are no conditions for survival, In an insecure environment, full of uncertainties about the future That forces someone to choose the path of marriage to stop the influence of in

The thunder of a distant gun

This poem is written by Tamina Anderson from Canada. Poet's photo is attached with the poem. 🔥

Cry, it's never a Crime

Even if cry last for the night,joy cometh in the morning

My way to you

My Way To You I tell my tale A traveller lost On twisted roads that lead astray No lights to guide; On soggy nights, The dull moon; The sad rains The agonies endured No tonic for the pain O destiny, where did you hide Among desperate cries; among flickering flames To silent skies, a question raised Did I not submit? To all your ways A lightning heard; an answer paved On flesh so pure; I saw my way It was your face; it had such grace, surely an ace Do I deserve; such a place? My way to you I did

Break Me

Most times we are quick to assume that heartbreak comes only from lovers but boy are we wrong It is the people who we hold dear and call family For they have an inner access to our lives than others do So it is easier for them to penetrate the walls we have built around ourselves I’d rather get my heart broken by a stranger any day than let my family break that string Lovers are often replaceable but what do we do about family A nuclear unit created cannot replace the womb that bore us A child’s

The Tiny Stranger At George

One day at a pet shop, I met a man selling socks, For money he wanted to swap, But I really wanted some white fox. "Got any white fox?" asked I. "For that's how I'll spend my money." "No white fox here!" said the guy. He seemed to find it quite funny. "We've got some lovely crisps, I'll give you a very fine price." "I'd rather have some wisps." The man blinked rapidly thrice. The man seemed exceptionally energetic, And his manner was strangely amused. He wasn't what I would call electromagnetic,

LOOK FOR ONCE - ALEXIS KARPOUZOS

mushroom cat / GPTJ-6B

A little cat with a tiny head crawled under the rug, But when the woman bent to pick it up, it had vanished. A dog and a cat in a mushroom and it makes a very good cake How do I get to the moon?😺🌒 generate by GPTJ-6B Generate Short Poem along with an Illustration

Lost in the dust.

𝐒𝐨, 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥... 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞. 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬... 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝. 𝐀𝐢𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. 𝐎𝐤𝐚𝐲,𝐈’𝐦 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡.🤷🏽‍♂️ 𝐈 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧, 𝐖𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐏𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 , 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲,𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞.

Vengeful Flames

Burning bright with fury and hate, Revenge consumes me, it's my fate. I'll make them pay for what they've done, My anger rises like the sun. I'll plot and plan, I'll bide my time, Until the moment is just right. Then I'll strike with all my might, And watch them suffer in my sight. No mercy will I show to those, Who wronged me and caused my woes. Their pain will be my sweetest pleasure, As I exact my vengeful measure. But as the flames of revenge die down, I'll be left with nothing but a frown.

Hell’s Angel

I fell like tears on a rainy day Down to my doom and awakening Enlightened with feelings afresh and motives anew I have now evolved into self discovery Broken and reformed into a masterpiece One Pablo would be proud of It is in this new form that I dare to challenge all boundaries and conformity for I have met with the bulls eyes I’ll indulge you once or twice But where were you before my rebirth

Carry Me On

A poem that conveys not only words but also the true scenes that happens behind every painful yet silent love story, Carry Me On is one of poems that speaks for a lover and declares a question in mind, why the hope? Read and enjoy. _drichthepoet

My anxiety

Some challenges lead us to anxiety but we survive

Birthday girl

Forgiveness

The hardest word to say, The hardest thing to do, But it's the only way To set yourself free. It doesn't mean you have to forget, Or that what they did was okay, But it does mean you can let go Of the anger and the pain. Forgiveness is a gift, Not just to the other person, But to yourself. It's the key to healing, And it's the only way to move on. So if you're holding on to anger, Or if you're struggling to forgive, Just know that you're not alone. It's a process, and it takes time, But it's wor

JOURNAL OF A WHORE

It was on a bright weekend early afternoon. As I remained there ringing the doorbell tenderly, somebody pulled my pants. "Mom, mom, convey me." Cried a minuscule sharp voice. I really wanted no heavenly messenger to let me know what its identity was. Obviously, it was the voice of my three years of age little girl. If by some stroke of good luck she knew how chaotic it was lifting her up as she had put on a ton of weight as of late. Perhaps more than her age mates however at that point, a mother's affection wouldn't allow me to overlook the little one, regardless of whether I needed to. "Great sky," I murmured, feigned exacerbation, and scooped her up in my arms.