عشق

a small token of kindness (23rd January 2022) 
          
          a castle of despair, a window of home; a pane of terror, deperate hair shadowed by glamour. five hundred corridors of warped walls and monster roots, orchids etched into the shortcomings of madonna. femurs of frozen mulberries, violet trees; empty ghosts and suburbia covenants. follicles of water children, a scarlet prayer; statis of jimbled seasons. 
          
          tongues slaughtered, teeth of ecstacy; palms of pheromones. saltwater caves, ocean fevers; lichen peaces, hyperboarean shades. burn, burn, rose fleshed and warm; feral and pearl and tenderly blanketed by a grave of faults. violaceous horizons and newborn girls; summers of paris, pigmented  resurrections. 
          
          is it not a privilege to be consumed by strips of soil and ancient wounds? drunken floods and wary mirrors, barbaric chalk and devoured freedom. sand from a sandalwood slipper, forgotten in the heavy waters of fluid frocks; a momentary memory, a saffron strand from rare Harberton field. 
          
          the surrogacy of a father, the veins of sage and cord of lapis placenta; a meadow of elfchens and sweetened lungs of cocoa. grace a pond of lotuses, sip and sip and sip. a bottle of fog and fostered wings; poisoned funerals and lilac libraries. broken with pink haze and littered with rotten ashes; the heart must exist. in the ribs, in the cage, in its shelter. it is disaster yet is hope, drop it not, it breathes copper and tolerates iron, it suffocates on metal and consumes the devil. lives that are bent are protected, they cannot be broken by death. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (19th January 2022) 
          
          sentimental shine, freezing light; desire to communicate, despondent oakmoss. ventricles of the lungs, roads of the woods; one of the blind, the other of frost. caffeinated blood, impure stones; classical truth, the days of rebirth. hope a commodity rare, mind a spoilt child; alabaster abyss, dogwood a page of flower petal. 
          
          window of east, juliet moonlight; scars of birth, marks of sight, yells of silence and procured mortality. sinking identities, what are we in search of; what are we shaped with, grieving pomegranates or bleeding heavens?  
          
          blessings of invisibility, rippling shadows of the moon; marigold tomorrow, a hue of today's opal soil.
          the wrath of earth, the suns of our sins; robin beginnings, a foetus reborn. shells of a wolf, vermillion wicks and witch's brew; humming sunsets, rain from fingertips and water of the heart a rainbow in the sky. 
          
          magical blooms and stamps of saturn, barefooted nights and castles of sand; touch of autumn, bodies of russet thunders. the souls the angels of heavens that cannot be seen by naked eyes. is that why people are deemed to be art? — fields of jaguar flowers and burl wood stars. like the nature that is haunted with its art of storms and hearts, are the humans haunted by the art of their souls that carress them like letters from God? 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (16th January 2022) 
          
          oceans of tiny petals, mirrors of perfumed errors;  honey calligraphies, glazed memoirs. eyes of springs, tears of atlantic stillness. loans of labyrinths, seas of satin silk; light a buried chest, home a warrior fled. masks of acanthus, aloe smiles; traps of begonia, clematis captured. 
          
          locks of dainty crocus, the daisy feet of mothers;  tears of willow, pomegranate feathers. ever has it been the mother knows not the depth of her tenderness until the thunder storms strike. much of her and her nature is crumpled under malicious feet; scrupled steps and holly hands. 
          
          battlefields and loneliness, camaraderie homes and ginger breads; half of wings, glass of fire, blades of seas and diamond clawed waves. sun of the end, candle flamed dances; fostered crimson, postcard lashes. a mess of the earth crumpled at the feet of time, fleeting with lies, with promises of fading sea stamps. 
          
          crumpled proverbs, papyrus tortures; grainy winds and pyramid oceans. love is an ancient illusion, one of the lines of palms; existence hidden, the rain and the wind callouse it. a choke on roses, shade of the dark vases; cellar of echoes for the upholders of love, sun of the violent rugs. love comes not from tender places, and is not for the gentle peaches. it comes from blue suns and twilight centuries, from you, the very person you hate. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (12th January 2022) 
          
          the tiny granules of the sky stuck in the sun, peppered kisses and silent ferns; cordial drinks of the numbing nemesis, ticklish hold of the rainbow-like abyss. seals of garnet springs, pebbles of the ocean's mist; drunken lilacs, lavender winds, plummeting clouds and cherry ink. 
          
          kisses of tears, buried sapphires and bones of the heart; flesh as raw as the sunset, suffering paints and hidden ganges. chirping fantasies, dead children; alive alleys and vintage frost. the moon stripped from the darkness, carried in the valves of a pumping spirit; pots of palms and eyes of ebullient epidotes. 
          
          the veins of the tingling feet, giggles of the cold wind; strokes of sand over damp cheeks, grazes of calloused fingers like ginger tea. comfort in a foreign realm;  the hills of memories, the ones lost to words. mindful arguments, annotations of donated pieces; what we love, we live in it. what are souls but wild things that appreciate not their iron crescents? 
          
          mosaic metamorphosis, a breath of transparency; fibbed thirsty veins and a formal lemon drink. ghosted feelings, trembling tongue; soaring revenges, executed love. blood like tsunami, deep and desiring; heart a peacock, flower stone canvas. 
          
          one glance in the eyes of the predator, the earth is but a thousand year old rock. destruction births not from it but from the one of life, the one of branches, the silver knights. repeated cremations, fire is home; death a neighbour. like the sun and the moon, fire and cold come from within, not from around, life too an ocean, both the giver and the beggar, a dreary dream. 
           #adropofhumanity 

The beautiful thing about Sujood is that, you whisper and it’s heard in the heavens. SubhaanAllah ❤️

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