The water
Was getting cold
When you entered
The bathroom,
To see
If I had washed
Correctly.

Bending down
To hook
A loose strand
Of wet hair
In place
Behind my ear
With one hand
While gently cradling
My cheek
In the other.

Your eyes left
Burning questions
Deep within
That silence
You seem to create
Wherever you went.

Where do dreams go?
Do they hide under the rotten trees of the unknown garden?
Are they under the sinking soil of the Atacama, the dreaded desert
At times I wonder where this fantasy of “reality” is buried
After the visit of its killer by nature or by chance
Or maybe they are held by the creatures of large feathers and gracious crowns,
Due to the un-actualization of the unfortunate
This gets me puzzled
As I ask myself again where do dreams go to?
Do they go on holiday?
Or probably take some official off from workplace?

Greatness, my child, is your lot,
the golden dream after which for you I seek,
even before my first glance at your face,
so had I prayed.

I prayed the rivers,
I prayed the gentle dews,
I prayed the glorious sways,
of joy in your arteries to perpetually flow.

Alpha child, my heartbeat I bare,
that you climb the wind to your sky,
stand on the scalps of the mountains,
to mount the throne of your greatness.

Ashik vs Sorna

https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/poems/ashik-vs-sorna

Most people think the town of Worthing in County of Sussex
Is not so interesting and full of old folks, dried-up wrecks
Awaiting Grim Reaper's visit with his merciful scythe;
Worthing's Big Event the cleansing of public toilets causing tums to writhe
Bringing odours strong enough to ensure catastrophic
Mass retching and pumping out of breakfast in puddles of sick.

Now I pass by other valleys
where water trickles
silently and slowly

I see nothing but greenery
hence no more do I feel lonely

Pass your time with an open mind
care not who is watching you
or here reading you

Comments now
fly over my bloated mind
as I am aged
and that there lies within my cage
no crime

later I post a poem
it may may not rhyme
but are you poet divine
wanting me to lay supine
Comment at your will Sire
I shall still admire

As the winter makes a touchdown,
raving along the paths, the brushes, the rivulets,
it arouses rigid trees to a dancing sway,
which quickens musing air to breezy fare.

With each passing day, more and more the winter breeds its cold,
very likely to bring along buckets of wind
which will roam earth's perimeter in windy colors,
transfixing faces with awe of chill.

Ok let’s get this straight
Life isn’t all that great
There is hell knocking at my door
And bodies on my bedroom floor
There is chaos in our eyes
And people full of lies
But why don’t we rise
Rise above all our problems and fears
And stop crying tears
Sure, we aren’t perfect
But life is worth it
Don’t you want to grow old one day
Or celebrate your children’s birthday
I want to live my life
Become someone’s wife
I want to see my grandchildren play
And think hey we’re okay

He left my side,
so that from the world
I shouldn't hide
the faith that we are
what we are
not left bereft

humans can extend their imagination
to far off distant inconceivable destination
to explore
the life of those
who are not like us

we are rich
they maybe poor
but adjustment in life gives us a cheer
we make our own crucial decisions
and
call it destiny
the rich and poor can intermingle

have faith we all are one