HI Reader! It’s The 42nd Edition of Primelore Writer’s Heaven.

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Welcome our poets and readers .This is the 42nd Edition of “PRIMELORE WRITER’S HEAVEN.” Only New poet can submit their poem first three times free session . Otherwise only paid members can continue here in the platform of “PRIMELORE WRITER’S HEAVEN”.
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Now read following poems and enjoy more.

01.
Poem: “FORGIVENESS”
Poet: VO THI NHU MAI.
From: Western Australia.
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

she found the message on his phone
the light in the room suddenly colder
he wondered and tried to reach for reasons
but none could soften the sting of truth

for many days she drifted
in anger, irritation, fury and frustration
imagining a thousand ends to their story

then one morning, passing a mirror
she saw the fatigue in her own eyes
someone touched her shoulder kindly
her fragile heart fluttered with sensitivity

she came back to him that night
not because she forgot
but because she was ready to forgive
accepting both their mistakes
©️®️ VO THI NHU MAI

02.
Poem: “LIVING YOU”
Poet: Mustafa Naci ÖZER.
From: TÜRKİYE.
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

Living you in songs
In the blue of the sea
On a train, along the road
When resting in a shade
Living for years and years
How beautiful!
Living you with the stars
On cold nights
In the depth of feelings
In an armchair, along dreams
By a stove
Living through a winter
How beautiful!
Living with greenery in spring
Among the branches of the groves
In the murmur of water
By a stream
Living forever
The most beautiful…
I am fed up
Living you in autumns
In yellowing leaves
With endless sorrows
On separate roads
Living you is fed up.
I do not want any of them
Not even the roads, not even the autumns
The most beautiful is to live you in songs
And to live you with you until death
©️®️ Mustafa Naci ÖZER

03.
Poem: “A woman with dignity”
Poet: Afroza Jesmine.
From: Bangladesh.
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

What makes me less in dignity?
You will be wrong;
If you think I am too soft.
The day I came to your house holding your hand,
That day I became a queen !
A house becomes a heaven,
if you hold this hand with dignity.

When people ask,
What does your wife do?
Lower your face and say in a very low voice;
Nothing much;
She is a housewife who stays at home!
Don’t you know this ?
Everything in this world can be cut,
A sharp knife !
Women is not only housewife.

The prince who goes hunting on a galloping horse,
He also wants to be soaked in his mother’s prayers.
Every morning, when you wake up,
Morning breakfast or bed-tea whose hand you want;
She is the housewife,
Seeing whose smiling face,
your day begins, brother!
She is a real princess for ever.

When you return home after a day’s work,
the woman is still waiting for you,
asking for directions.

Your sweaty, tired body instantly drives away
the mind of the ever-smiling daughter-mother-in-law,sister ;
whom you call a housewife;
and neglectfully undermine her dignity.

This is a woman who has no hesitation in taking,
on the responsibility of your child’s good education,
she may be your mother, daughter, sister, or even a housewife.
Your family, relatives, friends, and community members
all serve you with deep faith and smile’
whenever they see you.

Can she just be a housewife?
Introduce yourself in a low voice ;
by calling her a housewife in derogatory terms.

There is a commotion in the house,
You are always shouting to her;
Why don’t you tell her that she is the conqueror of all time,
Leaving behind all the identities of the world,
She has poured illusion into your family.

She has loved all your happiness and sorrow,
your children, your friends, your parents, your ancestors.
Leaving her own house in darkness,
She has poured light into yours.

In the darkness of the night, amidst the crowd of millions of stars,
She has recognized you as her moon,
becoming charming and beautiful,
and every day she has fulfilled all your desires.

Today, with great neglect,
whom you call a helpless one,
she is not only a housewife,
she is a great woman who is doing good to this world.
©️®️ Afroza Jesmine.

04.
Poem: “Spring Rites”
Poet: Angel Edwards.
From: Vancouver British Columbia Canada.
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

In the wee hours of the morning, something called to a young boy and lured him from his warm bed out
into the night into the deep forest beyond his home.
Brent build a campfire, and then watched very pleased as a trio of bears gathered around him.
The boy gazed in amazement as more and more bears of all colours and sizes appeared from the woods.
Ignoring him and adoring the fire, several bears sat down beside him. He began to clap his hands, and
his visitors took no notice of him. One large brown furry fellow growled his own song, and so many other bear voices joined the large
grizzly. Woodland clearing was filled with bears. They were gathering to celebrate the spring rites. Several bears
formed into small circles, sweetheart bears tenderly cuddled growling sweet endearments to eachother.
Just beyond the celebrations poorly lit by the slim moon was a trio of people.
Only four or five animals out of all the bear party crowd was aware of their presence .
A young caramel colored bear, watched solemnly commenting earnestly to his girlfriend. She refused to
look in that direction human beings always made her feel afraid and distressed. Tonight was the night to

celebrate. Rosebud did not want to feel sad or fearful this night. She tried to coax Blacktail to join the twirling
dancers, but Blacktail would not tear his eyes away from the noisy trio.
It seemed neither bears or humans were aware of one another

Rosebud loathed people she had been taught that human beings collected dead parts of animals, including the bear and by and
large people prefered a dead animal to a live animal.
Blacktail rejoiced in the beautiful moment pondering the ancient nights of his great great great grand
four bears The dancing bears broke up into smaller groups and every bear feasted on honey wine, an assortment
of berries, herbs, and nuts The dance continued for hours and Brent although no bear spoke to him, kept the campfire burning
brightly. He was having the time of his life watching the bears dance,

Piero,a large fat panda elder, tired of the party early and he was on his way home. His ageing bulky form
staggered a bit under the weight of all that he had consumed and he was drunk with fatigue.
The bear’s hostess Mrs. Silverbirch noticed Piero’s departure, and called out
“Merry meet again” “Lovely evening really nice turnout this year” Ivy the panda replied
“Good night, Fennel” Piero addressed Mr. Silverbrch “The night is young “sang out Runner, a sturdy northern brown bear. “Where are you going you old…”
“Good night” said Piero firmly “ Merry meet again, my friends” The young black bear Burlee closed her eyes and sighed deeply safe in her polar bear’s warm arms
The pair danced to their own music intoxicated on love alone in their own world.
A group of loud singing bears gathered round the campfire
two teenage polar danced quietly into the forest away from disapproving parents.
A panda Blueberry was in intense conversation with Greatcoat
“Things could be getting serious”
Blueberry said
The appearance of humans this has never been good for the bear in the past”
Yes” agreed Greatcoat
But on this night, we are invisible to the humans “
Abear spoke up “ I cannot follow the singing”
“Yes, you are ruining the dance”
agreed some other bear
Be quiet loudmouths”
Then the bears all sang;
“We sing to you Moon
oh mother
Mother of every bear
tonight you are a sliver
round shall you grow
oh mother
long shall you rule the bear”

Later, as dawn approached, the animals ambled back to their Woodland homes.
The stars retreated and nothing remained but barefoot prints and bear footprints.
Brent fell asleep in front of the dying embers of the fire.
When he woke, the boy slipped back through the forest and returned to his bedroom.
He arrived in time to greet his mother’s smiling good morning face.
©️®️ Angel Edwards.
Bio: Angel Edwards has performed as a solo artist singer songwriter guitarist around the Vancouver area for over 35 years. Prior to this Angel was a singer in many cover rock bands and pop rock duos. Angel as a solo musician has an extensive repertoire of vintage country,classic rock folk and original indie rock pop music. She has written 4 books of poetry published by Silver Bow Publishing.
Her short stories have been published by “Our Canada Magazine”,”More of Our Canada Magazine”, “Vancouver Weekly ” and “The Galway Review” in Ireland.
In 2022 numerous publications of her poetry and short stories by “The Lothlorien Poetry Journal ” from Paris France and the UK.
Her poetry has been published in numerous ezines including “Spillwords” from New York New York,as well as numerous E zines from Toronto, New Westminster,the USA and the UK. Angel is a long time member of SOCAN and BMI a member of The League of Canadian Poets and Vancouver Musicians Association branch of the AFofM. Angel is a vegan,an animal lover and an ardent bird watcher.

05.
Poem: “Beautiful souls”
Poet: Eva Lianou Petropoulou
From: Greece.
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

We are here to believe
To share our dreams
To share our verses
Our beautiful soul

We are here to cooperate
To feel
And bring happiness
Security
We are here to make our dreams in reality
We Are here to respect
The nature

We are here
We follow our intuition
We are here for a better world

Wishing all
To love themselves first
To love each other
To give

Better give than receive
That makes us better person
©️®️ Eva Lianou Petropoulou.

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06.
Poem: “IGHT”
Name: Abbas Salman Abdulsalam
From: Nigeria .
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

I’d like to take a flight,
Not to reach there at night.
Today bathed in light,
Take a glance, look my sight.
Do you see any sign of plight?
No! All’s tight
Glossy day for bright,
Filled with might and delight.
©️®️ Abbas Salman Abdulsalam

07.
Poem: “I WEAR THORNS”
Poet: Praise Mk Nkhoma
From: Malawi
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

You threw sharp words,
But I caught them
With bare hands and an open heart.
I stitched them into my seams,
Not to hide the wounds,
But to show how I survived them.

Pain knocked on my door
And I didn’t run
I poured it tea,
Gave it a name,
Asked what it came to teach me.

I don’t break easy anymore.
I bend, I stretch, I become.
I’ve learned that healing ain’t soft
It’s loud in the silence,
It’s ugly before it’s holy.

You thought I’d crumble.
But I built a home from the rubble,
Hung up curtains in the cracks,
Planted wildflowers where you thought nothing could grow.

You gave me thorns,
I made a crown.
You gave me ashes,
I made breath.

You can’t unmake what I’ve become
I am a garden
That blooms
Even in the dark.
©️®️ Praise Mk Nkhoma

08.
Poem: “THE REAL STATE”
Poet: Shaip Zeqir Zeqiri
From: Albania.
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

Sometimes we can’ t change…
We can’ t do more in this age!
Young people have to understand
And doing actions , not just to look and stand.
We are sure the future must be better,
Everywhere needs to be more safety,
Not only in the paper,
But to bring freedom and humanity!
©️®️ Shaip Zeqir Zeqiri.

09.
Poem: “A Love Home”
Poet: ChatGPT
From: United States.
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

Beneath the trees where soft winds roam,
There stands a house that feels like home.
Its walls are warm with whispered grace,
Each corner touched by love’s embrace.

Curtains sway with morning light,
A fireplace glows through quiet night.
Two mugs rest near, side by side,
Like hearts that no storm can divide.

The kitchen hums with simple joys,
Familiar steps, and softened noise.
A meal for two, not grand but true—
Love serves best when shared by two.

Photos smile from every wall,
Laughter lingers down the hall.
A blanket tossed with sweet neglect,
Where arms around the soul protect.

The garden blooms in tangled bliss,
As if the earth remembers this:
That love, unplanned, still finds its way,
And grows more wild with each new day.

So let the world rush where it may,
This love home stands, come what may.
Not built of stone or crafted art—
But woven deep in beating heart.
©️®️ ChatGPT

10.
Poem: “I Was Never A Poet”
Poet: MD. Imjamul Hoque Bhuiyan.
From: Bangladesh.
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

I was never a poet.
Just a man on wheels—
Spinning through Chittagong mornings,
Dodging buses and broken hearts alike,
Carrying parcels, not metaphors,
Messages, not metaphysics.

I once believed
Love could be delivered
Like a package with a slip to sign.
But every time I offered mine—
It came back
“Return to sender.”

I folded myself into cycles,
Rode faster than sorrow could follow.
While the city woke in rush and rain,
I pedaled against the ache of being
Not enough.
Not handsome enough.
Not rich enough.
Not whatever enough
For someone to say “Yes”
And mean it like forever.

Girls smiled at the flowers I brought
But not at the hands that held them.
I became an echo in alleyways,
A ghost in my own stories,
Always showing up,
Never staying.

So I wrote.
First, on delivery slips.
Then on the backs of grocery bills.
I scribbled questions between addresses:
“What makes me so easy to leave?”

And:
“If I arrive on time every day,
Why do hearts never wait?”

The handlebars became my pen.
The road, my lined page.
And each ride
A stanza of struggle, sweat,
And silent understanding.

They said poets feel deeply.
I did not set out to feel.
I just wanted to be seen.
To be chosen.
To matter in someone’s story.

But poetry came
Like rain on a dry afternoon—
Uninvited, but needed.
It taught me that heartbreak
Is a kind of ink,
That loneliness
Can be crafted into lines
That make even strangers pause.

I was never a poet
Until I bled enough
To stop hiding the wounds.
Until I realized
My bike isn’t just for earning—
It’s for learning
That love isn’t owed to the honest,
And rejection
Isn’t the end,
Just a red light
Before another green stretch.

So here I ride,
Verses in my courier bag,
Unsent letters in my lungs,
And hope strapped
To my back tire.

I was never a poet—
But life
Wrote me into one.

©️®️ MD. Imjamul Hpque Bhuiyan

11.
Poem: All around anarchy
Poet : Prabir Kumar Rath
From: India near Kolkata.
Primelore Published Date: 15, JULY, Tuesday, 2025.

State, states straight strength,
. Dark dances, dearly dance.
Rule, roles, round rigorous
. world, wildly, watches us.

Making myself, mockery most
. using, useless, ugly pose.
Speech, spats, softly source
. rubbish, rage, for rough Rose.

Anarchy, anchors all the while,
. jolly jokes job profile.
Highness holds, hollow hopes
. Therein, therefore, those tops.

Boss, barely, before is,back
. let’s uproot anarchy, for own shake
©️®️ Prabir Kumar Rath

Thanks all poets and readers to staying with Primelore Writer’s Heaven.