Ballad
The Last Poem of Willow Street
M Mehran Willow Street was quiet, almost too quiet. Nestled between crumbling brick buildings and fading streetlamps, it had once been alive with music, laughter, and poetry. But the world had changed, and poets—those who could see the extraordinary in the ordinary—had become rare.
By Muhammad Mehran4 months ago in Poets
Echoes of the Forgotten Verse
M Mehran In the heart of a city that never slept, where skyscrapers scraped the clouds and neon lights painted the night, there was a small, almost invisible alleyway. Tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, a tiny shop called The Inked Lantern existed, a place where poets gathered to remember that words could matter more than anything else.
By Muhammad Mehran4 months ago in Poets
The Midnight Verses
M Mehran In the heart of Crescent City, where the streets hummed with the rhythm of life, a small, dimly lit café existed almost unnoticed. Its wooden sign read The Wandering Quill, and inside, the air was thick with the scent of coffee, old books, and dreams waiting to be written. This was not a café for casual visitors. It was a sanctuary for poets—those who spoke in metaphors, who could turn pain into music, and joy into prose.
By Muhammad Mehran4 months ago in Poets
DENIM HIERARCHY OF NEEDS. Content Warning.
I was thinking about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs and Pavol’s bell yesterday and today. We live in a world of chaos brought upon us by patriarchal men & a society of crooks, thieves, & liars. I thought that we would never go back to the dark ages of white patriarchal Christian narcissistic men. Here we are in the dark age where light shines through the dark night to weed out the greed of ugly white men who have dicks for brains.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 4 months ago in Poets
