The breathing sculpture.

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There she stands in the outer edge corner, shadowed by her comrades, laughing at the joke that was displayed like a medusa head about her pot bellied expression of witless dreams and stained memories that lost its luster with too many sweets.

Once everyone turns to encore the moving articles around them, a tiny colorless melody drips from her eyes that have met and seen many intricate colored metaphors for her lifetime to suck her dry.  She wipes it away without disturbing the graceful black stroke that has outlined her mirror; with the color of her soul.

And she stands, with her hands crossed and legs slightly titled like a moon unsure of how he should come out for the party tonight. Her dress hangs loose and the stretched her already curved impression making her hard to breathe as the hues in front of her laugh; choking her to death.

She dances in the bathroom mirror, squeezing arrhythmic steps into her overloaded heart and the beat just jarred the cacophony even further.

Yet, with her renewed makeup and strength; she rises like a phoenix with a smile to kill soldiers in their best armor. Yet, when alone in the sanctuary of her confinements, she lost all her lustrous rhinestones to the sky who cried with her that night.

Everyone admired the starry skies.

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Hello blog.

 
I’m not sure what am I supposed to write today. No, I don’t know what I should ever write. There is too much to say in my mind. Not to someone, you see. I mean the things that I want to say is not to someone but myself.
You see, people are strange creatures. No matter how hard we try to impress, they mock us. No matter how pressingly we address the issue, there will be something to put us to shame. No matter how hard you try to express your emotions; whatever it may be, sadness, grief, guilt, anger, pain…. no matter what emotions… they either act as if they understood or they might give us the pity stare and then they will laugh behind our back.

So, I have stopped talking and started being silly and laughing queen. So, you know what they say about me? I am so happy… ok, I can live with that. But they also say, ‘she is so stupid. Why can’t she act her age?‘ wow!¡ That’s… wow…

I just don’t know blog… life is too damn straight at times that er just go with the flow and suddenly we alone are hit with a huge barricade and we are forced to see… everyone else that was with me; to climb the mountain and reach somewhere. But for me? I am forced to take the helluva roller coaster ride with damn too many twists and turn.

Sometimes, I just quit… I just can’t.

And when I read about articles that should help me… I am confused even more. Not satisfied. How am I supposed to create positive thinking and live with it when all I ever have is bad… bad thoughts?

But no matter how horrible the day and life may be… I have learned to smile and laugh in the end and then cry when I am in the darkness; alone.

Life can be as bad as anything but I will go on as long as I can tape the broken pieces of my heart together.

Meet you again blogg 🙂

Dear blog

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Ok, that sounds stupid. But I think I will keep it like that 😉

I created this blog with many ideas. Now… I am stuck. Stuck with no thoughts, no ideas, no words and definitely nothing. It’s like I am drained of everything. And that’ s true in a sense.

These days I feel so tired. I feel so drained and exhausted. I am writing a novel based on true events in wattpad and I am seriously getting disinterested.I am like wondering if I should just stop. But if one starts something… one should end it, right? I know where I should go with the plot, story line and all; but I’m seriously getting second thoughts about it.

So now, if only you have a voice dear blog, tell me, should I complete it?? Well, as you can see I am writing in wattpad and I am here in WordPress. So obviously there will be some connections, right? So, yea I am advertising my book 🙂 its free advertising. Come on, everyone gets a heart swell when some random reader from somewhere says, we have written a good story or poem or something right?

Now I feel stupid about it all. Haha, I am sometimes. The thing is when I am doing something I get many other ideas, inspirations, and thoughts which make everything jumbled and finally… I won’t be completing my first job and I won’t be saving any thoughts that sounded really good in my head.

Like right now, when I am writing my current novel, I get ideas for another book and I start writing the ideas of it and then I begin with the story completely ignoring the first one. Everyone gets that, I know… I have heard many say that. Funny… yea…

Anyway, I need to feed my stomach or my migraine will soar high and then I will be over exhausted as if I was the one holding earth.

bye bye, my dear. See ya soon 🙂

Nature lover.

In between thin shards of glass, I walk carefully on its edge, Not wanting to cut my toes, fearing my muse will flow out. Life taught me very good things, about the sky which is azure and blue at times but fails to comprehend the emotion of moon and quickly fades to yellow and hues. Blurry, soft cotton swabs whiter throughout the sky, painting the already pique azure, a little more pathetic, but the more you look at it the more you feel relaxed.
Life also taught me about the azure, the one that flows through my nails and fingers, and I feel the tickling nibbles of tiny mouths, making me see wonderful visions and I smile and then laugh. The water is a pure blue, sheer pleasure, mighty bearer, smooth kisses. The rivulets passes along liquidizing melon sun and the water clings to my legs, painting my legs a sweet mango yellow. Cooling my mind, making me feel relaxed.
Beautiful, sturdy trees stretches and exaggerate its beauty through olive, emerald, and pedriot legacies and then they paints a masterpiece in between the lines of glistening buds that rejuvenate and solidify emotions, pulled to the roots and finalize this closure. making me sane and fine and peace. Hues boasts about fine poetry and paints masterpiece, of crimson, yellow, salmon, orange and brown. fallen or not, they whiter diamond dust of beauty.
never shall I get tired of this, the fragrance of rainbows, frolicking and swaying in the whistling breeze and chirruping birds that brings together a chord of sonata, a serenade, a chime too sweet. close your eyes and envisage, you could feel the beauty tantalizing, whispering, kissing. Tiny buds giggling and joyfully turn their head towards the sun, like kids do when they do something proud. smiling and gleefully enjoying.Peace
Nature has its palette full of hues and I a brush, painting on the blank canvas, hurting my  mind and I paint, a picture…..Too sweet and rhythmic, I never look for flaws and don’t care for the fine piece of mitigating comments, sarcasm or care… I feel I own this palette and the hues is mine, from my mother nature, Attitude design my brains by the nature and this nature set the bars high…..Never complaining and only applauding.

untitled.

In the sweetest of nocturnal ponds, my eyes dip in the cool shores of silver, waiting to be rolled in warm bliss, by your fragrance wafting around the pond. Golden charm resonate while you hum, the melody of my serenade and I pinch myself to see this ballad is real and not a mild mirage like those dandelions there in your eyes. I dip my quill in the river of your love and write in the canvas of jasmine and rose. our love is the closure of unending legacies, unraveling through years of melted sonata

Our song is the boon of your whispers, where I slip into the gardens of Eden, devouring the eloquent shade of poetry only to write you an ode, from the temporal lobe of my cranium. Our song is the ballad sung by undulating wrapping up of blankets in the sultry ambiance of indigo passions. Our love is the shade of moon, whispering to the stars and guiding the way of forbidden fruits like us.

O divine verses of prose, glide me through your indispensable proximity of my love, that flows through the veins of river in between the root that hold the deepest of pleasure, that flutter through the dreams of pink, orange, amber, red painted sky….that mix with the zilch effervescence of this seedless night.

I shall make you weep those ink of eloquent aura, making me drip with emotions as your verses tangle my brains. I behold the torch of your divine presence that unveil glaciers and waterfalls of enduring metaphor, and I bathe in this pond of reverberation to rattle my love towards you, O fine piece of beauty.

The pain of my mother. (not good at prose,but tried one.)

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I promised her she will never have to cry. leaving behind the bones of yesterday’s grim hope, that rattles along with tins and cans I used to preserve pickled lies. The ghastly light flickered above me with a slow moan as the breeze fondled in the obscure, a shade of apprehended silhouette brush my soul and I feel no fear gripping me. Tears that fell from your eyes burst like little bombs in my head and I feel my strength oozing out just by looking at her face and I smile reassuringly, but she tightly seals her lips and blink her eyes with a sigh, the dust settled around her scattered in the hazy light.

As the day withered away in the ashen times of winter, tightening frost bites sink into my body making me go numb, and I feel no pain in my heart that has stopped beating or because I was too busy in the protruding fantastical life, I forgot to breath. Long stares at infinity has made thick bags underneath her plateaued eyes that sunk her pupils and dilapidated wrinkles crowned her flesh that once was red with bliss. Now, I see terror surpassing through her heart beating umpteenth time and she breathe in strongly making me choke on this hurt that has turned us(me and my mother) into a blatant array of lost survivors.

As I look into your eyes, the visions seems blurred with dried tears now stinking in your pupils and that tears a channel down your wrinkled face taking time to find the path through your layers of untimely struggle and strife. Now, as I look upon you I see fear intermingling death, longing for a door that shall bypass our tragic end to a full hope reassuring death.

life was never easy and promises are easy to say but hard to keep, mom!

“Being poor” and understanding them

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I just read an article “Being poor” today and I was astonished, just to know how much it truly triggered me.  http://whatever.scalzi.com/2005/09/03/being-poor/

Frankly I have never led a life like that but I was truly not satisfied with my ways. Not because I wanted what my parents can’t afford but because I wanted something which my father didn’t approve. That is next to nothing regarding being poor. But, never have I deprived of food and never have I cried because I am hungry. I have always felt for those who have been hungry and I have always wanted to help those, but the only thing I feel sad is that I have no income of my own.

“Being poor is going to the restroom before you get in the school lunch line so your friends will be ahead of you and won’t hear you say “I get free lunch” when you get to the cashier.” I felt really sad reading this and I wonder how can someone afford to stay like that and I pray to Lord almighty, please help these poor souls.

“Being poor is a six-hour wait in an emergency room with a sick child asleep on your lap.” Oh that is something you see very often in my country with government hospitals. I feel sad and sometimes I feel happy that I never had a chance and I wish and pray that none have that unfortunate chance.

“Being poor is people who have never been poor wondering why you choose to be so.” I strongly disagree (In my single opinion) because I befriend poor girls in my college. Just because I see those girls who are “not poor” have a set of gang and hang out with all those girly charms and I see these girls in a corner having a fine time with people of their kind. I, don’t have a big set of gang but those who understand me loves me and I hang with these poor downward girls and have fun. They are grateful and happy that I chose to be with them and I understand them. i never get those good remark and high five like they do for my choice but I find happiness and gaining happiness is deemed worthy.

“Being poor is knowing how hard it is to stop being poor.” This hit me hard, god! I always pray to my Allah, please help those who have go through much. I can accept and understand because I have been through a lot, and I mean a lot. Physically, mentally, financially and all those “lly” wise.

And in the message section I saw a Soni giving head on with the Being poor in her version and I was heart struck. I can never afford to see people suffering, because like I said I had enough and saw enough to make me feel sad and depressed. I have scars on my left hands that of which I cut. It has healed and left a brown lines always showing what I had to do because I was not able to cope with the pain in my heart. Whenever someone comes and tell me about their sad times, I cry. In silence and in the dark, I advice them a lot of brilliant verses and they feel enlightened and in the end I think to myself, “wouldn’t that apply to me.” And I cry…

A lot of Being poor messages got popped in the message section and most of which stood by my heart is the stealing part for food and thinking will that be a sin. There are people who steal because they feel like doing this and some are there because of their misfortune. And there are people and children who steals,for the sake of someone in their home and give them what they stole and they sleep hungrily.

I can’t think enough and speak because my heart is whimpering and I feel guilt in my guts.”If  only I can do something.”

Ha…i wish and hope and pray and cry for the best and Lord Almighty is all-knowing and empowering, he knows what is happening for the best. Leaving onto his palms, I wish hoping for the best.

Whatever may be, hope is what ties us to not give-up.