“Love is a story of death;” he said as he held my hand wrapped in the bandages; “I won't promise of a happy life but a memorable death: say, do you want to die all by me?” My eyes were full of tears: he was talking about the million deaths before the final death.
He held my hand and took me away From the lonely woods To the hushed skies Left my hand and told me to fly; He glared at me like a star-gazer Advised me to sparkle and flare To fulfil his yearnings, I had to fall; He and I, a happy us He told me about the home That was secure for me, And told me to be the lion In the fierce jungle; He took me out of fears To live fears; When all I wanted was A forever shield I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong
When my dull stares slide onto your face I do not know which colour to specify Shall I call you red as a flushed rose Or shall I name you a silver gleaming moon Shall I classify you amongst the blond linings of the stars Or shall I call you my perfect blue sky Of the grey clouds that pour the noises Or the black night that is shut quiet?
What about the colour of chastity Amongst all the colours of beauty;
What‘s white? Your soul, as sacred as a fragile collapsing snowflake.
Hello everyone ❤️🦋 #wild I didn't know how to make wild beautiful. I didn't know how to clarify a wild loin as an animal of love. I didn't know how to call the drops of blood, the vapours of the red rose. I didn't know how to cure all that can't be healed. All I knew was the hallucinating words that told me to see the things that didn't exist. 🌻
Born as a single flake of snow., Who would find me amidst the frozen peaks But that speck of dusk Smudged on me, the purple wounds And those sunken scars The burns of failures, they call my name and talk about my shades of wounds. I would be no different, it would’ve been A translucent raindrop just like you But I’m filled with the fortune of muck That flickers and pierces in me. I don’t know about your rainbow-filled wings But mine are ebony and wild Full of tales from the skies and the hazes. I was born as a flaw, messed and drowned And I don’t know about your silver shine But only a wild flaw fits on the moon.
I didn't believe in love and commitments until it was him. I didn't believe in wanting to spend life with a person forever until it was him. And when it was him, it was everything. I felt every single thing from the universe.
The same thing happened again, The sun burnt in the rage of love, And the wounds caused on the moon.
To all the lovers out there, waiting to destroy and get destroyed in love- stop thinking that forcing things into life is love- if it isn't for the sake of Allah, and the sake of truth, it isn't love! 😕
I know how you're feeling. Yeah, I do. Anxious? Stressed? Worried? Pressurised? Perhaps each and every one of these.
The thing is, Stop letting yourself get upset over shit that won't matter in a couple of years. Stop taking everything so personally. Let these emotions dictate your life and you lose. Accept and embrace the fact that it's what life is all about and you win.
Love yourself. Fall in love with being alive. Fall in love with the little things. Watch 6 am sunrise and 6 pm sunset. Go on a ride or a drive with no destination in mind whatsoever. Stop to take pretty pictures of yourself. Burn your skin from a hot shower after a long day. Sleep in on Saturdays and wake up early on Sundays.
I hope strangers make you smile. I hope your Playlist makes you sing. I hope you fall in love with yourself again.
The pathetic fallacy is a figure of speech in which the natural world is treated as though it had human emotions. For instance "weeping cloud" is an example of the pathetic fallacy. This is also a kind of personification, or describing non-human objects in human ways but in strictest sense, the pathetic fallacy can only be applied to nature – animals, trees, weather patterns, etc.
--Today, write a poem using pathetic fallacy in it.--
Poetry has destroyed me, It has also rebuilt me everytime.
Poetry has ripped my liver out and shoved it back down my throat.
Poetry, writing, creating, It’s a dangerous thing, and most people don’t appreciate that. I risk my life to write, one night I could flip and die. I could overdose on words, and end up on the other side of life. When they find my body, they’d find every word I’ve ever written crumpled up in my tongue.