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  • whitewings 1w

    The initial reaction wasn't pain. It was panic. A million thoughts and emotions, racing in my mind. Past, present, future. Memories. Plans. Everything was suddenly up in the air. Like an internal earthquake or tsunami maybe. I wasn't calm enough to feel the pain, gauge the damage. Immediately, I went into denial. Underplaying the hurt. Telling myself that I was okay and feeling normal... that sending love and forgiveness would be easy. After all, there was love, to begin with. But as days went by... I noticed, I was unable to cry. That's when I realized... I was in emotional shock. And my emotional system had abruptly shut down. That is grief. The damage runs deeper than what can be seen.

    ©whitewings

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    That is grief.
    The damage runs deeper
    than what can be seen.

    ©whitewings

  • whitewings 2w

    This pain runs through my body
    and ties me to the ground underneath.
    My veins get emptied,
    to an unending pit,
    at the center of the earth.
    Pale and drained...
    I stand, in utter shock.
    Lips parted,
    by the weight
    of words entangled,
    hanging...
    hooked in my gut.
    Enough air in my lungs.
    Enough to keep me afloat.
    But I'm drowning,
    under the desert in my throat.
    Your face...
    blurred in my memories.
    Your betrayal...
    still fresh,
    oozing from my heart...
    bleeding.
    I'm bleeding vacuum,
    because that's all that remains within me.
    I had given you all the keys.
    Not knowing,
    you... were the thief.

    ©whitewings

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    I had given you all the keys.
    Not knowing,
    you... were the thief.

    ©whitewings

  • whitewings 2w

    Little girl waits...
    for papa to come home.
    Not for the toys he'd bring,
    but to merrily climb...
    in the arms that feel
    safe and secure.

    Little girl stands,
    all evening by the window...
    looking longingly at the street.
    Hoping it is him,
    the clicking of shoes she's hearing.

    She sees a silhouette come close...
    with a staggering gait,
    and a frown
    instead of a smile on his face.
    "Papa is drunk tonight",
    she mumbles to herself.

    "Tonight isn't for play",
    he says.
    And heads to the kitchen straight.
    A strange woman was holding his hand.
    Little girl wonders,
    is she a friend of him,
    or her mother's acquaintance.

    Little girls hears...
    screaming and crying...
    plates and cups being thrown,
    slaps and punches being exchanged.
    Hiding behind the door,
    little girl waits...
    for the storm to go away.

    Twenty years later,
    little girl is still stuck behind that door.
    Her daughter is fast asleep in the room upstairs.
    The little girl waits...
    in utter terror, all alone,
    for her husband
    to come home.

    ©whitewings

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    Little girl waits...

    ©whitewings

  • whitewings 2w

    For a moment,
    I will stop thinking about you...
    and your scars and wounds.
    What you did and why you did.
    How you must be feeling.

    For a moment,
    I will think only about me
    and my broken dreams.
    How heart broken I am.
    How deeply I am hurting.

    For a moment
    I will tend to
    only my wounds.
    The ones I received
    from you.

    For a moment
    I will let myself hate you,
    for your misdeeds,
    for the pain and suffering
    you inflicted upon me.

    For a moment
    I will forget,
    all the good times we shared.
    And I won't judge or stop myself.
    Instead, I will accept...

    that I feel betrayed
    and disappointed.
    Not in you...
    but my own judgements,
    wits and senses.

    For a moment
    I will grieve,
    in silence.

    For a moment
    I will allow myself to forget,
    I did truly love you.

    For a moment
    I will pretend,
    to forgive myself...

    for placing my faith,
    in a coward like you.

    ©whitewings

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    For a moment
    I will pretend,
    to forgive myself...
    for placing my faith,
    in a coward like you.

    ©whitewings

  • whitewings 2w

    Photo : Nothing But Thieves | The Official Website, via Pinterest

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    Invaders to a temple...
    with ropes and chisel and hooks.
    Thieves and soldiers alike,
    to steal and claim,
    what isn't theirs.
    A brick, a pillar, a tree in the courtyard
    burned, demolished, destroyed.
    Yet the deity stood tall.
    Because the sanctum remained untouched.
    Until a lizard slithered
    through the alleys and cracks in the walls...
    into the center,
    the heart of the temple.
    A poisonous sting was all it took,
    to crack the marble,
    to wash away the colors
    of a stone statue.

    ©whitewings

  • whitewings 2w

    A heavy downpour
    in the silence of the night.
    Seamless they fall...
    the flames of dense drops.
    Droplets hit the ground,
    but make no sound.
    No thunder to accompany,
    no lightening.
    Just a silent hailstorm,
    hitting and destroying
    the crops.

    ©whitewings

  • whitewings 5w

    Maybe I'll just wander through life, like a tourist in a foreign land... watching people go about their daily life, work, traffic, market places and parks. Stopping by to breathe in the colors of a sunset I'd be seeing for the first and probably the last time, to pet a street dog sleeping on the pavement, to sit over a cup of tea with a random vendor and talk about religion and politics and her family. Maybe I'll own nothing, except my body, my emotions and my thoughts. And maybe I'll leave early... because I have other countries to explore.

    ©whitewings

  • whitewings 6w

    People like to call strong women as goddesses. Because that's how they want a strong woman to be... mythological, imaginary, non existent... except in fantasies. Someone who is, as well as isn't there. A soothing, calming, empowering dream... to give them courage and hope to escape grim realities. A strong woman cannot be a human. She's not supposed to be. Because humans speak. Humans feel. And humans have needs.

    ©whitewings

  • whitewings 7w

    Four seeds sown,
    four grains reaped.
    Every night is a journey,
    to replenish
    what was lost in the morning.

    Just before sunrise,
    a potion is brewed...
    Stirred with the ladle of loss
    boiling with dew
    the grains I grew.

    Four cups poured.
    Fallen on the floor,
    fifth was my cup
    that remained empty.
    They forgot to save
    even a single drop for me.

    ©whitewings

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    Four cups poured.
    Fallen on the floor,
    fifth was my cup
    that remained empty.
    They forgot to save
    even a single drop for me.

    ©whitewings

  • whitewings 7w

    As I stepped into the city, an eerie feeling wrapped my being. It was still noon time, so I brushed off the feeling to be arising due to the obvious haunted aura that spring afternoons carried in this part of the country. I took a cab and let the car window down to taste the air of this new place. But as the vehicle moved through the empty roads of a city that seemed to be haunted more than alive, I just couldn't shake a sinking feeling of dread and uneasiness that made me squirm in my seat. For the first time wide empty roads and highways and flyovers didn't make me feel free and ecstatic. Instead, they invoked in me... a sense of fear and dread. For the first time silence and stillness didn't feel soothing... but threatening. It felt like the driver was a spirit, taking me around a ghost town... through the alleys of a graveyard... a burnt down city... with thick layer of dust settled upon homes and roads and chimneys of factories that seemed to have been closed for decades. The parks were full of prickly plants... no flowers, no fruit bearing trees... quite unusual for this part of the country. All through my drive of about an hour, I didn't find a single person actively participating in life. People were... just lazily dragging their bodies around localities. As if ghosts from the cementery had found their way into the town. Death loomed in the air that I was breathing. It seemed to be a secret small cemetery that had been plucked from the spirit world and placed in the middle of a living country. And I... happened to be a random traveler... who had mistakenly stepped into this haunted land of the dead. My gut screamed... to run away before it was too late. Before I too, would become one of them... a haunted spirit... wandering out of my grave.

    ©WhiteWings

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    My gut screamed... to run away before it was too late. Before I too, would become one of them... a haunted spirit... wandering out of my grave.

    ©whitewings