#Sentimental Poetry

[e-kalam-saurabh-say]

पापा की परी-बेटियाँ - Papa Ki Pari-Betiyaan

सोने से भी खरी  करीने सी ढली  इतनी महान  बड़ो से भी बड़ी  होती हैं बेटियाँ  निष्ठुर से निष्ठुर को भी  प्यार आ ही जाता है  जब वो नन्ही बच्ची को  कस के गले लगाता है  उनकी मुस्कान में  प्रभु की छाँया है  दौलतमंद है वो पिता  जिसके घर यह माया है  बस एक यह अफ़सोस  हमेशा दिल को सालता है  फिर क्यों बेटियों को  मनुष्य गर्भ में ही  मार डालता है  उनको जीने दो  उनको भी जीने का हक़ है  बेटियां आफ़त नहीं  हमारा गोल्डन लक है 

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[nacht-durst]

It’s often the same.

The same pattern. I am falling back into thoughts, finding myself in deeply melancholic emotions, that I would like to express, but don’t know how. Every time I write about what I feel, I don’t like it, obviously because it’s often very sad and I don’t want to be the dramatic one. I don’t want to be the one complaining about life. I don’t want to be the mood killer, that is spreading heavy words.

Still it’s a tool to me. A tool to let go of that what is quietly appearing and heavy to take.

I would like to not feel the way I do. I would like to be the one that I try to be, but what’s left in me is sometimes just a lot of confusion. I hope no one recognizes my confusion, I hope no one gets, that I am completely clueless.

— 27th of July in 2023

[lickthecowhappy]

What do you think he keeps with him?

A white handkerchief made of softest silk A pocket watch adorned with snaking filigree A ring of keys that unlock precious things: One for a door to hoarded tomes One for the desk drawer hiding secrets One for a set of shackles chained to crêpes and brioche A pearl found in a demon’s first oyster A shilling exchanged for ninety guineas A rifle bullet “caught” on the West End Stage A burned prophecy from a Nice and Accurate book And one immortal lifetime of love folded so deliberately that no one can see its shape

Read more of my work here. This poem is also available on AO3.

[queer-aesthete-poetry]

RoadKill

i lie down like roadkill

rabbit with fur broken

crumpled cassock

piece of litter

for you to swoop down like a magpie

pick at my soft centre

strewn across the tarmac

i always did wear my heart on my sleeve

[connectingwithsoul]

When your soul is longing for someone, it never goes away.

@connectingwithsoul

[kiisuuumii]

@kiisuuumii (songbird) [for anon]

[lamentofspring]

‘I am the one who tears open your ribs for the sake of becoming less of me & more of you / I am the one who cradles the heart inside / tell me to close you up again / I will close you up from the inside’

— haley nichole green, excerpt of the unwell will be fed

[definegodliness]

Sentimental

Within bedlam the sunlight trickles down liquid and delayed as if fat drops of rain, racing across a speeding car's window.

Inside the storm sleep feels ever distant, as wind cradles fragility and we search for shelter under juniper trees.

We brave the tempest, strands of hair stuck to our faces, wiped away for a brash openness and a smile that is the invigoration of temporarily being invulnerably human.

We wake touching ground with dirt caked under nails and grass between toes. We gaze up, jealous of birds in a perfect sky, damning our fear of heights.

Then, the sun caresses the horizon, and our visions rest as we collide, tempted into the star-strewn night.

--- Sentimental is a collaborative piece between @madworlddiary and @definegodliness. We hope you enjoy it! I've very much liked writing and being challenged by Kelly. Thank you so much!

[uaravsh]

"I was a romantic and sentimental creature, with a tendency towards solitude."

- Isabel Allende, The House of the Spirits (@silentroad )

[violentlillamb]

im totally okay. i can be trusted with romance too…

[sleeplessv0id]

if I ever cared about you in at least some point of my life, there's still reminders of you. In my room, as well as my life.

[scramboileditlog]

People who find meaning in everything are my kind of people. To them, everything matters. They feel the mood of the sky, the solitude of the moon, the strength of the wind, the touch of a song, and understands how memories can be a reason to cry or be happy. They’re the ones who love deeply.

[sillycoloredcereal]

to anyone

who feels as if their youth has been wasted at the ages of 18-25, there’s no need to worry. you’re just getting started.

[crowleys-bentley-and-plants]

Im packing my books but they wont all fit in one box (it's too heavy), so i scatter them, mix with other things, nestle them between pots and postcards, tuck them between sweaters and socks. I hope they feel a bit warmer this way, not too startled by the sudden dark, or by the shuffling as i press them in, out of order, out of place, ripped from the home they had begun to make.

And now my bookcase has gaps in it like missing teeth. The shelves look strange, like hollowed bones. It looks kinda funny, like a crooked smile, a quirky puzzle missing its key pieces, not at all like a neglected library or a neglected brain.

No, it’s just a whimsical design choice,

an artistic statement about minimalism,

a bold declaration of the less is more philosophy.

Each empty space invites the imagination,

like a gallery of ghosts whispering,

“Remember us?” while i pretend it’s all intentional.

It’s definitely not a sign of a hasty move,

or a midlife crisis disguised as decluttering.

Yes, this is clearly a masterclass in aesthetics,

a tribute to modern art,

where asymmetry reigns and chaos thrives—

a playful nod to all those who dare to be different.

So here’s to my lovely, incomplete bookcase,

a monument to my unending quest for the perfect shelf,

because who needs completion when you can have character?

[lamentofspring]

haley nichole green, I wrap in my softness your broken wing

[lbluel-04]

Ya me di cuenta que no necesito amor, sino irme del país.