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  • Poetry

    Song of Sorrow

    Beneath the moon's soft and eerie gleam,
    I confide secrets, kept in a hidden scheme.
    This inner ailment, my weight to endure,
    Concealed from loved ones, in misery, I'm sure.

    Conversations strained, words I can't convey, 
    The pressure building with each passing day.
    Suffocating thoughts, they never cease, 
    A cage of despair, my heart's release. 

    Exhaustion consumes, a relentless tug, 
    I yearn to escape, break free from this lug.
    Their sadness may linger, but it's my plea,
    To find solace in darkness, to finally be free. 

    Though tears may flow, when I finally depart, 
    This choice offers respite, a brand-new start.
    For if I linger, the sadness will cling, 
    A lifetime of mourning, a bird with a broken wing. 

    For in this darkness, I see the light, 
    An escape from endless, ...

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    Sometimes in one’s life they often wonder why do they write?
    The words guide one in what to say

    The thought it should go this way

    This is a mission every day

    Writing comes from the heart with a need

    That’s the proceed

    What do people see?

    Is writing from thoughts yesterday and it became tomorrow sought?

    Some people won’t be honest in being false, and not tell the truth

    Years have moved on since my youth

    Wisdom is living proof

    It goes beyond words

    Mounts to the bull’s eye of understanding

    Comes down to experience and knowledge gained

    One can always say, but can one believe?

    Full of questions

    The real questions and answers come from within

    Abilities and assurance

    Confident at will

    Writer true with no false details

    No worry of Fail

    Momentum of one’s trai...

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     As soon as I grasped the only faithful fruit of your love, and as a small drop, I became an enthusiastic angel longing for consciousness and curiosity, a biological existence, a faithful and anxious flow, your priceless treasure rocking lap is like a double-pole and iron solid magnet attracted you like an unbreakable heart cord, my dear single, and sometimes fragile mother with lion faith, as a breast milk elixir that also serves to fertilize the development of a child!

     On your determined and purposeful frugal face, the beautified memories of the years and my past are preserved by the eyeballs of an ocean-blue sky, and I search and curiously try to figure out what they could have written with a will of soul, in your existence have the testimonies of the crushing of silver threads over your head? And you know how much you mean to me, some heartfelt, priceless mother!

     If, as a blessed-hearted perseverance of your loyalty as a thin...

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    In the yellow room, faded, memory-evoking photographs patiently invite people to remember. The sweet, gentle scent of pink hyacinths caresses the air. Outside, in the garden, the old peach trees have long since shed their sweet, twiggy fruit, and while in the kitchen the jam was simmering, sweet and flowery, everyone was sitting at the table, eager to eat it spread on bread. With your headband, like the daughter of an industrious sultan, you stirred jam, and it was good to watch you balancing the wooden spoon between your tiny but firm fingers.

    Ominous storm-clouds threaten in thundering clouds, While in broad meadow no lightning-struck tree-stump shakes; What Apokfrif message does the troubled deep send to man? The orange sunset was all at once crimson, then purple, And conscious desolation broke upon me again! See, my dear, you have reminded me again! The farther you are from me in body, your golden soul is overflowing, visceral! The prison-guards of my ...

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    In a universe where slumber's veil did gently sway,
    She stumbled upon a bronze figure, guided by reverie's way.
    Together they nestled in a bed of moon's soft grace,
    And as the night wore on, their spirits did embrace.

    With the break of dawn, he stirred from his repose,
    Moved toward the window, where the morning light rose.
    There, he stood, a silhouette in the sun's gentle glare,
    His skin aglow, a shimmering, radiant affair.

    Yet his face remained elusive, obscured by the haze,
    A handsome beauty, caught in a mystic daze.
    She inquired, "Who are you?" with a curious plea,
    He smirked, whispered, "Time will set you free."

    A promise hung in the air, like a whispered refrain,
    As he turned away, left her in wonder and pain.
    "We shall cross paths once more," he did proclaim,
    Leaving her with longing, longing for...

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    You see, my friend, everything is already working against us. Shards of light from a collapsing, spacious sky, like a scalpel or a sharpened knife tip, send us its cumbersome bricklaying every day. We no longer even discuss or investigate who was right: eleven or a few years of friendship can do no harm. It’s a pretty luxury thing these days to have a conscious doubt that one should back down.

    I've heard you curse and squeal heartily, even on the boards of an atomic bomb-inspionage stage, and just behind the scenes. As a poor Otello, your face was plastered by a brownish chocolate mass while your beautiful, chirping Desdemonade swept across the stage like a swan-ballerina subrette. "This ragged life has played well with us!" You sang. I can no longer say what you know you want to hear. We have both been pathetic figures out of Existence and graces! After the stage, you washed your makeup and made it totally inaccessible in your mundanen...

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    Every road is at the same time a pitiful mouse-path, an internal escape to another, perhaps more unknown, more uncertain shelter... And you can see swarms of rats swarming under the pillars of the Erzsébet Bridge, which have begun to rust. Well, what about you?! Aren't you ashamed of yourselves, usurpers, greedy, for breaking into Life like this?!

    The big yellow cheese-smelling Moon up there was also blinded. You sit up in the cotton candy sky as if you have nothing else to do but deliberately make fun of people who have lied to themselves. Its twisted, flickering light no longer casts tiger-nest shadows on the solitary cells of the rooms. All my friends, with whom I once had a connection, have left and moved abroad.

    And nowadays there are hardly even eight people in whom Loyalty is not dead, eight for whom the good old trust still shines in a handshake and an honest word! After all, the only way to get by here right now is to go hungr...

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    Curriculum of praise

    Amazement out done

    Theory of understanding

    Knowledge sustaining

    Discipline divine

    Professor so kind

    Patient and humble

    Guided through mistakes

    It is never too late

    Turning wrong into right

    It happens day and night

    Teachings 24 hours overview

    All the spiritual student has to do is pursue

    Whatever you don’t understand becomes explained

    Detail to detail

    Without fail

    When in doubt, it is Faith that works it out

    Closer to Thee

    Achievement definitely decreed

    No need for a degree

    Approved automatic with spiritual credibility

    Enforced goodness

    Students are the witness

    Spiritual class always forever

    Wise and clever

    Students always prepared for the world to enter.


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    At midnight, I found myself ensnared, a captive in a glass domain,
    My limbs bound tight with ropes, a chilling, eerie, haunting chain.
    Within this fragile prison, my heart began to race,
    As water swelled around me, an impending drowning chase. 

    Helplessness and fear, my constant, haunting guide,
    As the glass box filled relentlessly, a rising, murky tide.
    The water climbed, relentless, to the very top at last,
    And in that suffocating moment, all seemed to be surpassed.

    I gasped for breath, but air was a memory so remote,
    In the watery abyss, I sought for a lifeline, a hopeful note.
    Yet, dreams are cruel architects, weaving tales surreal,
    For as the water claimed my essence, it was not the final seal.

    I woke, but not to freedom, another cycle soon began,
    Drowned once more in agony, in a watery, endless span.
    Ages passed in moments, a never-ending plight,

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    I've known for a long time, there's no need for nicknames, false promises, or words. I would have to finally set out bravely without even looking back, slamming doors and windows behind me.

    Those who have been honored to meet me so far will stay with me for a while. For a while, I still want to put a flower wreath in the waterfall hair cascade of real lady-angels. I carry with me my memories condemned to neglect at the age of forty, less than three years old.

    My battered, timeless yearning for a more honest, romantic world, which seems increasingly distant, can only be an idyllic fog on the wall of my thinking imagination.

    Yet, like a magnetic force, it pulls you towards you, beckons you to think that it might be possible to get by here in a different way. My longing hope often dwindles, and I start to feel empty, just like the gaping Emptiness inside me.

    I am still weak with ear...

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