Here, keep my poetry in case you ever need a pillow to soak up your tears. And, if you need another pillow to wrap your arms around and make it deliberately fall in love with your flaws, extract my soul from the poetry. @furqanahmed
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I am a moment, and you are eternity. I don't have time, and you don't have a moment. ________________________________________________ You seek grace when I am black and blue. You are a mirage in this world, and I am dying for you. I love storms in the sea, and your serenity is in the flow. I am a prisoner of death, and you are jailbird of the never-ending love's blow. You warn me of death while I warn you of forever life. You love while all I have is forks and knives. You are beautiful, and I am scared for you, of me. I had a dream; in it, you were dreaming. I had paralysed you, and your innocence was still glowing in love for me. In the darkness, for a moment, you stopped the time on me. You said, whoever you are, my lover will come, and in a moment, he will kill this dream. @furqanahmed
Look at all the chaos and war your beauty has caused; beautiful never made sense to me. I had fallen into this strange silence where I watched fingers flowing all over you with stubbornness scrabbling up your soul and your love lacking the audacity to cease this momentary, appeared-to-be beautiful. This way of making love never made sense. I would say we were beautiful, and you can warn, we misunderstood it. @furqanahmed
Like the rain sprays its drops on the face; she is spraying her breaths, reviving the smile on my face, rhetorically telling me to give my heart in exchange for something bold and new. The gipsy soul, buying barren lands, desiring matches and fire. @furqanahmed33
Something was different tonight, he had changed, and his eyes weren't moist anymore, they were parched leaves. Nevertheless, his addiction to talk to himself hasn't let go of him. But, his pattern didn't have the same fume, he was telling himself, "Never cry over a woman again, let her cry instead, for some, women are allowed to mourn". @furqanahmed
Her madness had insane rapid desires, boundless but bound to her. She had this whispers of the smoke that used to hit in intimate places of the mind and were not less than any ecstatic spirit giving away the secret, how empty lungs are filled; you would inhale her and exhale yourself or exhale her and inhale yourself; it was such madness with her that forgetfulness to remember who was who wasn't optional, it was all tranquillity and a blow to heart at the same instance. Her fire that was hot like summer's July could cause burning shivers till death would feel upon the feet; despite the still inflamed burns on the soul, it used to be like ash and coals that were left in the cold after she would take off, her subject never made sense to me. Love, she would call, love; this is what love is. I still try to figure out whether it was what she called and I heard or was it what she heard, and I said or were we both trapped by the insomniac fire of youth. @furqanahmed
yuktibhatiaaaHi, I really liked your way of writing and would love to have u as the co-author of my upcoming anthology 'The Broken wings'. If interested do connect with me at @yuktibhatiaaa on insta. You will be charged a minimal amount for it. pls dont mind if I have already contacted u.
I was looking for you from place to place, from one corner of the eye to the other, from one street to the other. (As they told) Then, I looked inside and ever since then; I have been looking for my heart. @furqanahmed
I write for someone, no one, everyone, somebody, nobody, everybody and then I hope that I have written it for someone, no one, everyone, somebody, nobody, everyone, including myself. Bear with me and be nobody to be my everyone, Bear to be yourself, and I will be myself. Let me tell you not to tell anyone that you are my everyone; people will ruin us till we become someone, and eventually, no one for each other. But, be nobody; that's your essence; from there, I will want to begin loving you. P.S. I am nobody too. _________________________________________ When you meet someone, and they are nobody too. @furqanahmed
To the round-shaped, deep set of bright eyes, starlight face, and blessed soul that owns them. It's the freedom not to have a fear of losing anyone, similar to your freedom of letting go. Is it really freedom to fence off the heart, so no one enters in (No love, no loss)? There are two balconies, a million miles away from each other, dancing in the same longing thoughts, at the edge of the same deserted spoils, and I still doubt that I know you. I found words, but then I don't see you and If somehow, miraculously, I happen to find you sometimes, the words don't seem enough to put you in poetry. To the round-shaped, deep set of eyes and the blessed spoils that owns them. The rain sings your songs, the sky weeps in your tears, and everything is flooding out of the balconies of two hearts. _______________________________________ Hey Now! I still doubt that I know. @furqanahmed
Dark is the night. In the distance, the dogs are barking, probably fighting, over a mate, to mate, so human. I am sitting still, staring at the street light, flickering ghost-light, as if a devil is opening and closing its mouth to quarrel, "you aren't scared of me, but lesser than me, ghosts of my kind". And, Across the street, the black cat, licking its claws, as if she wants something of me, I should probably pat her till her claws clutch my veins to rip them open, but I am sitting still. headlights swiftly approaching towards me, I want them to run over me, not once, not twice, a hundred times, and then tell me, You just ran yourself over, not once, not twice, a hundred times But, here I am sitting still, on the roof of my house, and God knows what I am imagining, if I could help you visualise the height and the edge from where my feet are dangling, you would probably think of me as someone suicidal. And some might know where are these verses coming from, Like my mom, who opens the gate sometimes, and marvels, I thought you were upstairs. ✒@furqanahmed33
The obligation is to read the Holy book, and you are not its copy. Beyond the senses of words, our love stood as we claimed the eyes' whispers and had far-off interpretations of the words that fought on our tongues. I meant it when I say; this is beyond words. Prayers for the loss I snuck in, and prayers for you from the places of my heart(the depths that are not known to the ocean), but you are not the prayer itself, nor will I make the prayer beads out of your memories. All the moons that stayed up with me, even after the sunrise, All the haunted dungeons in my soul, loneliness, and solitude, All the depressive, misty, smoke-filled bathrooms, All the faces that couldn't tame me, and most of all, the places I can't find empty of your presence, I will not replace you with anyone or anything but God. My whisperer, there's no other way; you are easy to lose, only this way. @furqanahmed
yuktibhatiaaaHi, I really liked your way of writing and would love to have u as the co-author of my upcoming anthology 'The Broken wings'. If interested do connect with me at @yuktibhatiaaa on insta. You will be charged a minimal amount for it.
Your soul is too beautiful to get attention from the human stranger sitting on the bench under the tree on the pavement, eyeing the pouring rain, and smoking with a clumsy will to not put his hand in his pocket again to ash down another cigarette. His eyes gazing at some thought doesn't say a word, but they can make or break your day. And his hands, way too cold to shake, he sees no one as blue as himself. The black bird in his heart always wants him to move in a different direction, different time, different place than yours. Like his cigarettes, he minds lengthy stays. @furqanahmed