Fatima Abdulsalam

a small token of kindness ( 21st january 2023 ) 
          
          bruised october, champagne bread; weeping permissions and tightened braids. a mother of brass, windows of pages; ebbs of midnight, divided miseries. 
          
          copper sprain, malachite oxygen; birds of meetings, broken silences. venn of the woods, the wind and the windpipe; foreign vowels, submerged wrinkles. wet crayons, scents of blue; crisp metaphors and pigeon hues. 
          
          palms of desserts, midnight sober; fire that slips, a womb of sonnets. lemonade poems, an annihilating waist; casual grave, a whisper of conclusions. a poet of confessions, a sky of sin; sacred rain, storm antique. 
          
          blurry opals and cigarette soliloquies; swaying septum and a bouquet of tattood ribs. spine of butter, vinegar patio; breastbone shelter, cronus love. white doorstep, a welcome ghost; trees forget leaves, winter shrinks bones. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (10th january 2023) 
          
          
          collapsed gravity, standing time;  a future unattended, a past repeated. crinkled boats, suffering ink wells; where words end, feelings begin. snow from moon, smudges that sting; the torment of blood a maze refined. 
          
          tree of pain, rehearsed branches of hope; frolicking miracle, a shadow of the banished. cozen jasmine, 
          mutable vases; toes wild, lambent homelessness. mineral cheeks, kiss of citrus; you are fire with flames that hug. 
          
          a galaxy of maple lakes, a century of strings; kite of contact, a warm pendulum. inherent catapult, beauty a candle flicker; an archipelago of petals, a bee of sedation.  tinsels of wisteria, needles of kin; vermillion heaven, welcoming hell. 
          
          frozen spring, olive bricks; swings glaucous, pomegranate unhealthy. conifer vigilant, love that condenses; taj mahal of twilight, a philocalist spirit. never you open before the awaken, a heart that carries orchids; bloom before the broken, the ones who do not know burial. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          
          [ if you wish to read an explanation for this token, please grace my message board with your honoured presence. i assure you it shall be worth your time (: ] 
          

a small token token kindness (01st january 2023)  
          
          steadfast sunsets, crooked mornings; lake a crowd of gleaming mournings. lyrics that burn, bones hopeless; tongue of wind, it rarely stays. a future of magma, temple and cityscape; humans among humans, a home bereft. 
          
          a birth that bleeds, a firmament of fleeting wisps; feet smelling of earth, lips a facade, what we appreciate. filigree like rain, a blush of darker reign; summer distorted, desert a burning lace. panaroma of a kaleidoscope, a bard like grackle; pits of doubt and a park of frission. 
          
          jardin de tuileries, seeds of breezes; memory endearments and waves of freedom. satin scents, devoted petals; barricaded branches and canvas of dripping enchantments. convivial music, lily trenchants; reflective denouements, fulgent waterfalls of wisterias. 
          
          violent fears, chalices of secrets; numbing encouragements,  frosted vanilla. oscillating mountains, cloved cessations; tainted vicolos, bricks of dried redolences. parasols of petrichor, labyrinth of moonflowers; tower of desire, rose precipices. keep a smile, with flowers divine; they grow not on well made roads but through the rough womb of mother earth. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (07th november 2022) 
          
          patterns on palms and paws, warriors of lost tears; smears and sunlight immersed in veins; water and wax, both who prick sins. mind the bashful door, the silhouettes of skins unfurnished; freedom is only if the streets are not crowded with regret. 
          
          ports of integrity and boats of grace; rain a moon that reverberates, a storm and wings with their own mind. condemn the sky and its fingers of silver syllables; what cannot hold blood can only ever be vacant. 
          
          secure the horizon, wash the world with ancient rhymes; hang the throat by its heart. song of canaries, struggling cabarets; they say nature is weak where footprints are dense. here is the hand, the hand of reckoning; sometimes stalwart beneath abyss. 
          
          tides crash into limbs, limbs of salt and tsunamis; hope dragged in a slipstream, gratitude weather worn, vehement. find me in seas and mysteries; lock your eyes with the breathless cerulean. be it silly or be it the law; do not water a thorn hoping it will grow as a rose. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness [12th june 2022]
          
          the night has its shadows, blue and grey; masked in apple's seeds, agony bathed. 
          stand in the route, be miserly in calmness; there is a devil shrouded in an eye's fountains. 
          drift like a white whale, amidst memories; from aches of cure to cures of fantasies. 
          transcend life from that present on fingertips, linger near bones, where art is kismet. 
          hollowed oranges, skins like lotuses; what we wear, we often throw. 
          a poet's backbone, a shark's tale; foam of taste buds lingering as fireflies in a throat. 
          mangoes, possums, bread and butter; a mouth of cicada symphonies, celestial dust. 
          watch the canary, year to year; dirt and snow emotions, cheeks of the earth. 
          
          shabby braids and cicada musings, burrowed sunsets and pastel bones. 
          metallic connections and feathered bangles, heads of spines and littered passages. 
          vines of grapes, of collectibles and peaches; pain of pollen, eclipsed sun and its eight witches. 
          foreign hands, hums of voices barren; silence heavy, storms and curtains. 
          blues of life and blues of disguises, shadows of night veiled by lanterns.
          maps and strangers, shores and shells; rib for a rib, hunt for a hunt; what you had the courage to bring into this world must be allowed to live, dreams or ephialtes. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          
          (if you had the courage to dream of it, by no means do you lack the courage to live it) 

a small token of kindness (13th November 2021) 
          
          in the pictures of lost maniacs, there is an element of belonging, of a home hidden in smiles of terror and skies of disguises. where there is a gaping hole, there is a form of contentment, a curious driveway into the estate of the tangerine soaked imagination. 
          
          in the sun, along the rays, there are shadows of sorrowful sovereigns, of those who had melted into its arms as mere alphabets of lineages. in place of joys, a fool's paradise and in place of demised daughters of earth, a cloud of red and a ball of heart's mist of reminiscence. 
          
          where there are wagons of soulful singing, there are chaotic bundles of luminescent yearnings. moon attempts to draw a line of selection, a veil of poisonous repose, in what it shows and what it holds. yet the world sees, the sky displays, and the destroyers freeze its beauty in a casket of dead bones. 
          
          everything productive came about with a thing  destructive. life an instance of a breath and death of breathing. the face melancholy, its soul a desert's oasis. what holds the sun, holds the moon. what has a sweet fragrance, hides a passionate poison. 
          
          a mind is selective, its heart death-dealing. what can not be protected by hands, must be reserved by venom. behind the sun, there is a wall of burning fire and with the moon a reflection of its relative. for every bit of sweetness, there has always been a scent of protective toxicant behind. and with every morning, a dash of sunset. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (7th November 2021) 
          
          the scalpel defines the wounds of the dense sun, the world but a vanilla skin of the organ; of chrysalis stitches and butterscotch flecks. much of it blends into the greedy seas, into the wilting petunias of the shallow springs and the words of prey that are consumed by the foam of the lunatic cosmos. 
          
          the collisions are where the alike attract and the opposite succumb to a ground of smoldering verses; a casket of collected limbs. vast parts of its anthem are consumed by the purple of the living  wounds; a clean glow contaminated with the wailing dawn. 
          
          marks are left around, smells are planted like the crabapples that grow with desperate blackbirds, hungry are proposed with the helpful pledges of sorrow and the dances of the mothers are engulfed in a crown of their martyred uteruses. 
          
          what one knows is but a thing of newness; a fresh torch of obstinate piety and poetry breaths through flowers of chestnut. sourness of the fingerprinted  letters carry a hundred and twenty furies, each one a call, a summoning to your ten different beings. 
          
          without an understanding, what is love and admiration but a fool's plate of food? any life without a name is a treasure lost to the sea, like the pearl that remains canvassed between origami ornaments. 
          
          what is cherished, is discovered; stared at and longed for. the fumes, the inks, the curtains of disguises, the patterns, the scars and the rib veiled hearts are traced, with fingertips of delicate onyxes. 
          
          the sun and the moon are but the creatures of clay; unknown and unalive. however with identity, they are companions of the confederate roses; of bleeding hands and blackberry silences. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (3rd November 2021) 
          
          the coat of night is cloaked with crimson dust, the morning dew a signature of its blooming ashes. when the sun awakens, there is an ancient rhyme that spreads; far from irises, free from eclipses. 
          
          moths relinquish in the deserted divinity, life a segment of luxury and wellness. winters brace the emptiness, the soul's hand caresses the twigs of aged pain. skies are dampened with a half of the earth's oceans and the three thousand tears that collide with the moon; like its shadow that glides over the sunflower. 
          
          the brush of baby breaths against the buried memories is similar to the walk of the widow; laden with heaviness irrespective of the bad or good in them. to forget the last summer is a tragedy, to lean into it a forced responsibility. 
          
          where there is monstrosity, there is awareness. everything right is in simplicity; the world a mesh of celebrated complications. crevasses exist, fear a dynamic of every body. what we are most afraid of we must become in order to earn a stature of equilibrium. 
          
          to breathe, one must set aside the burden of living. allow life to be fueled with little. relief is found in emptiness, in nakedness, in raw depth. 
          
          like the sun that chooses to appreciate the littleness of the Earth, we must allow our hearts to explore the chaos of garnet and grapevines. for after all, have our hearts not been moulded but to be little glass ochres of residual sunsets? 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (25th October 2021) 
          
          when the light strikes the earth, like the anthem of fisted floral bows, the world swing itself with the honeysuckles; a place to find a precious breath of garnet breath and an escape from the remorse of the passing tune.
          
          a hopeless mind carves into a sector of amulet-carved sun; where the crimson feet walk with the ocean's tremor. what one finds is nothing but a reminiscent reflection of the steps of the hollowed hearts; a war that had gifted salted delirium and cursed shells of optimistic odes. 
          
          what was deemed impossible by destiny's copper shined organs shall never find an acceptance like the honeyed- colossal raging ribs; a power in the chest, in the crest, like a phantomic barrier. 
          
          but has the world ever bent to rules? what are those sweet asylums to the ones who have drowned to abyss; to the Queen Anne's lace? it has summoned and bowed to night's thicketed crescents. it has pocketed the bones and preserved them in sweet alyssum. the more the earth has fled, the better it has bloomed. 
          
          the sun wanders; claiming the nights and what it holds. cauldron collapses; it is now a being of charmed control. what it cannot brace with its thirty touch, it sanctions with its stretched sobriety. the dagger draws itself against the mother- cloaked soil, spilling the shadows and the shades of the indigo ghosts before it reaches the night in the pearls. 
          
          albeit through a lustre of waves, the sun collapses within the moon's reflection; fever of a longing meet causing a platonic ripple.
          
          nothing quite is impossible. what you wish for can be achieved, whether it be catastrophic magic or fierce tempest of the confederate roses. let your veins run recklessly through the woods. many a life and many a dream have been saved by gracing death like a woodbine's peck; like the sun that closes upon death with the light of Aster. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (23rd October 2021) 
          
          on the sun, there are dry scratches of the metaphoric fence, the blindfolded eyes that were forced to negotiated with darkness and the marks of hearts that could not sew themselves back to wholes. in the silent sky, there are strips of forbidden letters that dance to kill which appear as falling stars to the naked beings. 
          
          rain embodies itself with the earth, the tragedy of the brown melting into a caramel spring. the sky expands its chest to water tears for the fact that it never has witnessed a sunset; the sin of hardly being able to caress its own cheek, its own features, heavier than regrets. 
          
          to a soul, how much does the window of life sting? to a body of smoke, blood and tears are natural and sunlight an iron cage, in fine leaves and cartilages; a fine November with its enemies. what is blood, but a mixture of fury and future; soaked in harm, made up of pretentious glory.
          
          to live, one must breathe in some place else. in accordance with the sun that escapes from the universe to live on Earth. there is blanket covered hope that has died in dirt, in rocks painted with east coast. the more stars we let go, the more we find. the more wars we survive, the more we unsee the horrors in ourselves. 
          
          the constellations of violets and the collected earth of the stars all synchronise with one another; the bruises like jewels that decorate the knuckles. 
          
          let yourself be consumed by another dynasty, carved into a delicate alabaster of history, like the bones that are formed into galaxies of the soil away from a body of clay and the sun that spills itself into the jugular vein, aside from the horizon's gaze. 
           #adropofhumanity