yasmin

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 

Hi! Sorry for interrupting. Can you please read this story if you have time?
          
          Your votes and comments are highly appreciated. 
          
          https://www.wattpad.com/story/320498774?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=asoidraaihpos21&wp_originator=%2FdYezsKPTjzoz3zW6WsMPykzX7XTEmULib4f9IYfc%2FTalmcejhxtEC3vIzrWF3CzWbZKUc7x%2F2XiEPUps%2B%2Fn3tA85I1WD10dOo9TOgKV%2BuGoWGoSkPEkNB86OOOhVqiL

a small token of kindness [16th june 2022] 
          
          meshes of moon scattered on the lake, a poet's grave; a wildfire graceful and kissed by rain. 
          soaked youth in yellow twigs; in boots and noons of malicious spring. 
          sweet as chocolate, bitterness subdued; what is this spring but a death that lures? 
          hands of maidens with cherry blossoms, a cure to the eye and a disease to what lays hidden; mind and magic to the world, a golden lung to the forgotten ones. 
          filled with temper, a baby breath against a caterpillar; white linen doused with earth's cold summer. 
          
          part and pardon, wish and risk; a heart that is prisoned in a cage is not worth a heart that battles. 
          lotuses carved on sour tongues, in places of disasters, of deceit; in cities of citrus. 
          place thy feet in armours of cherries, melted crystals and awakened violins. 
          saccharine sea bulbs, choruses of rainbow dancing as a wizard; aiming for the stars, wrists cuffed by freedom. 
          berries smeared with passionate blood, with nutmeg wounds and hazelnut deaths.
          fill the bowl of the ocean, fill it to the brim; what it lacks is present in drops put into humans. 
          what is motherless requires not a different earth; kindness changes not people, but reveals their raw flesh. 
          
          [kindness does not change people; it reveals their raw flesh, their real identity] 
           #adropofhumanity 
          
          

Thank you so much for adding Journey to Hidaya to your reading list 

Hi.
          I hope you're accepting reading requests. I've started a new story "an anatomy of a wounded soul". It is a thrill/mystery teen fiction. 
          
          https://my.w.tt/MosMBd8jW5
          
          I hope you take a chance to read the story. 
          
          Please do and leave feedbacks. 
          
          Thank you.
          Aditi.
          ❤

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 August 2021)
          
          the sun and the moon have cautiously bred me to comfort and solitude ever so often but today they seemed to have left me and my heart of desires to their relations. 
          
          and so it is, with a mouth full of buried doubts, i ask you: have you ever seen the mountains? 
          
          no, i have not. but i have been taken to explore them, or rather their roots, by the air that had me confined in its madness. because who would dare to skim the nervous tips of their soft skin against the hard that had withstood even its lovers? 
          
          of what good is a pile of ancient grief around the life that buzzes with bees and flourishes under the enslavement of rain? 
          
          it is a statue that depicts the power of sadness, grievance and objection. the more a human bears the burden of rocks upon his shoulders, the stronger he becomes and thereby more capable. 
          
          it is a lonely ride to the top though, with little air to breathe and lesser rest. however, it is filled with a magnetic touch that empowers the settlers to keep walking and taking steps. it provides a freedom such that one's names will be pronounced with command, with respect and with eyes that swim nervously from a side to another upon the mention. 
          
          such privileges are rare to be found. grief too chooses those who find it worthwhile and personable.
          
          never will anyone sit and see through the haze with you. the impairment of vision will kill them enough to even paralyse their smile and flee. 
          
          and such is the tale of the warriors who walk alone. 
          
          the best soldiers lead on their own while nobody understands but beg to follow. 
          
          for being understood enslaves one with a certain responsibility and to risk the blood to read a heart takes courage; therefore to have no-one understand you is a cloud of opportunity; with little falls that feel like a gift of grief. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (30th July 2021)
          
          the sun glows amidst tragedies knowing well enough that the world below it is forlorn; with creatures of clay habitually trudging from a place to another, with the river flowing mindlessly and its water like a mountain that refuses to share the shame, with the honeybee buzzing apologies in the ears of the jasmines, and with the sea that hits the shore in frustration with the horrors of the deep that it has beheld. 
          
          the moon- on the other hand- pictures itself to be the ray of existence that is required by the ones who choose to leave their lungs in the prisons of the night. we are advised to be careful with the sombre shorelines that lure the pained into the enchanted soft currents where the stars like fishes dance a little, crave a lot and die. the mortals adore the death that serves them with delusions, where they know they are alive and breathing but in someplace else. and this chimera is for the ones whose fingers tremble for the water adorned by the moonlight.
          
          they both have different perspectives of the same one world. and so would you and i. 
          
          but the only rule that should empower you to proceed further is to find souls that do not choose you, but rather how you view the space. to them, the plea of the butterfly stuck in your throat matters. the twitch in your hand when things go unfairly matters. the rebellious eyes that helplessly wander through the arches of the oppressive matters. 
          
          they breathe in the very purpose of your life which pushes them delicately but surely towards their own. 
          
          such compatible finds are uncommon, however the urge to collide with one should be persistent. as often as not, they themselves step into your mundane present as a form of barren nostalgia that appears as home but is not. 
          
          and some times, you must let the world bloom by the side and watch your own beautiful ruin be slowly etched onto another's mind 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (28th July 2021) 
          
          the moon along with its faithful shadows serves the night any form deemed appreciable. and it does so in a variety of shapes- as though it is the sea of the sky- and its shapes the waves of water. 
          a day you shall remember it running wild from one end of the canvas to another and the next, you will find it congest itself all together as if the night had warned it from further exploration of the land. 
          by the same token, the sun explores its vicinity and in accordance with the highs and the lows, adapts itself to the moods. 
          they together, despite changing round the clock, have not complete knowledge of each of their phases. 
          just as much as you and i. 
          this world is strange- like a forgotten land of glory- and all of the dwellers strangers- the tales of fervent shades; sometimes numb like the shore of the ocean that barely tingles your toes and other times archaic like the wrinkles of the sky that appear ageless. 
          in this state of peculiarity, you are sporadically an absence. you may be present undoubtedly but you are also not. 
          
          what needs must is the determination to rise and dive both within the strangeness of this space and your own self. 
          inorder to survive a maze, you must memorize all of its possibilities. 
          and you too are no less. 
          you need to work upon who you are in such a manner that the earth finds you irreproachable; a symbolic companion for its odd surface. 
          
          and in order to escape this bizarre and queer journey, like the sun and the moon, you too must embrace all your phases- like the one of tragic hope and the missed fairy-tale or the one of hidden song of a memory and the shadow of the mystical that you had kept away. 
          
          you must memorize yourself, therefore, in all forms, before the world plants you away as nothing but an old mortal; a thing of fragmentary bones.