I see you, through the key hole from the other side of the locked ebony door that stands between us like a memoir of our unwelcome accomplishments full of agonies, distrusts, sorrows, and issues that failed to heal despite our timless futile efforts.
It's dark in here, and all my light, I see it in you- I wish I could come to the other side to you but I don't remember when we lost the key to our reunion perhaps it was one of those moments we got busy dedicating each other cursed poetries- read between the lines and you would find baseless blames rhyming in perfect synchrony
I never bothered much either to make an effort to breakthrough these jammed barriers truth be told, I was scared if or not it would be worthy; enduring this pain, all by myself only to be taken into arms by an ugly rejection
he stirred the kind of love that would make you want to stay The kind of love that'd make you want to hold on stronger, didn't matter how feeble your pulse got
the kind of love you would wander in search of your whole life in the thickest of forests under the deepest of oceans only to know that it was growing in your backyard all these years
the kind of love that smelled of cigarettes and leather, like bikes on a highway, and dim lit lanterns like cinammon sticks in an aging wine
the kind of love; physical you could be kissing all night and still feel completely oblivious to his touch the next morning he could make you feel at home with his one gaze, and leave you feeling stripped naked in the middle of the street while you lay beside him wrapped in silk sheets
Domestic and family violence tears lives apart. One in 3 women experience physical or sexual violence, or both, caused by someone known to them. It affects women, children, the family and the community. And it has big personal, social and economic effects
Whether children witness or experience abuse, it can take a toll on their development. Domestic violence victims are not isolated to intimate partners. Children are at an increased risk for emotional behavioral problems regardless if they were directly abused or not. The effects include: Anxiety, Depression, Academic problems, fear of what might happen to them or their loved ones.
Announcing the passing of a longtime, cherished member...
Dear Fellow Mirakeeans, I come bearing some very startling and unexpected news, which I learned from my dear friend's mother @imterwms (whom is also my dear friend), whereupon she asked that I convey this to all of you. Jack (of @john_solomon), has been a writer, member, friend, mentor, encourager, and source of inspiration here for several years now. He enjoyed combining science, metaphysics, and spirituality in a poetic manner, and his admirable ability to do so was incomparable, and one that I'd not ever seen before. Like myself, Jack enjoyed supporting and encouraging the many youngsters here onsite, and he liked to laugh and always insisted on finding something positive, in any given situation; thus it wasn't too surprising that he and I would become dear friends. Since Jack and I spoke almost daily, his was a well known name in my home; and he knew of everyone here, including my husband (in fact, they're from the same state), my three children, and all of our cats and dogs. He made it a point to always ask about each of us, and he would rejoice with us in all of our happy moments, as well as pray for us in our times of challenge. Jack spent the majority of his time doing for others. He was a loving son and caretaker to his mother, a cherished brother to his two younger sisters, and a friend and mentor to all. He often donated his time and assistance to those in need; and much like Christ the Savior, whom he dearly loved, Jack led a humble life devoid of unnecessary material goods, yet if something was ever needed, he'd be the first person to make sure that you had it. Although Jack had just reached 51 years, he was a kid at heart and had a wonderful sense of humor, along with a boyish charm. He was also a self-proclaimed hippie who loved music profoundly, particularly that of the 70's and 80's. In fact, due to attending so many rock concerts, Jack had partial hearing loss in one ear, and he was rather proud that the damage had occurred at an Eric Clapton concert. Around here, Jack was known as the "haiku king," due to his fondness for haiku poetry, and his penchant for penning them. He preferred the Americanized version of the traditional Japanese haiku, which is a three line, non rhyming, untitled poem on the topic of nature that has a total of 17 syllables, dispersed as 5/7/5 respectively. So it was only natural that I'd include a haiku poem for him in this tribute piece. One that has him soaring amongst his beloved stars. In closing, I'm sure that members are shocked and have questions. All we know at this time is that Jack's death was not covid related. In fact, he seemed to be in very good health and had no known physical illness. Right now, the cause of his sudden, unexpected death on the evening of May 9th, is presumed to be a stroke, although the official coroner's report hasn't been released yet. Several of us (my husband and I, and Jack's sister) have already heard from Jack since he ascended from this world. Although no longer here on this Earth, his spirit lives on in an eternal dimension, existing outside of time and space, and he is very much at peace. So, although his loss is tremendous, he really hasn't gone very far, as he'll forever shine above us, as the heavens brightest star. Farewell, my dear friend. And no, I'm not nearly done lecturing you for leaving us so early! Blessings, Admin Carolyn
I don't remember the last time we talked. Honestly, I don't remember the last time I thought of you. Maybe it was some six months ago, one rainy afternoon while I was sipping tea and the raindrops caressed me lightly, I was so craving for fritters, yes the one with potatoes and onions dipped in a sweet-savoury sauce crunching in my mouth while I searched for a rainbow. You know how I love rainbows, the beautiful band of colours spanning across the sky connecting two distant lovers. I wondered where the rainbow was. No, it wasn't my half opened umbrella dripping water or the now soaked towel I forgot to collect after keeping it for drying that reminded me of your violet umbrella pouring water when you returned home all soaked and I brought a fresh towel since yours was wet in the rain. No, you just happened to cross my mind. I opened my social media to welcome the plenty pictures of rain, tea and fritters and just when I was about to close it, I took a glance at your display picture half glaring at me, you don't post much and I have stopped going all the way to your profile to just stare at your profile picture. But this time, I .. clicked on your story, 'its raining, wonder where the rainbow is?', an aesthetic shot of your smile with a cup of tea in hand. A soft chuckle escaped my lips while I sipped my tea. No, my heart didn't skip a beat. Really, no. I was about to close it but just couldn't. I had to stare at the brown hair, the sideburns that grew longer and the stubble on your cheeks and the half opened violet umbrella on the side and that adorable smile. A sigh escaped my nostrils and a smile played on my lips. I went to the balcony and felt the rain, the same rain you were feeling four miles away from me. I closed my eyes for some seconds replaying 'where the rainbow is?' only to open and witness one of the brightest rainbows of my life. I could have texted you. I still can but.. I want you to find your rainbow yourself. I hope you do. I know you will.
Its been long, so long since we talked. This time, your text didn't squeeze my heart the way it used to, I still smiled tho. 'Do you still write?', you asked . I recall the time you called me your poetry. 'I do.' I don't have the heart to abandon my poetry the way you did. 'writing stories lately' Just that you are no longer the first person to read them, I wanted to text . Not that I don't want to talk to you, you just ain't accessible anymore,.. not for me. I sent you my latest love story. 'Changed genres, have you?' 'Oh yeah, just trying.', I reply plotting myself in the story wishing you did the same. 'This is so beautiful. I'm not sure about the ending tho. I think an incomplete one will make it even more interesting.' I just shook my head and smirked, of course you like incomplete endings. 'So, is this fictional or is there a lucky man beneath the words?'. I contemplated writing there is indeed someone, more expressive, more caring, more..but 'No lol, its just some silly fantasy, no personal experience..yet.' I couldn't see your face but wished there was disappointment, that little crease on your forehead that appeared when you were hurt and vivid signs of /oh/ in your eyes. 'Oh, I see'. I know you were thinking if I had anything written for you, for us but you won't ask. The truth is, neither have I nor will I ever write about us, for I still wear your touch on my skin like glitter sprinkled on hands. No matter how much you rub it, it just won't get off. And I still hear you humming near my neck like a little melody of a lost song running in your mind but you'd never know the complete track and the tune will continue to haunt you. No matter how distracted you are, you don't want it to end either. If I write about us, I fear the cologne will wear off, the glitter be washed away and some part of the track will visit the person reading it and I can't, can't share you with anyone, not even with words. I can't lose you..again. 'Are you still there?' 'Yeah, I am.' I will always be. 'Umm, will you write about me, about..us?' I smiled. Never, never,never ,my mind uttered. I sent a wink ';))' , sighed and turned my phone away.
~You like incomplete endings, don't you?~ ____________________________________________
कुछ रिश्ते अखबार कि उस किश्ती की तरह होते हैं थोड़ा सम्भलते हुए, थोड़ा सेहेजते हुए कुछ दूर बैहकर बिखर जाते हैं, कागज़ी ही तो है आख़िर|
'Here, I'll show you', You took the paper from my hand and folded it into a perfect plane. 'Teach me?' I blushed and you smiled, folding another napkin into half. The sky was blue with soft white clouds embracing it. I was sitting on the table having a hard time making a paper plane. Being a primary grade teacher is surely fun. I thought I'll teach those toddlers some paper craft but here I was whining over one plane. We instantly clicked. Your eyes were the kindest shade of brown and touch like the soft kiss of clouds. Who knew some origami was folding my heart into various layers of love and caressing my creases as if I was the most fragile yet precious being? Everytime I was upset with you, you wrote a letter, folded into a paper plane and left it on my table. I don't know if it was your innocence or the perfect shape of the plane that did its magic but a smile was painted all over my face and your soft kiss followed next. I thought you were being crazy having paper planes tattooed on your wrist but here I am, inking the same today. The sky is gleaming with shades of blue but my eyes are hovering over the galaxies behind your eyes.
the moon is gleaming tonight, like the eyes of a hyena, when it's dark out — denser by the hour, the feelings, they settle deeper down, alongwith the midnight fog. the predator is out, for his prey and, so am I : as soon as, you tickled my soul with your notification, that said "come over".
we've chirped the entire summer, now it is time for the winter; one-deep in a yellow Toyota, with an expired license. permadeath, if the tank runs out of juice, or, if the cops pull me over to make me refill their pockets with warmth; because, my wallet is as broke as the promises that I kept for my mother.
drunk driving, on the freeway, on a buck-fifty although the traffic is seemingly slow, the radio is buzzing with either advertisements, pop-hits, or, how the wintertime crimewave has risen over the past years. diluted pupils, from the sedatives and the stashed fantasies of biting your lip, kissing your neck, gripping your thighs, pinning you against the wall; hungry for anything that's unhealthy, and, your body perfectly fits the recipe — that, I almost crashed the front bumper of my car into the rear of a Mustang.
still on the way, steadily skipping traffic lights like a teenager skipping his sexual health lectures; although, your neighborhood is somehow skeptical, the risk is worth it, for everything that you promised to offer — and, what do we know about promises, when problems are usually suppressed with a barrel, or a muzzle-flash.
nearing your residence, the night is blacker than the berry that America was, during the BLM movement; and, as I pulled my car over to the sidewalks — a grim voice washed over my auditory nerves; I constantly swept my gaze across the rearview and sideview mirrors, whilst, unlocking the door, until someone grabbed me, by my shoulder, and dragged me all the way down, to the crosswalk at gunpoint; meanwhile, I am thinking what good is a soulmate, if I'm left soulless after this night ? the faces were similar, similar to someone dear, such as the grim reaper and—