Fourteen. 02. 18.

As the fall worsens
The distance between us lessens
Letter of a hopeless romantic’s confession ;

How could I ever say no
When she looks like something that has wings and a halo

I wish this feeling would go away
I’m so tired of staying awake

I try to sit still but the vibration you exude makes me blush in multi shades of purple and rose-gold

I don’t believe in Cupid
But it feels like I might do something stupid

Like say I need you and mean it
Like say I love you and believe it
Write this poem for you and worry if you’ve seen it

Like , do something obscene
Something not foreseen
Something on the fourteenth
To make you feel fourteen.

– Āb.

Cover Art credit : Pinterest.com & Āb.

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In my rebirth,

There was shedding of caution scale,

My tongue was taken off auction sale.

There was contractions,
Tectonic contractions the amplitude of which caused ripples in status quo
as that water broke

It was a flooding ,
I try to swim up for air
But the umbilical cord wrap around my neck – a censor noose choking me, intent on causing expressionism’s stillbirth , but I’m ripping my way through this old womb feet first

Push !
old self refuses to budge but NO, this is birth by C-section

It was carnage,

Hell,
Blood everywhere,
Bloody hell
Tongue, casting a Bloody spell
Bloody
Red everywhere
So much blood to paint this town red
and some
Blood in my eyes blood in I rise
Blood

I wrote this in blood as I slaughtered my way out that a red carpet event …

– ĀB,
and the ‘B’ is for ‘Blood’.

Cover Art credit : Pinterest.com & ĀB

All Rights Reversed.

Credits

With this pen I weave into heaven’s seams two thousand and seven themes of 2000 and 17.
To the kings and queens 

And, schemes and scenes

that conspired to bring to you Āb.rantipā in 2000 and 17.

Here’s to words

 

Words that rose above hate’s curse

to make us love birds

To the nerds 
To you nerds who unriddled my words beyond words

and read a verse beyond the first, the second and third.

To the minds that inquired 

And the rhymes that inspired

To the girl who said I write better than I look

And to the friends who said ; “you better write a book”

To the words that broke through the static

To the piece that was a piece of magic.

Thank you;
For reading as I write

For the encouragement that kept me up late at night 

using every joule of my writer’s might

to with words bring to darkness some light 

For the misses and strikes 

For the best wishes and likes

For the comments that made me so psyched,

brought me insight and made me glow inside.

Thank you
For the quotes and shares 

to the side notes and cheers 

and those who didn’t care 

that this year,   we ;
Took Miss ‘Burgundy’  on a date on  ‘14.02.17’

and spoke of ‘Unspoken word’
Became a ‘Ghost writer’

before tragedy of ‘-22’

and the aftermath of its ‘Relativity’
We had ‘Multi-colour’ thoughts 

but were not ‘Losers’
even though ‘The ART’ was struck by ‘Four weeks of heartbreak’
‘Anowa’, the beautiful, found herself on an ‘Archipelago’ and gave us generation ‘X’ in the end. 

So this is a tribute to you , 

The cast and crew,

A thank you is due ,

For all that is well and true

I say a big THANK YOU. 
– Āb 

 Fin.

X

Young and dumb

Utterly hypnotized by oblivion’s song and drum

Young, wild and free 

 Wake up, yarn, smile and sleep
 Now all we are is ;

A zombie horde of YOLO mongers and crappy attitude

Broken hearts, spilt milk and not enough gratitude

Too infatuation by ephemera and banal platitudes.
Dying in the name of living 

Taking in the name of giving 
But who are we to say, who am I to judge 

Who are we today, eggs that were too lazy to hatch ?
 – Āb.rantipā 🆎

ARCHIPELAGO.

On this island,
Shipwrecked on a journey to find myself, I have found myself.
After the storm settled I found that no friends, family or foe survived but myself 
They over indulged in the calm of the low tide and neglected the wrath of the storm to come,

 Intoxicated with the affair of make themselves the centre of attraction of my journey when that could only be myself 
So when the winds of change blew most ferocious, 

when the friendly tide of merry making rose high and came down to bury us all in a mass grave,

I could save nobody by myself.
‘They got carried away’

On this island, 
I have made myself a home
I have mourned the casualties of my journey alone

Alone with little self-doubt 
Alone with the scars left behind by social acceptance’s twelve bouts
Alone from the space where I’m ruled out 

and only they’re views count

Alone with fitting in with myself 
Alone with no one else to love but myself.

On this island,
Cut off from comparison’s competition 

Cut off from distraction’s repetition 
Cut off man-made deadlines of unnatural order

Cut off from man-made concepts engineered to subdue natural order

On this utopia,
Where I’ve learned to let go the thought of being rescued 

and dreaded the thought of being pursued.
On this Island.
 – āb.rantipā

Cover art credit : Stockholm – meldrum and āb.rantipā .

All Rights Reversed.

Anowa

She said ;
sticks and stones 

may break my bones

 But I’ll rather be a paraplegic with a mind of my own.

 


She possesses a touch that could tame dragons but, life is no game of thrones

She’s odd 

So, to blend in she uses her makeup to make her skin change tones

And that’s not the only skill she hones


 In a crowd she’s alone

She’s more than the known

much more misunderstood pass unknowns

So she doesn’t settle for any Tom, Dick and Jones

Who can afford to buy her the trendiest new phones


 She capitulate to no men comfortable hitting another of her kind like keys of a xylophone 


 ‘Patriarchy’ said; “stop her”, 

her arrogance has gone full blown


She said;

She wouldn’t call them ‘B’ with two ‘O’s

So they call her queen bee of school ‘hos’

 But ,


“even ‘hoes’ have goals 

they till soil to feed these lost souls


” They ask us to stoop low

   but NO , 

   we go toe-to-toe 

   match them blow for blow “.



She didn’t choose silver over clout 

Yet she’s a silver linings beneath a dark cloud

And when I asked her; what she wanted to do in future ?

 She said; “make myself proud”



 You mother of heirs 

 Mother of air

 Mother of earth 

 Mother on earth 

 There can by reverence only as the power of a black mother unearth 


Canonize and make a black martyr of her

  she has got to be the reason black lives matter on earth


  she has got to be the reason black lives matter on earth


Br3br3 Anowa

Anowa br3br3.


 – āb.rantipā 

The End.

How did we go from that to this

Go from table mannered to breaking the dish
Go from “yeah” to “yeah you wish !”
Go from “pick my calls” to hiding even calls you miss
Go to the point where every txt is from your sis
and everything I say is a ‘Dis’ :-
Dis-respect, dis-dain, dis-tort, dis-miss

Go take thirty piece of silver and betray me with a kiss
Go from mature adults to petty kids
Go from ‘telling me everything’ to “mind your own biz”
You use to smell of my cologne, now you smell of his
gave you all I had, didn’t even keep a pot to piss
How did I go from  ‘the one and only’ to not even being on the list

Go from
  I love you
to
    love you
to
            you
to
                u
to

– āb

Last week of (Four Weeks of Heartbreak)
Cover art credit : pinimg.com & ab.
All Rights Reserved.

Thank you ever so much for coming along with WhisperZ and I through this series, Thank you.