fatimmaam

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 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 [25th june 2022] 
          
          maps of mishaps, fortune stored in cages; where the sun has set, fate has begun its appraisal.
          past and past, walks the line of lotuses; threaded veins and hearts made of needles. 
          daisy deaths and massacres; bodies of dust and rotten comforters. 
          murky predators, red velvet throats; beaches and octobers, stubborn sea salt.
          what hurts water, how can it be pure? venom as sweet as rose poison, lemon juice and milk of a mother. 
          build a home, breathe into life, hold the thorn, hold the daffodil; keep the tendrils of vulnerability under the sky. 
          fight against the clock frozen with ink, the mind that has burrowed itself in air filled with tender knives. 
          
          as water cuts a stone, as snow rests upon the gold; a drop of tear left unnoticed in a desert. 
          hairs and springs of a fountain blue, the stars drenched in velvet; pearls that drown the earth in rain. 
          winks of clouds and veil of the sun; wars a home of the old, the blood soaked land a curse for the young. 
          petrichor rings the bell, the rain carries your shadows and envelopes; fostered flowers caressed by dirt. 
          how many a petal we throw to the forests, radical hope and cottage courage; and when the light is dim, surrender to the storm starving. 
          words and willow trees, pines and fallacies; what is empty, talks, the air and the wings of tongues. 
          how many silences are bribed with the musk of hearts; how many poisoned, entrapped, by the scar of youth?
          they say life is a journey; nay, life is a house that was once lived in; insipid and defensive. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (09th june 2022) 
          
          mourning shades, earth a rustic moon; candle soldiers, sunset roars. glass of wind, a sea that chimes; struggling lungs, alveoli of pride. circles sacred, birds and barks; persistent melodies, life a screaming scar. half of ourselves, half of earth; skeptical rules and societal lusts. 
          
          summer lightning and thunderous rainbows, yesterday's reflection in today's waters. blooming trains and grieving whistles; gravity a fork, humans fixated. ripening fruit like a sturdy kettle, boiling season as a cloudless friend. 
          
          birds of the night, mediterranean lungs; lace of glory, air a crochet undone. toes of rhythm, seventh sense; sweetness of earth's roots, pears engraved as tendrils in veins. brightness of fog, of a breath fuzzy; life in the woman's womb, a universe- like history. life blurry, a home of shadows; night, death and the womb, bringers of awakeness. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          
          (do not fear the dark; we came from it, we came from wombs) 

a small token of kindness (22nd March 2022) 
          
          the tears of the pianos,  graves of sunken breaths; courageous sins, museums of agonies. hymns of homes, suffocated lungs; limited heartbeats, life of a quarter. coffee crowds, memory ghosts; mad touches and fragmented routes. veins avoided, night inspirations; apathetic ambiguities, rainbow tinges. 
          
          lonely embraces, curtained eyes; a void of white and a concealment of dewy pride. today deaths and tomorrow births; pigeon wings and the delight of darkened blood. stained apologies, glass sermons; reincarnated knees, candle shelves. shells of fantasy, pigmented treasures; halls of power, wolf of lust. 
          
          blue and flowers, emerald and topaz; grass of laughter, velvet hold. ink of spine, ocean depths; numbing praises, sugar- like rust. a shard of grief, a war of sickness; a woman of one, a woman of million. a broken petal of grace, a shade of march; a human beneath it, a prisoner on its soil. 
          
          mint foam, sweetened moonshine; honey blades, dark grains. foxes of faith, wings like knives; a mirror that looks, a mirror of judgments. year of beds, unmade sheets and blankets; biscuit crumbs; lungs left in black pockets. a suspended leaf and a heart of migration- where has it been held? it has merely been left to the vultures. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (9th November 2021) 
          
          far down the path of ironed atrocities, there is a spectrum of truth that burns a bit; a fire ignited to turn either to blueberry bliss or a to a bath of butterfly burns. world melts down to passionate poverty, an altar with ancient rhymes drawn into the skins of poetical ghosts. heavy is the mind with the tracks of the bygones, the sun a shamless reminder of the presence of trail marks. 
          
          under the terror of the flammable summer, the nights a healing blue, the Neptune stars take control; souls seized by swirled skins of pearls and golden hues. much of the world has left, much of it returned to the footprints of the birds and the claws of the buried Pharaohs, yet the whispered honey of bees remains desperately against the beats of a heart; clogging it with December's call of rebirth. 
          
          life is lost like the yellow twigs of a snowflake earth, sucked into oblivion, into a pool of its own existence. there is under the eyes, a layer of ornamented vapours of esoteric marmalade, a thickness of the season's clock tricking the eyes into a cropped sorrow; the lamp of happiness a gift of permanent punishment. 
          
          in itself, the sky is a motherless child, a little fawn with a pair of uncertain eyes. all alone, in the gardens of precipitated tears, a privy rainbow of late blooming shadows. where there are only hypothetical muffins, pages of crisped cold breath and falcons of mystic regrets. 
          
          perhaps that is why there are stars and clouds in the sky; to draw your attention, to bring you to its remembrance. to grow stale with you, in sunsets and in dull nights. to wash the world with your own dirt and to define the road with an ink that echoes. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (20th October 2021) 
          
          the sun is a creature of the resurrected sea; of the winds that had their voices surrendered to the chrysanthemum wings. the jasmines of the lost dictionaries like unbelievers from the stories of the Holy books. the clear distinction of the heirs from the poignant misadventures; a thread of moist victory. 
          
          and the moon is but a maiden of the bedouins, fueled with marbled rain. it appears as it wishes, in cracked promises of blue or in snowballed dates of palms. in it, everything of life is appreciated. the spikes of deserts and the ugliness of the doves of the soil. but in the cold, in its weather, there is no renaissance. it neglects the one who suffers from the ice; their cries deaf to its crooked smile. 
          
          the night swallows the moon, like the earth bones of the survivors. the sun manages to flip within the dusky sky and retain its tenderness, its colour. roads can be hauled away like tides, and emotions can be wrung about starlight. 
          
          the world is a mesh, one that filters through every ache. if you wish to survive, burn in yourself, light the moon up for fire. the sun lives because it burns passionately, no truce allowed. to live, one must be of the dying, if not the dead. 
          
          therefore the sun sinks into your horizon dripping with vermillion shadows, carves dreams from the dead stones and travels into your mind like the greasy marmalade stuck in your throat. 
          
          gather yourself and burn. the world fears the fire and the dying breath; like the branches that cover the sky after the sun. maintain the balance, burn and glow just as the sun. and ignite your darkness with the ashes, just like moon that reflects in your blood. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (9th October 2021) 
          
          there is so much in us and so much we can be, like the cosmos that has been under servitude and the black hole that consumes it. there is within the sun a similar attitude; it walks the cobblestone lanes with eyes of the deceased. melted paints it wants to embellish upon the stars and pluck out the shine of its rays to decorate the leaves of autumn. 
          
          the earth moves solemnly, under the strict awareness of the watchful crowd, and it breaths yellow marigolds in hopes of being surrounded by a tree of hope. in it, on it, everywhere around it; lack of appropriate loneliness. sheer visibility of the city lights, blindness to the one from the heavens above the sky.
          
          what an agony, what a pain. jewellery like ice slitting the throat. flowers boiled in acid. the world a place of slaughter. 
          
          life is one, but lives within it many. if we choose to go beyond the doomed number, we exhaust to dust. ankles tied with ropes of responsibilities and hands with households. where rivalry thrives, it is a place of legends. the kind which carries sins and buries the oppressed. 
          
          however what of those who defy the rules? of those who, regardless of the consequences, accept war? 
          they become the kissable sea, the immortal air, the glorious sky and the soft universe.
          
          be the sun, the stars and the sky all together. if they admire you from afar, it is because they each see themselves in you.
           #adropofhumanity 
          

a small token of kindness (7th October 2021) 
          
          the sun is a relative of the old- which associated with the scarves of the dried flowers of the gone days. it has lived through jolts of dreams and eyes that held terror of desperation. the lives that lived only upon the preface of the rays, making a temporary home out of fire. 
          
          and what can be said about the moon except that seldom has it lightened its own path. it has and continues to work for the waves; the blades of which are as sharp as the flamingo's stare. it appears, it flourishes but feels foolish and stupid. it is never there by free will and is pitied upon by the sun's flames. decades upon decades of sacrifice for nothing but a few moments of pleasant lingering.
          
          the sun and the ocean are beautiful standstills; like time that has tasted oaks and horns and like seasons of dare coarsing through sorrows. they hold much; they bury misty breaths and golden glares, and they cherish the crippled yellow leaves like revenge. 
          
          but one must accept that beauty is heavy; a burden like the crisp October that balances between summer and winter. and one must stand still, hold onto elements of protection, the scabbed bits of dressed wounds. 
          
          everything beautiful is terrifying. perfection is wild; the ocean a spectacular depiction. all that which has been cursed by the needle of beauty, has used the thread of terror. perfection dies, what remains are the details. the scabs, the scars, the fine lines of torture evident upon the palette.
          
          perhaps the sun is feared for the very reason. for the love it serves and the fire that it can kill with its venom. 
          
          how else can beauty be perceived? it is common to both life and death and apparent alike in a human's blood and sweat. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          

a small token of kindness (2nd October 2021) 
          
          the sun remembers, i heard. it has witnessed the life and death, it has been through them. it has watched the colours grow venemous with sea salt; with the broken pieces of those who have succumbed to pain. 
          
          if you watch the sea, it is never at one place. it is rather lost, rather in space. how many a word has it swallowed, has dropped to its deepest self and kept it hushed from the winds? 
          
          however, have you watched the winds? throw whatever your heart desires, it carries on. moves anywhere, but the present. at times, the past is graced, then after, the future embraced. 
          
          like trees, uprooted, we stand. we fall. we watch with eyes, but never with feet. we kiss the deer, we process the river, but do we find glee? 
          
          we have rooted our minds to the screens, but not to the little pebbles underneath the shores. where does one find passion; within lives or within forests? 
          
          come way may, move. sweat is forever, but without pain, where is its value? remain alive, remain dark. there is nothing more impuissantly powerful than the world of the horrible. if you must, stand still at times. memorize the days that repeat, the days that you had lived. remind then, the purpose feet serve. 
          
          gather a little of the gentle heat of August; a sign of the sun that changes. capture it in a sentiment, in a sharp tool. if needs must, slash your skin and let the reminder awaken your distracted blood. 
          
          if the seasons move, so must you. if the shores are many, you must taste them all. if grave is one, taste many deaths. 
           #adropofhumanity