Dada sucks my Nipple its Claustrophobic Between your Noun

Reblogged on WordPress.com

Source: Dada sucks my Nipple its Claustrophobic Between your Noun

‘Bol’- Speak up!

Your words are free.
Speak up!
Your tongue is still your own.
Your body remains yours
ramrod, erect.
Speak out!
Your life is still your own.

Look!
How in your smithy’s forge
flames soar;
iron glows red.
How the locks
have opened yaws
and every chain
spreads out, unlinked.

The short time left to you
is still enough.
Speak up!
Before the body
and its tongue give out.
Speak out!
For truth still survives
Speak out!
Say whatever you have to say!

~ Comrade Faiz Ahmed Faiz ~
[13 February 1911 – 20 November 1984]

‘Bol’- Speak up! Translated by © Mustansir Dalvi

Source: Facebook

Ode to an autistic girl by Auti Woman Different Box (BLW Contributor) 

Reposted from  Be Like Water

 

I write to you autistic girl
Telling you what you need to know.
I spent many years,
Fighting back the tears
Lost in this world alone.

I am autistic loud and proud
But that wasn’t always the case.
I use to believe
That I was not real
A robot made in space….. continued

Source: Ode to an autistic girl by Auti Woman Different Box (BLW Contributor) « Be Like Water

One Breath, One Beat

Impose upon my Heart
Thy Love’s Command,
For I will more Willingly Obey
Than Draw my next Breath.
From Thee Alone does my Love and Life extend,
And if I cannot Breathe Thee,
I would choose to Breathe
Not At All.

Compel my Heart to Pound
For Thee Alone, My Love,
For it would more Ardently Keep
Temperate Time with Thine,
Than Beat a single measure Unaided by Thy Fervor;
And if I cannot Touch Thy Heart,
I would choose for mine to Beat
Not At All.

 

~Morgan~

 

 

Photography found at : http://www.intent.com

 

Source: One Breath, One Beat

The Meadow

The Meadow BY HARRY

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Submitted by Fatima Ahmed

A splendid view, before my eyes

Swaying daffodils, that soon shall die

The oak that stands as still as stone

Giving countless birds a beautiful home

The sky that is unusually blue

Giving the yeller below, an earthly hue

The leaves that shed, but never touch the ground

As they soar high and wander around

Not a soul to see in thousand miles

And yet I cannot force a smile

On my woe begotten, worn out face

My spirits, I cannot raise

A beautiful sight might be the meadow

That I watch through the broken window!

Source: The Meadow