urban noises flow through the empty streets of her grey and fluid surrounded brain she is a city, full of chaos and havoc wartorn but whose ruins still smell like home her heart is a museum that stores memories and bleeds nostalgia and destroys itself flowers grow from her lifeless ruins and every sky scraper buried beneath her bones chases light, points towards the sky and stands still her castle is in flames and is wrecked by hurricanes that emerge from her own soul; a civil war self- hatred rains over her when everytime she kills the people residing within her concrete heart due to the unsettling and destructive war inside still she wakes up with the hope- painted sunflowers and learns from the fluttering butterflies the art of rebuilding, letting go and holding on
shiekh_aasif@aleesa you are alvys welcomed... I am alvys glad to see frndz shining that too when they are younger than me & achieve much more than I have. You are a true inspiration to me & many others to chase the dreams even if it seems unachievable.
there's a child crying in the drain nearby. black skin and history, he cries and cries under a sky that looks the same as his sides. he looks for a mother to feed him, she lies camouflaged in the rubble. her breasts - an incomplete victory.
a pile of garbage lay near him, at times they whisper like the living, then resort to bangles and cutlery packed away haphazardly for an untimely escape. they hiss at him when he cries, like snakes devoid of venom slowly succumbing to subdued pangs of hunger. their country is at war and homes, a neonatal memory growing distant every second. they clutch at their guts that now speak the language of silence, the war has invaded every aspect of their existence. bread and butter - a novel history.
the child keeps crying; the last laughter of home lay exhausted on the edge of his underdeveloped yet withering memory, his squalls grow weaker every second, he gasps for the tragic air demanding a last vision of his mother. he can't hope, he's too young for that; he can only cry. so he cries and cries until he's gone, until he's one of them, silence, death, dust, a forgotten memory. are all that remains - of him and them.
prachii_Happy friendship day to one of the most genuine persons here! I am super glad that I met you here! :)
reflections__@prachii_ thank you so much Prachi. A very happy friendship day to you too! I'm glad to meet you as well. Tbh I haven't talked with anyone here, you're the only I've had a conversation with , and I'm so glad we did. Thanks for being you. Wishing you all good things
There is something vivid about the alacrity of lexica that ooze out of my forbidden and claustrophobic thoughts, words no longer await the need to be spoken when the urge to be felt is bearing the alluring colours of cessation, but for them actions and weapons are louder than the words, bloodshed and injuries over peace and stability, they feed traumas and sufferings to the pitiable. As the winds of fiend reach the gates of paradise, with a shrewd mixture of warmth and blood, I scribble the lessons of love on the walls of scornful hatred, built by the kitsch beings, but the words of serenity are thrown onto the malicious lands. Annihilating damage within the invidious souls, I lost a piece of myself in the jaunt of fracas, though the other pieces fetter the unwillingness of people to show humanity. Exhuming the innocence of thousands, I find the exulting of mortals, very lively to be revived again. Delinquent shadows in every valley of asleep yet awake night, the footsteps are cautious to follow the sound of amenity, for there is enmity everywhere, and by the time one can solemnly express grief of the stillness of heart, there are already wars of words taking place insolently over the sounds of now dying frissons of helpless humans. At the place of war zones, there are many reaching hands within the fighting warriors, begging for someone to pull them out of the abyss of inhumanity. Flowers on the tombs, ashes of ephemeral harmony of ludic sacrificers, everything at the point of ruin rests on the cunning smiles of the tyrants. I tried bringing peace, but they dragged me down.
imgunjan..♥️Love♥️ It's not just a feeling it's a profound emotion which is like a blessing to us all. No matter of it's a romantic love, self love, love for family or any other kind, it is a reason for our happiness. So write to your heart's out and mesmerize everyone with your emotions without holding back.
Here I'm up with an anthology based on love where you can express your definition of love and its beautiful nature titled " *MÉLANGE D'AMOUR* " which means "Blend Of Love" in French
Genre: Poetry, Microtales, Letters, Story, etc.
Compiler: Vaishali Naithani
Benefits to co-authors: 3 pages for your write up with credits One page for your bio E book for free Globally valid E Certificate of being a published and a certified writer Life long publication on Amazon and Company's offical site
Entry fee is just 150/- (No pre-order compulsion)
imgunjanYou can become co-author and get worldwide certificate