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If I was to choose I would fall for you again. Coz you complete me In a way I can't describe.. For more poems join our channel
We Will Not Kneel
---------------
They strike us down in daylight’s glare,
spewing bullets with reckless abandon.
Bodies lie motionless on the tarmac—
as if silence can be bought with fear.
But we are a raging storm, a rising tide,
voices they cannot erase.
They wield power like a weapon,
a dark cloud looming over us.
Cold and cruel, hearts made of stone,
but here, we make our stand.
We will not be bought nor swayed—
we will fight, for our freedom, our rights,
for the accountability owed to us.
Democracy against tyranny.
By our voices, by the bullet, by the gun,
by the blood of those taken,
we will stand where cowards crumble.
We will fight until the shackles break—
for a people awakened will not kneel.
We will etch our defiance in fire.
Let justice be our shield and defender.
We are the people, we are the pulse—
and we will never back down again.
~ The Modern Romeo.
4th Apr 025
We Will Not Kneel
---------------
They strike us down in daylight’s glare,
spewing bullets with reckless abandon.
Bodies lie motionless on the tarmac—
as if silence can be bought with fear.
But we are a raging storm, a rising tide,
voices they cannot erase.
They wield power like a weapon,
a dark cloud looming over us.
Cold and cruel, hearts made of stone,
but here, we make our stand.
We will not be bought nor swayed—
we will fight, for our freedom, our rights,
for the accountability owed to us.
Democracy against tyranny.
By our voices, by the bullet, by the gun,
by the blood of those taken,
we will stand where cowards crumble.
We will fight until the shackles break—
for a people awakened will not kneel.
We will etch our defiance in fire.
Let justice be our shield and defender.
We are the people, we are the pulse—
and we will never back down again.
~ The Modern Romeo.
4th Apr 025
DEAR FUTURE ME
Hey future me, are you listening ?
Am I still in you or do you miss me ?
I'm on a crossroad, I need you here,
I'll choose the wrong road, I fear.
The uncertainties are freaking me out,
I feel insane and I just wanna shout,
Can't grasp these endless possibilities,
I wish to stop questioning my abilities.
So if I knock on your door, would you let me in?
Would you show me the things I craved to win?
I almost stopped dreaming due to unachieved credential,
Are you familiar with always self-doubting your potential ?
You were here, you went through this too,
But for me, it feels so out of blue,
Horns are loud and signals indistinctable,
The pedals to press feel too unpredictable.
So please guide me, say that I'll be fine,
Light the path and I'll walk your line,
Reveal to me what kept you going
Sing me the song and I'll keep on rowing.
Where did you go? What did you seek ?
Were you lucky to get a future sneak-peek?
Or were you alone? Were you struggling ?
Did you find the answers in your upbringing?
I'm super curious and very unstable,
Tell me that we ARE capable,
Show me the victory and the mistake,
Would you go back to rewrite and remake?
Please tell me it's worth the wait
That I haven't yet sealed my fate;
I hope we make it, I hope I survive
Or am I still searching, trying to thrive?
In your eyes, was I ever enough ?
Did I break or did I learn to be tough ?
If by a mircale, my pleas ever reach thee,
Would you whisper back the answers to me?
~inks_and_dots
Love Eternal.
I'm crazy over you,
Entangled with dreams of being yours
Encompassed with throes yet to be,
A whisper in the wind
A fire that never wanes
I long to be the Lancelot to your guinevere
Defying odds and crowns, forsaking all
For a love that transverses through time
Yet never dares to fall
The romeo to your Juliet
Not a tale of sorrowed woe
But one where love outlives the grave
Where time halts to let us grow.
The Antony to your Cleopatra,
Bound by fate, defying the universe
Even if the heavens conspire
I promise to love you through the wars.
I'm crazy over you
More than words could dare to prove
No legend shall tell our love complete
For only we'll define it's truth.
- Modern Romeo
https://artatheartinklings.wordpress.com/2025/03/23/love-eternal/
Two Calls, One Heartbeat
Two voices echoed down the line,
Familiar tones I once called mine.
Two hearts that danced in different days,
Now stirring memories in tangled ways.
The first, a smile wrapped in warm regret,
Soft laughter laced with things unsaid.
She asked how life had been since then,
A gentle ghost still calling me "friend."
The second call — oh, sharper still —
A fire that flickered yet refused to chill.
Her words were bold, her voice held pride,
Yet something softer lingered inside.
Two calls, yet both held common ground —
Not love rekindled, nor bridges burned down.
Just whispers of what we used to be,
Fragments of love now drifting free.
I smiled, I sighed, I held on tight
To memories that softened the night.
For love may fade, but it never quite dies —
It lingers in echoes, in voices, in sighs.
It Felt So Good to Be a Kid, Didn’t It?
Back then, time was slow.
Afternoons stretched forever,
and the biggest worry was choosing
between hide-and-seek or one last round of tag.
Scraped knees were proof of adventure,
tears dried before they even touched the ground.
Losing never felt like failure—
tomorrow was always a second chance.
Then, we grew up.
Now, the days blur into each other.
Mornings start with alarms that ring too soon,
afternoons disappear in deadlines and to-do lists,
and nights are borrowed hours,
spent catching up on things we never really finish.
Laughter is quieter,
buried beneath unread messages,
half-written assignments,
and the weight of everything we don’t say.
Books pile up like unfinished dreams.
Sleep is a luxury we bargain with.
Success feels like a moving target,
happiness like something we have to earn.
No one prepared us for this—
for the weight of invisible expectations,
for the pressure of always being ‘enough,’
for the fear of falling behind
in a race we never agreed to run.
Some nights, we wish we could go back—
to when happiness was effortless,
when rest didn’t come with guilt,
when life wasn’t measured in deadlines,
missed calls, and silent regrets.
But maybe growing up
isn’t just about pushing forward.
Maybe it’s about knowing
when to stop,
when to breathe,
when to let ourselves just exist.
And maybe, just maybe,
the world will wait for us.
~Thoughtless
Brick by Brick
I know what it’s like—
to sit alone with your thoughts,
staring at the ceiling at 2 AM,
telling yourself, Tomorrow, I’ll be better.
Then waking up,
falling into the same old patterns,
the undone to-do lists,
the endless scrolling,
the quiet guilt of another lost day.
I know what it’s like to feel stuck,
as if life is running ahead
while you’re still tying your shoes.
To feel fear whisper in your ear,
What if you never change?
What if you’re always this version of yourself?
To feel the weight of regret,
the memories pressing against your chest,
all the things you should have done,
the words you should have said.
But I also know what it’s like
to feel a spark of hope—
a tiny ember refusing to die,
a whisper that says, Maybe today will be different.
I know the warmth of love,
the way it fills the cracks of your soul
even when you feel unworthy of it.
I know the joy of laughter,
how it echoes through a crowded room,
how a simple sunset
can make the world feel lighter.
And I know that life is not just about the highs.
It is also about the nights when you feel lonely
in a room full of people.
The days when you feel lost in your own skin.
But tell me this—
what if change isn’t a switch you flip,
but a wall you build—one small brick at a time?
What if every moment of doubt,
every tear, every regret,
every tiny victory,
is another piece of the foundation?
What if change is already unfolding,
in the quiet moments when no one is watching?
What if you’re already becoming something more,
just by wanting to?
~Thoughtless
Only amateurs hate Monday.
True professionals hate the entire work weak
WHEN I DIE
When I die
Tell mama
I gave life all I got,
Tell mama
I was ready to make her
A proud mother.
When I die,
Don't bother crying
If all what you did
Is make me cry,
Don't show up
When you never showed up
Whenever I reached out.
To you who has my piece,
When I die forget about me,
If what was there was fake
Don't preserve memories.
When I die
Don't say you knew me
If all what you did
was use me,
Was push me away
After trying to solve our differences.
When I die
Tell Mama she was one in a million,
And that I love her and treasure her.
@S.I.M(Leibling ❤️)
© Sharon Immaculate
When the night descends,
the mask begins to slip.
The role I master in daylight,
at night, laughs at my script.
I claim to be unshaken,
shouting it through the day,
but in this hollow silence,
I fold like paper, lost to the night.
I boast;
Nothing matters anymore.
Yet on these towering walls,
that old clock with every tick,
hurls my past at my face like a blow.
The face that once ruled the mirrors,
now stares back with hollowed eyes.
The sun let me hide behind veils of pride,
but darkness strips me of my disguise.
When the night descends,
the mask begins to slip.
The role I master in daylight,
at night, laughs at my script.
I claim to be unshaken,
shouting it through the day,
but in this hollow silence,
I fold like paper, lost to the night.
I boast;
Nothing matters anymore.
Yet on these towering walls,
that old clock with every tick,
hurls my past at my face like a blow.
The face that once ruled the mirrors,
now stares back with hollowed eyes.
The sun let me hide behind veils of pride,
but darkness strips me of my disguise.
Last night, I closed my eyes, but my brain clocked in for overtime.
It sat at the desk of my skull, shuffling memories of you
Replaying your laughter like a late-night DJ with no sense of mercy.
I whispered, "Sleep, please," but my heart? Oh no
It was out here writing love letters to the ceiling.
I tossed. I turned. I even had a TED Talk with my pillow.
"Listen, bro, we gotta sleep."
But my pillow just sighed, all fluffed up with your scent,
Whispering back, "Man, just text her already."
So there I was, 3 AM, drafting romantic paragraphs in my head,
Paragraphs that you’ll never read because I fell asleep mid-thought
Only to wake up with one sock missing, a dry throat, and a dream
where you were feeding me cake... but right before the first bite,
my alarm clock said, "Nah fam, time to wake up."
And now, here I am, half-human, half-zombie,
Running on coffee and the energy of your last "I miss you."
So if I yawn while staring at you today, don’t be mad
I’m just sleep-deprived... because loving you is a full-time job.
And I’m working overtime.
Will it heal you
if I apologize,
for the scars
I never gave.
- Priyanka Metha
No—
this will break me
Into halves.
Of a million pieces,
Of my heart struggling
to make me feel alive.
Not because I blamed you…
but because I let you believe
you were the reason for my pain.
When the truth is—
I was always at war with myself.
The scars I carry
belong to my past,
not your future.
But I let them touch you.
I let them shape the way I loved you—
like arms that wanted to hold,
but only knew how to break.
You were my everything.
And yet, little do you know—
I carved these wounds myself,
then placed them in your hands
as if you were the one who cut me.
I never meant to hurt you.
But pain is all I’ve ever known.
I was never enough for you,
but somehow,
I was too much for myself.
Trapped between who I was
and who I swore I’d never be.
Drowning in the past,
suffocating a future I don’t deserve.
And if I whisper,
"I’m not enough..."
Will you leave me?
Please do.
Not because I don’t love you.
But because I do—
too much,
too wrong,
too destructively.
Because I am carving scars into tomorrow,
and tomorrow is you,
my love.
And in the end—
you will only bleed for one…
but I?
I will bleed for two.
For myself,
and for you.
For the wounds I carry,
and the ones I left on you.
For the past that still haunts me,
and the future I will never hold.
For the love that tried to save me,
and the love I made suffer.
I will bleed—
until my past has had its fill,
until my sins have been paid in full,
until I have given back every piece of you I stole.
And when there is nothing left of me,
maybe then—
you will finally heal.
- Achu B
The Academia Of 24 Hours
The Internet is a marvelous place.
You can almost find everything you are looking
for there.
Sometimes I google my name to see what I find.
Facebook used to be for college kids.
Mark, you are a genius.
Everyone's dancing on TickTok.
And the intellects are at on Twitter.
My dog has an eating disorder.
I have an eating disorder,
I wonder where my dog got it from.
I wrote two novels using my phone.
The times are changing.
YouTube is a godsend when you cannot sleep.
Is organic food really organic? Who knows?
I have dreams with my brother too often.
I like to think it is him entering my consciousness
just to make me laugh.
Getting old sucks.
Watching people you love get old sucks even more.
I hope you have a nice day.
I hope today someone tells
you how important you are.
You are important.
🍂
I don't want to.
I don't want to go to the places we've been before. I don't want to listen to those songs. I don't want to miss your hugs and kisses. I don't want to remember how you make me laugh. I don't want to miss your silly face anymore. I don't want to miss anything about you. I don't want to remember the little things about you anymore. I don't want to look at our pictures anymore. I don't want to miss our memories again. I don't want to cry again for missing you. I don't want to feel the pain anymore. I don't want to remember how good you make me feel and how loud you make me laugh. I don't want to remember how your face can make me the happiest person in the world. I don't want to make you cry again. I don't want to hurt you again. I don't want you to hurt me again. I don't want us to keep hurting each other. I don't want you to say that you miss me. I don't want to say that I miss you. I don't want to feel this pain again. I don't want to fall in love with you again. I am afraid. I don't want to.
Salt on the wound
At first, it hurt, the wound too raw,
like a jagged tear in velvet,
like a chisel mark on cold stone.
Memories linger, endless like a river,
with nights awake in solitude
and days spent in a mask of wholeness.
Salt poured into the tender flesh,
A blade twisted into the very core.
A sting that carried the shadows of the past,
Of battles that were lost,
Of words that were left unsaid,
Of silence that stayed, and
Of goodbyes that came too soon.
Yet in the ache, time weaved its magic.
What once seemed a curse sparked something,
something quiet,
slow—
The wound began to change;
Resilience stitched with delicate strands.
Now, all that remains is a faint scar-
A mark that holds the echoes of pain.
A reminder that even the deepest of wounds
carry within them the seed of strength.
A scar that’s no flaw, but
a chapter of the story etched into my skin.
A story not of defeat, but of quiet victory.
INK AND FIRE.
With this mighty pen, I'll slay,
I'll write away,
What's in my heart and head—
I'll bare it all.
With it, my skin I'll puncture,
I'll gush and bleed on paper,
Pour myself out,
Washing my soul clean.
Through ink-stained expressions,
Storied with pain and sorrow,
Interwoven in deep trenches
Of tears, fears, and regret.
Yet with this mighty pen,
I'll respire to inspire,
Deconstruct and restore,
Create whole new canyons, bridging.
Worlds, hearts, and minds.
With rhyme and metaphors,
Alliteration, assonance, consonance—
I’ll weave symphonies from silence,
Etch echoes into eternity,
Forge rebellion in sonnets,
And whisper revolutions
Between the lines.
Each verse, a tempest,
Each stanza is a spark,
Kindling hearts, igniting thought,
Unveiling truth in the guise of art.
For with this mighty pen,
I do not merely write—
I bleed, I build, I burn,
And from the ashes, I'll create.
- The Modern Romeo.
27.03.2025
https://shorturl.at/CN4Qs
Eclipsed in Desire.
---
From dusk till dawn,
You'll be mine, my own, my all.
Under candlelight’s quivering glow,
Swathed in yearning, cloaked in longing,
A slow-burning fire erupts from within,
Like a volcano stirring beneath the earth.
Your whispers—soft, sultry—
Your touch—a spark, a searing flame
Ignite an inferno deep inside,
Breathless, weightless bodies entwined,
Lost in the abyss of the night’s embrace.
Your lips—sweet intoxication,
A wine I sip with ravenous thirst.
Drunk on fervour, on need, on insatiable craving,
No seconds to squander, no minutes to waste.
The air, thick—laced with hunger,
A rhythm unspoken, a desire untamed.
Sighs like poetry, moans like melody,
Skin to skin, a fevered embrace.
Synchronized movements, urgent, slow,
No time, no space—just ebb and flow.
The night stretchs and dawn creeps in
But we're still lost in the heat
For in your arms, i long to stay
Again and again, till morning’s light
Two souls consumed in endless delight.
~ The Modern Romeo.
25 Mar 25
“You have your perspective, because you haven't tasted the fruit yet and can't decide weather it's sweet or bitter.”
“And well I'll choose to have only one sweet fruit all my life rather than licking and biting the rotten ones in the search of the sweetest.”
“And how will you know what's rotten from inside? Appearances are deceptive.”
“But at last I'll try to be the rightful one for that one fruit, and how it's tastes , I'll leave it on fate/god/luck.”
“You can give your best,but you can't expect the same coming for you.”
But let's hope for good. After all we can't do anything except giving pseudo hope to ourselves.”
~Zikra🥀
When they ask me,
"What’s your deepest fear?"
I open my mouth,
But the words never come out.
How do I say it?
How do I admit that my fear isn’t a possibility,
But my reality?
That I am average,
That I have never been enough,
And maybe never will be?
I try but I fail,
Watch others rise,
Watch them shine,
While I remain
Stuck in a constant pain.
I tell myself to fight,
To push harder, to be more,
But the truth is, I’m tired.
Tired of running in circles,
And still be in that same zone.
So I just smile,
A hollow, practiced thing,
And say something I don’t really fear.
Something easy, something light,
Because I always fail to declare
That I am already living my nightmare.
~ The Poetry Room
A Soldier's Time
Time ticks steady on a warrior's wrist,
A silent rhythm that can't be missed.
The digital glow marks moments passed,
Yet courage and duty hold steadfast.
Camouflage wraps the steadfast hand,
A symbol of strength where heroes stand.
The bracelet woven in colors bold,
Speaks of pride, a story told.
Black band tight, like a bond unbroken,
Each second passed is a promise spoken.
For in this frame, resolve is clear —
A heart of steel, yet purpose sincere.
In the desert's dust or forest deep,
Time may race, but memories keep.
A soldier's path is never light,
Yet they march on — from day to night.
The Butcher's Symphony
In shadows deep where darkness dwells,
A man of twisted, savage spells,
He finds his joy in crimson art,
With every beat of a breaking heart.
His eyes agleam with fevered light,
He hunts his prey in dead of night,
No mercy shown, no tear to shed,
He paints the town with hues of red.
The blade he holds, so keen and bright,
A lover's touch in silent night,
With skillful hand he peels the skin,
A macabre dance, his game begins.
Like peeling potatoes, soft and slow,
The flesh gives way, the blood does flow,
He keeps each strip, his trophies grim,
In gruesome collection, limbs grow thin.
He loves to lick the blood so sweet,
The taste of death his favorite treat,
A fountain spurts with every slice,
He drinks it in, a dark delight.
Blue bruises bloom with brutal grace,
Then painted red with fierce embrace,
Each mark a testament to pain,
A scarlet kiss, a bloody stain.
He takes an artery in hand,
And pulls it like a rubber band,
With fascination, eyes alight,
He pierces through, relishes the sight.
The veins he plucks with tender care,
A ghastly garland, foul and rare,
In each he sees a twisted toy,
A psychopath's unholy joy.
A living heart within his grasp,
He plays with it, a deathly clasp,
He feels its beat, its final thrum,
A melody of life undone.
He blows the lungs like child’s balloon,
Then bursts them with a forceful tune,
A symphony of agony,
His twisted, dark cacophony.
He plucks the eyes, those windows bright,
And rolls them like his marbles white,
A chilling game from days of yore,
Nostalgia steeped in blood and gore.
With every tear, with every shred,
He feels alive, though others dead,
A butcher's love, so dark, so deep,
In crimson pools his passions seep.
No hint of guilt, no whisper faint,
Just brutal joy in blood and taint,
He savors every anguished cry,
A monster cloaked in human guise.
His hands, they dance, his blade, it sings,
In horrid arcs, in violent swings,
Each slice a note in bloody hymn,
A requiem for severed limbs.
The lifeless forms, his dark delight,
He cherishes in dead of night,
A psychopath with savage grace,
In death's embrace he finds his place.
To watch the life drain from the eyes,
To hear the final, gasping sighs,
He basks in death's cold, sterile light,
A butcher's art, a killer's rite.
In darkness, he remains unseen,
A shadow on a bloody scene,
His twisted tale, a chilling lore,
Of death and blood forevermore.
With every kill, his heart beats strong,
A symphony, a butcher's song,
In silent night, where shadows fall,
He is the darkest force of all.
So heed this tale, this ghastly rhyme,
Of butcher's love, of heinous crime,
In every cut, in every scream,
He lives his nightmare, wakes his dream...
~N@$hh.....
*EARNEST*
Earnest time is , passing by ;
Death is earnest , drawing nigh ;
Lovers to yourself honest be ;
For sure heartbreakers and soul freezers appeal to thee .
Earnest love is , it's affection take ;
Yes indeed broken seasons has passed away , no time to fake ;
No maheu but your buttocks for only your man shake ;
My dear life is earnest, when it's over ;
Indeed returns never .
Sick of sadness no longer be , for your man smile and flee ;
Joy and peace , waits for thee ;
In your eyes , let him see more stars than the stars in the sky ;
To him yourself submit free , free to fly continentary no shy .
Done by *RoKay*
Good morning to a soul so bright,
A spark that turns the dark to light,
Gloom to glee, pure and free.
The morning breeze may whisper low,
But your laughter is the sweetest glow.
May sunshine dance upon your face,
And fill your day with warmth and grace.
So rise and shine, embrace the day,
Chase your dreams in your own way.
May this day be kind to you,
With clear skies, intentions true.
And when a smile graces your face,
Know someone dreams of your embrace.
-Modern Romeo.
https://artatheartinklings.wordpress.com/2025/03/13/good-morning/
The Orcharder and ...
To fro— their forearms swirl us close.
Sloshy gills, their silk digits—
rinses as I breathe the cold water-slush.
Slice and dice,
Then I smack my spice to your smelling nerve.
Would you bring me closer?...
So I see you.
That trace fossil of pink itched lips,
flaky pave of the frozen meadow's graze
Perhaps a remark of garden's grace or season's maze.
Yes,
I can feel their warm breath.
Air that blended amongst starlights to every leaf's lush
then symphonized florid to voice a rosy gleam
and to surf their dark Navy.
Might I be finished or feel their soothing core,
I could relish their hard or strenuous endure.
Yet I endear the way their hands greet me;
"Hello, good Apple"
#Orcharder_s_Love
#Beneficiary_s_empathy :)
#intimacy_of_simplicity
Be Shawl or Shadow
Wrap me warm in your silk,
Would be a moment to cherish
Perhaps shall be wounded or thawed.
The shawl's frenzy thread,
Entangles my neck and head
For warmth or for death—
Anchored by me, to steer free,
Must seize for warmth's triumph
A shawl wreath on this.
Rather be an assistance of light,
Behind this, under the flight of life
But not to miss when required,
Or will you just dissolve with the dusk?
Would I find thou in the twilights?
Perhaps a void devotion of night
I would never cease to gaze and freeze,
Always staying with his breeze.
#Thy_devotee
#frail_warmth
I hope it's not about getting there whole, because I know I'm missing a lot of my pieces.
I hope it's not about the colors, too, because I only got my shades of blue.
When they say there's a place in this universe only meant for us,
I really hope it's not based on beauty.
Because I'm covered in scars and traumas, rejections and tears.
But, no, I'm never giving up.
I won't turn my back and walk away.
I'll keep walking and ignore the pain of the blisters on my feet, wishing along the way that somehow, when I get there, all the little things that keep me awake at night just disappear.
I really hope with all my heart that it will be worth it.
~Jun Mark Patilan
🍂
LADIES, PLEASE PAY ATTENTION!!!
Men have two main reasons for being with women: SEX and LOVE. However, when it comes to marriage, most men don’t marry for either of those reasons. They marry for STABILITY.
Here’s what I mean:
A man can love you and not marry you. He can have sex with you for years without marrying you. But once he finds someone who brings stability into his life, he will marry her.
By "stability," I mean "Peace of Mind." I've heard men say, "I love this woman, but I don’t think I can spend my life with her." When men think about marriage, they don’t focus on things like wedding dresses or bridesmaids, like many women do. Instead, they think, “Can this woman build a home with me? Can she take care of our kids and me? Will she bring me peace and comfort?”
Men want peace. They don’t like women who cause them stress. That’s why a man might stay with one woman for years but marry another one after only a short time.
For men, it’s not just about sex or love. It’s about RESPECT, because that brings STABILITY.
The Soul of My land
If my country was a sound,
It'd be the call to prayer at dawn,
The laughter of children playing.
It’d be the hum of a bustling market
And trade,
And the echo of footsteps on streets
where history was made.
If my country was a light,
it'd be the flame of a lantern.
It’d be the golden rays
On al-Quds stones,
where every exile finds home.
If my country was a taste,
It'd be za'atar on warm bread,
The sweetness of dates.
it’d be the salt of the Dead Sea,
And sweet figs from our ancient tree.
It’d carry the tang of olives,
The richness of oil,
The flavors of a land nurtured through love and toil.
If my country was a scent,
It'd be jasmine,
Or the smoky scent of oud.
It’d be the fertile soil,
Watered by tears and rain,
And the fragrance of hope,
Rising again enduring through pain.