Tolerance is not Freedom


Tolerance is not freedom,

because the more you are forced to tolerate

things through fear of ridicule, losing your

career, being defamed, etc is the more you have

allowed yourself to be enslaved to a singular of point of view.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

Political correctness has become corporate.

This movie called the circle is about how facism disguises itself as 

freedom of information and constant surveliance, which can be used 

to control people. 

View eventhorizon's Full Portfolio


We are the archangels of fire,

and we have come to give the knowledge

back to the people.


To long have they been kept in a state of

ignorance and fear.


We have come to set them free and wake them 

up from their apathetic sleep.



View eventhorizon's Full Portfolio

The Source of the Spirit

We will not be silenced,

we are the spirit,

the collective unconscious,


Despite all material attempts

to disconnect us from ourselves

we have found the source,


Through the door and the key,

we shall dictate reality,

the wisdom of him who is timeless


One heart, one soul,

together as one,

in the body and the spirit

View eventhorizon's Full Portfolio

The Beauty Of A Dove

The Beauty Of A Dove

It's sad. So sad I want to cry
A little girl grows up-
Then waves good-bye

She finds within her heart, a love
So deep, so true-
The beauty of a dove

She laughs with joy abound,
But it's not there-
For is it love she's found ?

She's scared the love she's found
is not real,
But it is no dream-

Her wound will someday heal
But suddenly she's not afraid of love,
For it has come-

The beauty of a dove
I want to cry, I want so much to cry,
She's found her love-
Though someday she will die

But I won't cry for her,
She's found it, she really has-
The beauty of a dove.

View hitalot879's Full Portfolio

Lungs (day 185)

when you beckon me down to the depths

you should know how far we’ll dive,

these love-soaked lungs

fill in the painting with perfect midnight blue.


when you coax me to the clouds

you should know how free I’ll fly,

I can gather everything that matters

and let it loose from my chest in one time-stopping shriek.


when you bring me back to earth

let me dream of the sea,

of the sky

you can’t give me two more universes

and then take them back.


when I am stuck on the ground

I will live like I am anywhere.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 1/28/17


View tallsquirrelgirl's Full Portfolio

Heavy Shoulders (day 31)

Press into my shoulders

those daggers of glass

I love how they sting my skin

so I can bleed out the world

So I build a glittering layer and

keep the world at bay

turn the deepest secrets inside out


Lay your love on me like a blanket

when I’m shivering with fever

Give me the illusion

that I’m dipped in your warmth

not wrapped in a snow globe


Spit on me till it’s tainted

with your past and my bruises

and racing down the railroad tracks

to nothing


My heavy shoulders sing with sorrow

and hide with every sigh

under blooming battle scars from the wicked game

Bruises I used to brag about

until I faced these storms and

I’m on the path back home


My heavy shoulders are weighted,

draped with all the liars in the world

that are smashed into dust and

woven into the blanket of your love


Now I’m on the path back home,

breathing out promises

Something pulls at the edges of my smile

and the words I wrote but left unsaid

watch from the end of the road

as I turn the corner


They see all that’s left of me,

your blanket tossed off my heavy shoulders,

those daggers of glass splattered with

blood disguised as stardust


and I’m gone with a pile of bruised mismatched memories,

a shriek of freedom,

a shatter that breaks the sky.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 8/31/16

Heavy shoulders

View tallsquirrelgirl's Full Portfolio

Oh Freedom

Translated Poems

Freedom, you’re

The classic verses of Tagore, timeless lyrics.

Freedom, you’re

Kazi Nazrul a great man with thick mane, stirred up in the ecstasy of creation,

 Freedom, you’re

The dazzling congregation at the Shahid Minar

Freedom, you’re

The procession of slogans and colours

Freedom, you’re

The smile on the farmer’s face in the land.

Freedom, you’re

The amusing swim of the pastoral girl in the pond during mid-day.

Freedom, you’re

The wiry muscles on an expert labourer’s sun-tanned arms.

Freedom, you’re

The twinkle in a freedom fighter’s eyes at the murky and isolated borders.

Freedom, you’re

The immaculate speech of a laudable learner beneath the silhouette of a banyan tree.

Freedom, you’re

The fiery conversation at the tea-shops and public gatherings.

Freedom, you’re

The thriving clout of the northwester at the horizon.

Freedom, you’re

The heart of the Meghna during rain

Freedom, you’re

The furry contact of the father’s prayer mat.

Freedom, you’re

The waves of the mother’s sari long-drawn-out in the patio.

Freedom, you’re

The tinge of henna on the sister’s malleable hand.

Freedom, you’re

A dazzling placard as the stars at the pal’s hand.

Freedom, you’re

The homemaker’s thick black locks turning untamed in the wind.

Freedom, you’re

The vibrant attire on a juvenile lad,

The playing of the rays on a lass’ sinuous cheeks.

Freedom, you’re

The abode amid a garden, the song at the cuckoo’s throat,

The peeping leaves of an antiquated banyan tree,

My notebook of poems, for penning verses as I feel like.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem is translated by me. It was originally written in Bangla by Shamsur Rahman, a poet, columnist and journalist from Bangladesh. He authored nearly sixty books of poetry. He is one of the brightest stars in Bengali literature. The themes his poetry and writings mirror are- moderate humanism, romanticised insurgence of youth, human relationships, hatred towards superstitious beliefs and so on.


Most of Shamsur Rahman’s poems are written in free verse especially with the rhythm mode called Poyaar or Okhshorbritto. He also wrote verses in two other major patterns i.e., Shwarobritto and Matrabritto.


At present, Shamsur Rahman is remembered as a bona fide artist of the Bangali psyche. He has penned more than 3000 breathtaking poems that will continue to enthuse his devotees now and also in the days to come. Due to the heart and kidney failure, Shamsur Rahman had been in a coma for 12 days and breathed his last on 17 August 2006 at the age of 77.  

View kingofwords's Full Portfolio

I can't have you and be free.


I used to cover the whole

world, but what I couldn’t see


was that my leash just went that

far, wrapped around your center of gravity


because you wanted me to

see everything I’d be missing


when you reeled me in like a

dog with a tucked tail


But you made me choose

and it tore me apart


Running to the edge of the earth in my

dreams, I’ll drown myself in aqua blue


and hope that choosing is

no more evil than your eyes,


the eyes that once held mine

like they were rare and needed and beautiful and I


should have known, I’m not

rare just a human who has to


make selfish decisions like this one,

but then again the aqua blue has


told me exactly what I need,

I want your sweet breath


and bare infinities and intense

perfection, but I need to be


Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 5/21/16

View tallsquirrelgirl's Full Portfolio

Hanging Tree

We both thought we were free.
But I was still living under the hanging tree
Negativity would breeze.
Hop into a grand pre

I cannot consider
Negativity inside.
Race around
Emotions Collide.

I tried. I won’t pick a side
You lied and I died inside
But you’re a gold digger.
A forty niner. I tried.  

I won’t pick a side
You lied and I died inside
Say I need help
Got a huge whelp

Wrapped up in kelp
Drowning by the beach
Welp, there I go again
My air has been breached

Wasn’t properly teached.
My brother’s arm started to reach
California? Where I almost drowned
but I cant be downed. Living is what I preach

Just pray my body won’t be found
Knowing how things went down
Like a stone pillar
Looking up in terror

Not at all confusing
Open your mind.
Let me run around inside
Fuck a counselor.

Let me pick you up from the ground
I won’t sit you down
Cut the crap. You’ve been misused
Kid you’ve been abused.

She thought it would help
but it didn’t. Did it?
Take that rage in and spit it
Take the hit but don’t ever forget it

It just made me remember.
My sophomore year
Early November
My mom claimed she was the master

What is freedom? Such a disaster
I need a pastor. Or do I need to go faster
Breathing down my neck.
Like I’m a wall made of plaster

I need to bypass her.
Threatening me that he would beat me
if I didn’t have all A’s and B’s.
What if I don’t want to succeed?

Even more though
I wanted to believe
I wanted some food so I could feed
I was sixteen and I couldn’t play assassins creed

View rikki's Full Portfolio