d_prexa

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There are things I talk about. And then there are things I write. - Préxa

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  • d_prexa 35w

    What is love? What is this emotion we think so less and talk so much about?

    #love #thoughts #poetry #mirakee #pod
    @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    Of love.

    From what I have experienced
    Of love, from my family
    I can vouch for the sanctity
    Of this emotion
    But when I begin to think of myself
    Of holding hands and being indulged in it
    I cannot say I am sure
    Of what to feel
    My heart, of course, races at the thought of it
    Of pale dawn eyes staring into mine
    Smile that penetrates the soul
    Oh how wonderful it seems!
    But when I truly think of it
    What do I know of love?
    My heart thunders with an echoing silence
    Of an emotion that comes in a million shapes and designs
    What do I truly know about it?
    And so I pat my breast and tell my heart
    You may fall in love someday
    And you may taste the elixir some moment
    But today is not the day.
    I tell myself, not yet, not yet.


    ©Prexa

  • d_prexa 38w

    Just my personal thoughts on literature #1

    "That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong."

    - F. Scott Fitzgerald

    #scribbles #thoughts #mirakee #literature #writers #pod

    @mirakee @writersnetwork @shren_jo_

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    You think literature is for the sane? The prudes? Absolutely not. It is for the weirdos, the crazy ones. The shameless ones. For those who care not for the "normal" of the society. The ones who smell cocaine in the utterance of another man. Those who take solace in a forlorn tragedy that unfolded millennia ago. Literature is a drug. Those who consume it cannot be, must not be, sane of all things.


    ©Prexa

  • d_prexa 41w

    "Whether you’re beaten or pampered, fed the best foods or starved, kept in filth or kept clean, a cage is still a cage."

    - Anne Bishop, Written in Red.

    #desires #cages #breakfree #poetry #mirakee #pod
    @mirakee @shren_jo_ @writersnetwork

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    Birdcage

    On my way to some place
    I passed a pet store
    I saw four pretty cages hung outside
    Resplendent in red and a brilliant blue
    Homes for birds we like to call 'pets'.
    We profess to love them but I ask,
    How much?
    Enough to brush their wings but not let them fly?
    To free them from the tyranny of pet houses
    But cage them instead?
    Why I wonder? Is it because
    We see us in those birds?
    The truth that we too are living in cages of our own settles in our eyes
    Like the dust of the day that won't leave until the night.
    Cages painted pretty with desires, useless ones more thickly used than the useful ones
    We are trapped, in the simplest of terms,
    Within the cagebars of our own mindless behavior
    The ficklemindedness of our own brains
    Locking us up in a limitless slavery
    Of repeated actions and regret.
    On a fine day a stranger may walk up to your porch
    And taking pity on the bird you've loved so dearly
    Will open the cage and let the bird out
    The bird will fly out, take dips in its marble bath that you built
    And fly away to where it truly belongs
    Leaving you behind, bitter and blistering,
    You will know nothing of the stranger who tiptoed behind you
    And set the bird, you so desired, free
    But tell me, who will come for us?
    Who shall set us free?
    Or are we doomed, forever,
    To flap our wings with the illusion of flying,
    Whilst remaining nothing more than a shadow
    In the splitting rays of the sun that shall rise and set
    Way beyond our own birdcages?


    ©Prexa

  • d_prexa 42w

    I am very very possessive towards them.
    Anyways, Good Morning Mirakeeans! ✨

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    I love my books as one loves her children.
    Overtly. Dramatically. And beyond reason.


    ©Prexa

  • d_prexa 45w

    "People get used to anything. The less you think about your oppression, the more your tolerance for it grows. After a while, people just think oppression is the normal state of things. But to become free, you have to be acutely aware of being a slave."

    - Assata Shakur, Assata: An Autobiography

    #poem #poetry #breakfree #mirakee #pod

    @mirakee @writersnetwork @shren_jo_

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    A field of sunflowers

    If only the sun would burn away
    All the evil in this world
    Each dawn bringing a new promise
    And each sunset, a dream that lasts forever
    If only people looked as pink as the sky does
    When the day slowly comes to an end
    No child roaming around with a bloated belly
    Nor their ribs showing underneath darkened skins
    If only the birds would take us home
    The women who are cast aside for creating life
    Not fit for family thrones
    If only the sun would burn the dark of this world
    Maybe there will be more light
    The barren, brown and undesired shall turn green
    And on that green marble shall rain down
    Soft claps of naked feet, running towards the sun
    Laughter of liberated people echoing in this world
    Like songs of wind in a field of sunflowers.


    ©Prexa

  • d_prexa 57w

    "The pale stars were sliding into their places. The whispering of the leaves was almost hushed. All about them it was still and shadowy and sweet. It was that wonderful moment when, for lack of a visible horizon, the not yet darkened world seems infinitely greater—a moment when anything can happen, anything be believed in."

    - Olivia Howard Dunbar, The Shell of Sense.

    #dusk #poetry #life #poem #remnants #mirakee #pod
    @mirakee @shren_jo_

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    A palmful of a day

    Come out and see
    Some three fields to the west
    Someone is pouring night
    Over the golden haze of the bundled husks
    The night falls, drop by drop,
    Into the rivulets and brooks
    As they rise, swell and weave
    To wash the cracked heels of the elderly woman
    Hunching over herself, sitting outside the threshold of her darkening hut
    Her eyes white and clouded with age
    Quickly glance at the firmament to see
    If it is the hour of the lord whose name
    She mumbles some hundred times and eight
    Her rosary is a faded brown now
    Much like the smoke that swirls out of an ugly duct
    In the distance on the pinkening horizon
    The night is falling quickly
    I raise my palm as I watch it fall across the world
    A dream of catching the remains of a day
    I spent in ways I now regret
    If I clutch a little tightly, the corners of this passing time,
    Maybe the dawn will come a little later
    So what if I let go of the day
    I still have the night, into which I go
    Slowly but surely with my arms full of dreams
    I drag my feet into a sleep that takes me over
    Into tomorrow, yet is it wrong
    To just stand there and wish the night didn't come
    And that the sunset may last for, say, an eternity?

    ©Prexa

  • d_prexa 62w

    "As the years pass, I am coming more and more to understand that it is the common, everyday blessings of our common everyday lives for which we should be particularly grateful. They are the things that fill our lives with comfort and our hearts with gladness -- just the pure air to breathe and the strength to breathe it; just warmth and shelter and home folks; just plain food that gives us strength; the bright sunshine on a cold day; and a cool breeze when the day is warm. "

    - Laura Ingalls Wilder.

    @mirakee @writersnetwork @shren_jo_
    #mirakee #poetry #winter #sunshine #pod

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    The cuckoo will sing in December

    Everything that the sun touches
    Seems to be shining nowadays
    The green of the grass
    And the sunlit white porch
    The shadows of breeze blown flowers
    Dance on the body of cold grey walls
    A winter solstice on its way
    After what was a long hot year
    Of confinement and cope
    A plague of sorts that crawled it's way along people's throats
    Made it hard to breathe and killed
    At times
    We learned to live with it
    The summer storming down on our faces
    The heat shimmering the red of the hibiscus
    And now it's all frost
    Cold, sweet and free,
    Everybody is moving around
    A pale smile in their eyes
    A taste of freedom on lips
    For a first time in forever
    The cuckoo will sing in December.


    ©Prexa

  • d_prexa 67w

    My life is a series of obsessions. Obsessions fuelled by desires so intense that fire feels cooler to the skin than the insides of my mind.
    Under the exploding colours of the northern lights, with frozen fingers and lips, I turned to look at the object of my desire. A human this time. Was he an obsession? Beautiful but transient. Or was he love? More permanent than this life? Who knew? Who cared? I didn't. All I knew was that... In him there was everything I had ever lived for.

    #mirakee #love #desire #death #post
    @mirakee @writersnetwork @shren_jo_

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    "How far are you prepared to go for love?"

    "Beyond death."



    ©Prexa

  • d_prexa 67w

    "Dusk is the time when men whisper of matters about which they remain silent in the full light of the sun." - Simon Raven.

    #mirakee #poem #dusk #cloud #stray #pod
    @mirakee @writersnetwork @shren_jo_

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    My visitor is a stray cloud

    It is four in the evening
    The hills have gone to sleep
    My hut is slowly slipping into the dark
    I sit in the cold comfort of it
    Below lies the city, pink and purple
    The light at the end of the day
    There is a soft knock at my door
    I sigh, slightly annoyed,
    I fathom who or what it is
    The door is opened and I am not surprised
    To see my duskly visitor,
    Now, how many times have you been paid a visit
    By a stray cloud of the hills?
    For me, it is forever. Forever at four.


    ©Prexa

  • d_prexa 69w

    "I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything.
    Maybe we’re from the same star."

    - Emery Allen

    #poetry #soul #soulmates #poem #pod

    @mirakee @writersnetwork @shren_jo_

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    Counting sunsets

    You and I, walking different roads
    Wearing different shoes
    Turning different corners
    Are we walking towards each other?
    Counting steps as we do
    Knowingly, unknowingly
    Before we walk into each other
    As of now,
    You under the Eiffel Tower, maybe,
    And I beneath cherry blossom tress
    Half a world of humans and seas
    Lying between us
    An intangible thread of fate
    Pulling us close - and ever so closer
    Counting sunsets as I go -
    Tracing my steps through clouds and skies
    I await the sunrise
    The sunbeams dancing on my feet
    I shall take a step but I won't move
    Your toes touching mine -
    I will find you -
    The end of my journey; the beginning of my life.


    ©Prexa