Those 5 steps…


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I hold my breath to walk two steps slow,

Trying to feel each soft touch of grass on my sole.

Keep my eyes shut to let my naive mind be alive,

Too scared to skip the dubious whip of life.

I tell myself laughing amusingly,

It will inevitably end someday knowingly.

Yet, I aim to exist and exist to feel,

Two more steps that might get pain with no heal.

Four more steps and the grass feels damp no more,

Feels like a stone cold floor pinching my core.

Clouded with thoughts that my eyes wish to forbid,

To seek a world of freedom that has my life on bid.

I take another step to see what looks like the sun,

Hoping its still shining like a ravishing gold bun.

And something struck a thump on my forehead so hard,

I shrunk my lids to get rid of the numbness jar.

I opened my eyes to a gleaming glass ball,

Gleaming gold but not as gold after all.

I live this dream over and over every night,

To make a hopeful living in a room with 5 steps of life.

The Uncountable


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Starts with the numbered reminders of night and day,
Each hour, each minute, each second in an acute way.
Faint green roots under the skin exposed to worn out years,
Constant thumps on the neck binding breaths until the end is near.
Awaiting life in vacant gaps between quivering fingers,
desperate clasping palms weaving a prayer as beavers.
A shield of bones and flesh scattered as pieces of a puzzle,
Absence of senseless jaws to make a bare stomach rumble.
Two tough long steps to the sack and longer leaps to the broken lock,
welcoming numerous itsy-bitsy visitors buzzing off the dock.
Counting each gulp with a tear, each hiccup screaming in silence,
rocking along a chair reeking inevitable greying old fragrance.
A companion within, whispers laughters from the past,
making survival worthy of moments that seemed to never last.
Memories of the unforgettable lost last count of the feeble,
Now, what remained to be counted was left uncountable.

Midnight Lovers


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He sat there sunk in a shining silver couch,
Nervous and silently whining a regret so dire.
Gulping down a goblet of red wine he vouched,
He sneaked few short gazes at her sleazy attire.

She embraced a wicked smile painted red,
A fake kiss or a hopeless lust, what’s on his mind?
He slowly walked on the creaking floor while he said,
Just talk the lust I am longing for since, I lost track of time.

He stroke her hair only to make his wedding ring glitter,
Yet he had his wallet full to keep the night going.
She knew he is an unusual but will never be usual; visitor,
As he burst his agony bubble with frequent sobbing.

Several dark days passed bringing in a ray of hope,
To be his’, to take all his agony, to be loved and be needed.
She felt him closer enough to leave no room for dope,
Just so he could make her a woman who is once completed.

This night, she looked beautiful in her favourite dress,
Naked face, hair done; just like on a date years ago.
She was nervous with her heart racing faster than her steps,
She was delighted that what exists now will forego.

Until, she received a note from her lover,
Thanking her for making him love again.
For now he is living his life with a wife, his real lover,
Their picture tucked in the loaded wallet, a gift to this dame.

The note crumpled in the fist, silently choked on her chest that hurt,
Pinned up their picture on the wall and the wallet lost under the bed cover.
Burning her skin yet again with red lipstick and a leather skirt,
She walked out with a smudged liner looking for another midnight lover…

Happy New Year!!



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The First Last Show


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Gleaming behind a glass of temptation,
A specimen of beauty and comfort’s equation.
Silently calling out to embrace my amateur feet,
Alluring my eloquence refurbishing from raw to neat.

Angel’s satchel is full of greens and metals,
Yet penniless for the wish that runs my pulse.
Delight for prying eyes; more worthy than a true smile,
A sinful joy deceased in a dusty Norm-file.

Endless nights of secretly dreaming the not-to-be-dreamt,
Kissing the morning sun with a leap of hope and faith.
Fight to the top; where the world can see,
What I can be when I am the best in Me.

None would feel until they stop seeing me through,
Though; only a dream would make a dream feel so true.
Now I shall live long enough to tell a beautiful tale,
About the gleaming ballerinas dancing on my grave.

The Mime in the Mirror

Girl on Mirror 3 Ann-Mari Broman

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Spilt Coffee beans, undone bed and a wreckless room,

Was once a past that succumbed to an organized present.

What remains is considerably new lip bloom,

And a dress unwillingly unused like a give-away present.

Eyes shut in an ambiguously crowded park,

Soft screams of the wind as it plays with my hair.

Maybe I am being watched by mocking eyes in the dark,

Or could be another pair like mine on his favourite chair.

Was peaceful in my rendezvous until you demanded my attention,

Saying words of love like you saw me grow each day.

A moment of stronger fancies lured me out of so-called detention,

While you disappeared changing me on an unusual Christmas day.

Although my calendar circled dates to put on my best ensemble,

The lip glitter that would shine again with my smile and no fear.

As I look into the mirror covering my scarred heart; I fumbled,

I hope I am not looking at another mime in the mirror.



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Evening picture art from a shapely window,

Broken latches clinging with windy guests arrival.

One step at a time walks the new widow,

Pale and fragile, senseless with hopeless revival.

  The moment of frenzy arrived with sorrow,

Wiping the stains on the dress; once was; for wedding ritual.

Visibly numb, chaos in mind, thoughts hollow,

Seconds erasing words, dumb and no more lingual.

Grey suit and cocky smile, nothing to be borrowed,

Past shades of insanity with love blessed and mutual.

Blooming in the veins and chords to the depths of marrow,

Nourishing world’s crime adapted from their ruling manual.

She is vile, appalling yet docile to follow,

Declared the walls that witnessed truth so brutal.

Forgave love for the sweet punishment,

While she sat in her beautiful stained dress, waiting to be reincarnated…


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