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a small token of kindness [ 28th january 2023 ] 
          
          heart that loves waters of wrinkles, a grave that loves a man of death and bones;  years of cold and hours of a backyard mirrors. floods of decades, hormones of violence; peace of unfamiliarity, an autumn of heart ache. 
          
          a jam of blue as a fight of love, a poet centuries old lurking in the present; lemons and neighbours, peaches and lungs. sins sacred before mercy, broken palms and roads of birth; sunset embroidered with veins, years fossilised with ricochet pain. 
          
          frosted letters, casual accents; love of bruised knuckles, a sip of sacred venoms. fingers of declaration, windshield dust; a lump of liability, a suffocated drink of laughter. an island where a soul sinks, oceans where the bodies bath; a thread of silk that cuts like glass. 
          
          evaporated pressure, fiery torrents; soul frozen and waltz of wakefulness. meadow of dawn, a canopy of a pleaide; frothing yearns and rippling reasons. death so close, yet addressed as cold; not every flower can be sweet, not every good heart can have enough honey. 
           #adropofhumanity 

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 (21st October 2021) 
          
          in the extinct field of companionship, the sun lingers closer towards its dry veins, in the intense kicks of homesickness. contaminated laws and deserted rules wrap around the resident fear; suffocation pressing down upon the disquiet throat. 
          
          where there is solitude, there is loneliness; and an escape from the poisoned apple is only but a bite of it. the sky swallows the consciousness, the screaming prevalent of the moon, of the crying of its bare existence. the well stares at the violent emotion, the enchantment of life, far from itself, into the horizon. 
          
          as children, as innocent droplets of rainfall, all they sweetly devour is the fall; the drop, the crash. the aura of the water glazed grass, the poetry of the winter dressed maiden, the sorrows of the nightingales' tale, the quivering of the sea kelps running dry. to them, like the pleasant alphabets of letters, life is only beautiful, no matter how many clouds form. 
          
          then, one ponders, what changes as we grow? all world becomes is a harbour of endless crucifixion. with that in mind, the sun has been straining itself for generations, glowing and glowing. has it not suffered the negativity? why has it remained fixed like a cemetery? 
          
          life is incredibly dark; like winter has struck for an eternity. however, does winter not have warm mugs of coffee and chestnut lollies? stretched hours and rivers of snowflake crystals? dampened cheeks and swollen tulips?
          
          there is beauty everywhere to an eye that searches. like the child that digs through the surface with fingers ageless. and the sun that peeks through the alleys of ghosted towns.
          
          have you lost yourself in the wound, gaping and huge? allow the sun, the warrior, to breathe into you soft precautions. allow it to fold the wound into a gleaming sunset, like the one it makes with the sky. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (13th October 2021) 
          
          in eternity, where the clouds have submerged within museums of misery, perhaps shall we find a blossom of ours stuck under the piles of howling prayers. there the sun would be no less than a saucer; a large yet miniscule form of torture, blood dried in its dirt coated fingers. its lost factors oozing out tear- strained, glass-held colours of melancholy. 
          
          we carry the sun a little each day, and we roar of its greatness, of its architecture and its rays that tastes similar to death. you have viewed it in a manner soothing to your mind, and others to theirs. how many suns have we in this process made? 
          
          and how many of these shall perish once we do? you can narrate, you can allow the world a touch of your dream, but what more would they be aware of than just a snap of the rushing moment? the sun you had known in your way, shall ultimately perish with you.
          
          we carry until we become the carriers. the sun too shall mingle its rays for a last moment with some human perhaps too proud to engage with it. and just as simply, the world shall collapse with not a soul who will be aware of all the bounties; all the flowers with their inks, the rose thorn pricks, the ticklish butterflies on summer noses, drops of salt stained ocean fishes, the calloused experiments between the crevices of fingers and the tragedy of the rituals of the wooden empires.
          
          we will die inevitably, death cleans life. but while we are alive, must we not create memories unique to our eyes? keep a part of each subject in you. death was never a matter of loneliness. it has always been about keeping the right forms of every thing witnessed within you; prevented from decay and protected till infinity. 
           #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 (8th October 2021) 
          
          perhaps it is not entirely insensible to believe that the sun has not only poetically but in the literal sense tasted a universe of existences; a conundrum of souls wrapped around it in sequences. it lives in thousands colours, in a lamp of calloused hands, in early shades of fresh flowers and roaring of summer tides.
          
          fresh earth has been stamped with prints of stained feet; those of agonized shadows and sinful priests. these have not collapsed, neither did they rot. they deprive the depths of the sand of its calm. they never pass, they never cease. they change from a mass to another, from a place to the other, like time in a clock that ticks. 
          
          it is unbelievable to say but everything is based upon vigilance. the earth with its trees. the sky with its balance. the sun with its warmth. the moon with its darkness. death with its unanimousity. and life with its universe. where there is a sense of extraordinary power, there is caution. 
          
          human form is such that all that life cannot stitch up in it, death will. the ache of mundanity is such that there is the occurrence of gradual assimilation into nihility; like the air from the creak of a windowpane that melts into the air confined to itself in a room. like the aroma of a warm cup of cardamom tea that infuses with the damp September nights from the mystical fields. 
          
          but before death shall arrive, will nothing heal and will nothing stop to bleed? your heart continues to let its blood infuse the body with life. therefore, if you must bleed after all, perhaps do so in a manner that heals as it kills. 
          
          blood symbolises power, growth and achievement. whether agreed upon or not, death fears it. death despises it. 
          
          beginning of life is dark and so is its end. and in between, survival is possible only if you bleed, collect the blood, burn it and leave iridescent prints behind. 
           #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 (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