WELCOME TO POETRY INVOICE

WHEN YOU TASTE YOURSELF #Fiction. The night was not at her best concentration. Echoes of overlapping voices beginning to  settle behind our backyard, I am not just alone.But Indoor. My mother left that night to vigil. She probably not come home that night. My father's out for work. I don't know the nature of his job - I guess it's like something related to Engineer due to the color of his clothe. My sister and brother are far asleep. You know how you feel when darkness is the only friend keeping you company. My mind was stucked into a bag of fears. Eyes becoming heavy to see clearly. The voice breaking at any slight of a pronounced sentence. I stood. Walking like a bewildered wind. I probably die tonight if case become worse. The voice still at the best of its existence. I thought of waking my sister, but she do sleep like this is her last dinner - I guess she do swallow something; perhaps, drug,drink,smoke, but she never snore and her mouth nor body never smell. My brot

WET NAMES This is me burning inside your fake impression Of things that taste like soaked smiles beneath The beautiful things we dance ourselves into, Like holding ourselves into our shadows And beginning to feel the potency of voices Yes,voices.Voices that wears the best of you, Voices that mixed with the echoes of the, Chest you fall into - in a pit of relaxation. Your name is a music tearing in soft tones, The sounds are tips of danceable distractions But there's no epic in the red bottles of beers I drank during the sane movement of my heart, Which means: you've fake me into your body, And I have tore you into pieces of sorrowful laughter, Still,you renew emotion from fake expression; Can we change the love lost into another city? I guess we are lost here at the junction of consciousness. We are both not in a wet dreams of seekers, We are both not in a relationship of birds, We are both not into rivers of addicted smoke, We are both not into a body of c

DUET TITLED FEED THE WORLD There are thousand of Roaming Skirts and Trousers Who clatter for a meal, As they are deep in the sea of Poverty, With a rumbling stomach, In which Worms fight world war three. Give a piece of bread, If you feed one, then you'v fed all. Feed the world. •• JOSEPH JASEF •• I know, this task is not so easy, Yet we still can help the needy; Deep down, you too know that You can! — Are you but ready? What if you say, you cannot — Well, as you wish! I beg to differ; There are many who suffer. Come on, don't be so greedy! •• Ch Ameen •• A visit to - Ajungle and likes, Will cause tears to race off your eyes, If you help one, and I help one, Then we are feeding the world, Making it a Better place for you, For me and the entire of Human Race. Feed one, Feed all , Feed The world. •• JOSEPH JASEF •• All you need to do is _sirf_ help, Kabhi socho_  above your own self; A simpler and _aasaan raasta Give _jo hai_ extra on your shelf.

RED ROSES . . A poem fell from the cliff of my art It was my lover's portrait Burning into a lame diction And into a wet news- wrecking the silence In the throat of places where water Is the reflection of bodies- stranded between pages of broken mirrors . Last night, a girl crawled out of the moon With eyes- soaked with stripped prayers I was there, but my body was on exile I was there, but my soul was somewhere Between words that mock my mother's last prayer They said she was holding on to things Clad with the language of fate- love is one of them . If God=love, then love=? . Do not say God, if a girl ever ran into you And lose count of days in February Do not say God, if your heartbeat Is the rhythm of songs boys listen to And displace their bodies with the theory of dark rooms Do not say God, if you've ever walked barefooted Into sacred places where bones melt to blues . See- we are the vowels in the art-beat Of

corpses ° the mouth becomes an agape window searching for breath in the fields of air when the nostril turns to a closed door. . the hands are emblems of giving without taking; death snatched away what was left of the palms of man - unrequited love. . the body lays, supine, sleeping into an eternal dream that depletes the chances of waking into another series of consciousness. dead. . this is the role of those who lost to the bargain with an angel that cowers in the hood of evil by their encounter with blades, bullets, bombs, burns, bruises, battery, blisters & blood baths. . this is the fate of those who are heroes to some; villains to some & who are stuck in between the bag & ugly incidences of accursed places with their innocence to what evil begets. . this is the place of those who hide in their shells of lifelessness; their souls are scared away from their unwilling bodies; lending out their lives as sacrifices for an unending war without get

LOVE BEYOND MEASURES By: _Sir Patrick_         _&_ _Esther Emmanuel_ Her beauty taste like Morning song Because the first time I saw her She looks like home of an angel. ©Sir Patrick Oh handsome! You're beyond words can express, intriguing physique arose goosebumps in my body Your eyes is brighter than the color of my skin. ©Esther Now you are making me trip for you, I hope the sun never gets jealous of me for drowning in love with you. ©Sir Patrick Crush is an understatement handsome; I want to be your light in darkness, give me the opportunity to bury my name in your heart so you'll never erase me. ©Esther You are the only one my heart crave for The only one made. If loving you is a crime then I want to be sentenced to the peak of your heart. ©Sir Patrick Mr handsome; I want your love conjoined with mine, And paste your passion on my arsenal face. ©Esther Any intruder to our love will taste the flames of fire Our love shall soar and its wings shal

WHY DO YOU WRITE? My belief  and your  belief - if taken  serious; Is that we  all  write  for a certain  purpose. Actualization  doesn't forward your  biography, in terms  of  writing. Sometimes, when  we write, we tend to understand  the complete opposite  of ourselves. I have  written some literary  errors  that I do  appreciate  a lot,not because of my  low sense of understanding, but I just love  being normal and  sarcastic - sometimes,  and I  don't care if my  dictions  are not best to your satisfaction, mine is to pass my message - I guess I am not being rude in this sense. Poeple dont understand you, and they can't. Writing is not all about putting words together, and posting to different social media for publicity or applauding your writing, it's not done in that way. When you write, ask yourself some questions like; 1. What am i writing? 2. What inspired me? 3. Is this write-up good enough? 4. What if am criticized? The above growth questions may seems

Adventure [For Dpoet] Look into the arms of these lines written by nobody because it's how your title begin to pledge your words into laughter & appealing voices. My warm words are too experimental to walk in your body just watch as your mind: set into motion of stunning-river & becoming a father of your tradition because you're born to set your home free from lost silence & crawling children of beautiful faces of tomorrow's light. #Princejoe #Poetryislife

How we moaned my father's absence: Is still a finding.feet.                 located backward. my head. With his plane.pictures.                                       too bitter to swallow. & everything in his.           name.                           becomes. a smoke. That carries our body. to the rivers of his fine ashes.                        My father's ex wife.       planted a stone flower on our chests.&  everything we do becomes. a sad story.In his name.              We are strictly bastard children. Forming terrorist in our father's house. Because home. is the first line of words. you.  speak.  If nothing taste like happiness.  in a. strange land. & my brother & I are.  tasteless jokes. in the mouth.of. death.  Though my mother felt for another man. But her shadow never rest. Maybe the walls we claim to hold isn't strong.  enough to bear our feelings. I mean.  How do you settle in a relationship of lust? When eye

REJECTION The feeling that you're never the right words in a book that the world accepts is the beginning of loving your inexistent body, like kissing a fading song into lips of a gone lover, like entering a room that dissolves your body on your palms & count how far you sink, you are made to understand you must burn your silence into fine melodies singing you in black colours before you become a flickering voice giving light to dark boys like you searching healing in thistles; exactly the way you try squeezing your flaws in your smiles before realising your breath is pleated, your body is an enemy to what prays in your heart in tongues of your dreams, you see silence, new, branded, other times rebranded, such silence covering your body with the olive left after frying your shadow with nightmares, this movement is magical like your toes arranging themselves as your new set of teeth so your body would be able to walk away through your voice, with that you s

Live On - My Eternal Voices of higher pitch races down the bargaining street that lived a life of darkness and empty bottles- sprawled around somewhere in my head, send vibes down the marrow that erode the flowing of thousands of still water-appealing for a good welcome. Drumming and banging, as chartered soul search further for more destruction, Whizzing after mother's bed of wilted roses& thorns, a night of folding arms to my chest, clinging onto you very hard, just a moment of that. Memories brought tears:tears that received the warmth of the blue sea unto which the sky hung dead-likely not alive, as been lifted - it all started fading, Whooshing like millions of water trying to make it down the waterfall at once, revealing only lonely,deserted rocks looking like the body of a loose ocean that lost direction. Not so deep.Not that far away.Not a ghost with stripes of white lines drawn across its face, not a soul who's left to the eternal world of another. An or