ummesulaim

A Selonophile��.

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  • ummesulaim 2d

    And,

    If her tears,
    Transposed
    To
    A star,
    A drop.

    I swear ,
    Galaxies would bow,
    To
    Shatter in shame.

    ©ummesulaim

  • ummesulaim 1w

    Dear unknown writer,

    (I know you love the suffix writer along your name).

    Before we indulge into an elegant mess of your share of omnifecence (unlimited creativity) . I want you to know, "you" carry magic on your sleeves and words in your veins, don't let the world make you believe otherwise.

    Most of the writers are not "born" writers.
    They were "created" .

    You invented one for yourself.
    You established it over the ruins of thoughts and monologues your heavy heart carried for years.

    You made all the tornadoes run through your shivering veins, flow amidst your favorite ink and terminate subtly onto a blank paper.

    Your "poems" define the "you", you are.
    They love you in a way, the word "idealise" was born.
    They hate your tears , more than you love it.
    They soak your sadness and hide them between the lower curve of the "g's" and the "y's".

    You don't ruin your life by idealising it you make the world seem a better place atleast somewhere.

    And,
    All the great poems with happy endings and soft touches ,has an aching heart with two swollen eyes behind it.

    Yours hopefully,
    Umme Sulaim

    #wod #letter #mirakee

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    You were "created",
    From the ruins of
    "Thoughts" and "monologues"
    You buried.
    ©ummesulaim

  • ummesulaim 3w

    One day you'll meet a boy, who loves foreign languages and strange theories, who talks about parallel world and makes you believe in wonderlands. Who's intelligence touch you on a different dimension. Who bakes your favorite brownie and loves to watch it melt in your mouth, who seems like a people pleaser custom made for you. Who annoys you to deep breaths,but have answers to all your freakish dilemmas. Who will make your stomach ache with butterfly flaps and strong superstorm as he walks to you, who's voice sounds as smooth as satan, that'll make you lose sense of any earthy surrounding. And when he finally hugs , you'll watch universes collapse underneath your feet. Who'll make your heart run to a different rhythm. Who'll make you want sacrifice everything."

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    He is waiting out there somewhere.
    ©ummesulaim

  • ummesulaim 5w

    It's not love,
    If it's not biased.

    ©ummesulaim

  • ummesulaim 5w

    Dear January,

    You were something I associated light and new beginnings all through my dreadful and severely painful year.

    I counted days for you, as a prisoner of war would in order to return to his hometown, to his beloved wife, to his moaning mother, to his weak father, to his lost sister.

    You were the 7 lettered hope I scribbled and scratched on my wounds .

    I craved you as,
    Anxiety may crave peace,
    As,
    Injustice may crave justice,
    As,
    Anger may crave recognition,
    As,
    Love may crave pain,
    As,
    Words may crave emotions.

    Above all I craved you as doomed may crave new life.

    You finally arrived, sudden I recall. You arrived wrapped in all the tainted glory I dreamt of. You did arrive as waves hits shore in a semi arid place, you hit me only to let me wanting you more.

    You were like my favorite person visiting me after years and years of distress.
    Slow to arrive and fast to depart.

    I'll miss you, cause you will always be my seven lettered "hope"

    Yours lovingly,
    ©ummesulaim

  • ummesulaim 6w

    On days,
    On days like these,
    Days like yesterday
    And even days like tomorrow.

    I wish,
    I so wish,
    I was deleted,
    No, I'm not a quitter
    Existing with no traces is what I crave.

    I thirst to lose,
    To lose,
    All of my memories,
    The good first,
    The bitter next.
    From my insignificant head
    With enormous space.

    And also to be erased,
    From every head,
    that ever scratched my existence.

    I long to,
    I so long to
    Release myself from
    The strings of
    All relations
    I have been messing around
    Also,
    Been missing around.

    I want to,
    I so want to,
    Wake up to nothing,
    Escape from all restraints,
    Let breathing alone be.

    Wake up to a place,
    Where there is silence
    And silence and peace,
    Go hand in and hand.
    Where emptiness don't shouts.

    Where,
    Do I belong here?
    Isn't a question
    To be searched of.

    I wish I could wake up with no traces.

    ©ummesulaim

  • ummesulaim 7w

    Dear,
    Arundhati Roy

    This letter is my piece of hope travelling through seven oceans all at once. The chance of this reaching you is same as one day I stop overthinking all together. You're special to me on different degrees, I lack words about.

    The novel 'The God of small things' , I read this masterpiece when I was 16 , it's been three complete years now, I still remember every nuance, every emotion concerned through it as clear as crystals gleaming in bright sunshine. The way , through this book you created ripples, through my dead sea of emotions , the waves though feeble now, I still carry profoundly within me as someone doomed out of light, holds on to the last ray.

    The way you poured every possible human relationships into such profound words is simply spectacular and breathtaking in every possible language this planet, and all other planets within and beyond milky way have ever known or will ever know.

    You made me rethink my ideologies on how I see and decipher relations in my real life. The complexity of what we humans hold within, deliver and perceive, you shook my understanding about all of it at once.

    This novel is more of a collection of painful thoughts, and human emotions beautifully carved through magnificent poems.

    You have no idea how you stirred poetry , magic and realism to my otherwise dull life.

    Thanks would be a zilch in comparison to how your work affects me.

    With love,
    Umme Sulaim

    #fanletter #wod

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    If you're happy in a dream does that counts?

    -The God of small things

  • ummesulaim 8w

    Nobody can clamper ,
    Your share of light.

    Other's may tamper,
    Survive through the night.

    For ,
    A single ray ,
    Shines bright anyway.


    ©ummesulaim

  • ummesulaim 14w

    A void?

    You left a void in me,
    And that negotiates deep within me,
    A void with sharm screaming corners.

    A void with corners?
    Corners woven with pleasure and pain.

    I scrape,
    I scrape, I screech and I squeak it
    All through my dark nights.

    Till,
    Until, the edges are blunt and raw enough to take no more.

    Some people walk in,
    Sometimes align in,
    With warmth and care.
    But,
    An empty can,
    With a captivating cover,
    Is still 'empty'.

    I'll be crying,
    Trying, day in and day out,
    To decipher the void ,
    That resides within,
    But, belongs to you.

    I must be really good,
    To deceive I'm fine,
    When I'm not even close.

    I thought I could dupe easily,
    Though,
    I never actually counted you in.
    For,
    You have already read me twice.

    I daily brick,
    Our mansion of misunderstandings,
    Knowingly or unknowingly.

    It still stands shaky,
    For some pieces within me,
    Still awaits,
    You,
    To abolish it in a blow.

    Amidst all the reasonings,
    Deep down,
    I know,
    Now, even you can't,
    Devoid me of this void.
    ©ummesulaim

  • ummesulaim 17w

    Pressure is phenomenal in nature.
    What's your excuse?

    ©ummesulaim