hijabi_nerd

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 (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 

a small token of kindness (15th October 2021) 
          
          the sun's blares are collected tears of September; the kind that struggle through the dried bricks of the dewy earth to make it to the other end. everything remains still, breath halting within the throat. the echo of the obscure souvenir clear, better as a home; distant and of a methodology unhonoured. 
          
          one desperately hopes to meet eyes with it, to watch it with such a force that the brightness of it dissipates into the proses of the towns. to attach it, hold it with the bones until the deathly white is brought to being by the vibrant yellow. 
          
          but the sun; a wanderer of curiosity, an article of virtu, slips past the hand attempting to pull it out from the water and never once let's be seen. with naked eye, with the heart undressed. one must choose a veil, a chaste form of meeting, inorder to probe a shade of it. 
          
          however what if i were to pen down that the sun merely is conscience-stricken and fights shy of meeting any eye just as the moon and the sea? the one that provides light for foggy lives and energy to our greens, dreads to meet any gaze. 
          
          hence, the mantilla of fire is adorned to keep the prying hands off. so ashamed is it that to be burnt and be burning was sought to be the better peel. 
          
          imperfection is unavoidable. where there is life, there are flaws. and where there is a heart, there is a mind. the best cannot exist with the balance of the worst. one does not stop loving the sun for the reason of the existence of its shawl of unacceptance. 
          
          therefore show it to the sun; bear your wounds and insecurities like the clouds and the rain. for it is a fact that even the wise need to be advised. and perhaps with time, it shall unveil itself to you; kill the light and become a disassembled mess. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (12th October 2021)
          
          the sun has existed for centuries, without a trace anywhere. it springs a little and hibernates within itself; its presence a petal that delicately falls to demise after an hour of existence. it cuts through the emptiness, warms the dead a bit, guides the void and sets into the womb of the horizon.
          
          the moon begins its course as a mighty surfer like damask tides that tear through the ocean to gnaw at the sky. lack of ululation and of illumination, lack of cumulation and of guidance and lack of a positive environment everywhere. yet it sparks for a while, with a colour of childhood and sinks then, into the rebellion of painted growth. 
          
          everything has its time. everything has its sin of end. when one thing starts, it pours itself down the waterfall of death. the flowers take birth in the spaces of toes and in the dirtied heart of indulgence, they seem to rot. 
          
          like the tongue of the devil and the forbidden sea, we humans have lost our hearts to our abdomens. greed has taken form in us like the wicked apple in darjeeling, our senses lost to the suave-like bodies of stained ink. 
          
          our eyes have occupied monsters within them. what we see, we must destroy with our stomachs. not every availability is to be eaten, some just are for instilling caution. cling to your claws of curiosity, for they are a flaw shaped as paradise. but to test them through every breath of innocence; are we flesh or are we then nothing but wolves in pearled form of humans? 
          
          life perhaps is mostly lost for the very reason that we choose to feed upon it when infact, it should be merely caressed with soft fingertips. 
          
          the oceans waves are only for adoration. do not mistake them to be an invitation into their privacy. you may be a human, the best of creatures, but to the ocean that has existed forever, you might only be the salt to its openness; a knife to its bleeding secrets. 
           #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 

a small token of kindness (30th September 2021) 
          
          i have dwelled too sternly, with a mind of glass into universes where things fell apart like the burnt and crumbled edges of a paper of allegory.
          
          masses have consumed what the world produced and decorated unprotected, and have brought to life that which was better off as a story; of the dark and its glory. 
          
          the sun perhaps was sweeter and once a soothing moonlight kiss until it began to prick the sky beyong its capacity, causing it to have cursed itself, in a sky as attractive as an enemy. 
          
          in the universe, there is serenity; a little bliss and a little mystery. however mystery has no significance, it is merely one that is shaped like an illusion. 
          
          and humans? what holds you face first in the in the deep waters; pairs of hands around or the reckoning pulse in your nerves?
          
          lies and lies everywhere; within them and within you. scream like the swatch of fire that lines your voice or align your heart with the doom of the treacherous; your body will remain an aesthetic fabrication. 
          
          forget it all, there is nothing but a little show around you. watch, indulge, participate and forget. like death has taught us. forget. 
          
          there is little to regret if you forget. not everything in life has to be regarded with a purpose. at times if life has handed you lemons, it has done so without a hidden reason.
          
          we have begun to run after life, desperately with hands folded, but we forget that we are not dead yet. 
          
          life is illegible; drink it like you would the sun in its everyday mourning. 
           #adropofhumanity 
          

a small token of kindness (29th September 2021) 
          
          far from the barricades of limits and upon the ocean of buried miracles, there was a roar; a cry of despair, a mourning of the blood that was left stuck under the nail. 
          
          there was once a nation that had sat under the sky, fantasising about the round ball of happy energy until the word light was born in them. and they remained loyal to their positions until the moon's blessed curves seduced them. they realised that the white counterpart could be named as moon- something that seduced travellers just enough to find their ways. 
          
          no name, no moral, no frame came about without contemplation. no man, no game, no space existed without a question or a pang of doubt. no history, no rules, no legacies came about without venom in the eyes of the travellers and tulips in the smiles of the oppressors. 
          
          you thrive upon an ocean of buried miracles and roar. some succumbed to death whilst on a search for it. perhaps you and i have grown unaware; timidly and poorly unaware, pitifully and helplessly. 
          
          where you stand, you rule. eyes cannot perceive but there is life underneath. the more you familiarise yourself with your identity, the better the exhibition of power.
          
          steal your time and the complexity of the universe. the moon sits in a satin gown, dripping with tragic glow. use it, burn with it, light up the ground like fireworks in the sky. 
          
          the sun has been brightening your life for years, but tell me, did you really ever find its light? you shall have to find it, even if you were born with it. you will also have to find life, though you are born with it. 
           #adropofhumanity