Yumnah Elkhabir

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 (07th november 2022) 
          
          patterns on palms and paws, warriors of lost tears; smears and sunlight immersed in veins; water and wax, both who prick sins. mind the bashful door, the silhouettes of skins unfurnished; freedom is only if the streets are not crowded with regret. 
          
          ports of integrity and boats of grace; rain a moon that reverberates, a storm and wings with their own mind. condemn the sky and its fingers of silver syllables; what cannot hold blood can only ever be vacant. 
          
          secure the horizon, wash the world with ancient rhymes; hang the throat by its heart. song of canaries, struggling cabarets; they say nature is weak where footprints are dense. here is the hand, the hand of reckoning; sometimes stalwart beneath abyss. 
          
          tides crash into limbs, limbs of salt and tsunamis; hope dragged in a slipstream, gratitude weather worn, vehement. find me in seas and mysteries; lock your eyes with the breathless cerulean. be it silly or be it the law; do not water a thorn hoping it will grow as a rose. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (5th november 2022) 
          
          mouth of honesty, bloody honey; ravenous sobriquets, transparent metaphors. panting edicts, divine passages; unambiguous gravity, chaotic muscles. summer hunger, fermenting sun; mullein breaths, fervent dust. metamorphic roads, joyous courage; naked rage and newborn remembrance. 
          
          exuberant mountains, icy bees; conformed pollen, eclipsed wins. clavicle roots, burning prayers; mediocre comfort, hopeful sorrows. web of confidants, shadows of the known; gentle croaks, hesitant murders. mind a wild animal, a forest caged; auroras and sacrifices, reminiscent repercussions. 
          
          bodies of petunias, breathing skins; blood of stories, water of prison. white cotton whispers, kind demons; alchemy of weaknesses, battling questions. sacred dignity, waves of hormones; rituals of october, bargaining autumn. drop by drop, zest of oranges. 
          
          esprit of mother's milk, primal daughters; lust of earth, a shadow pure. work into exhaustion, round the clock and round the ; there is half of hope alive, half of flesh left to strain. cold is the night, still and mellow; cold is the sun that has wrung itself yellow. perhaps the moon curses its cries, hides in lone pain and white sky, for then it is rarely rejected; unlike storms. 
           #adropofhumanity 

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 
          
          

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 (26th September 2021) 
          
          in days of glory and sustenance, the sun is free and exists like a roaming star of the night; in between crevices and under the ground. it sews the unseen with a little of light, and a bit of blinding blue. 
          
          however, there are days when the burning essence of rage in it dissipates not into a sentimental shower of light but rather a terrible source of fire; one that possesses to kill. 
          
          the ocean when it dances with the mind of the sky, it is calm; aware and informed. in it, a gentle wave exists of the blood of the eaten and the troubled ones alive. and yet the harmony balances the evil and the good alike. 
          
          in the wild, emotions are free. but catered and nourished. not hungry or deprived, not suppressed or belittled. 
          
          in humans then, why must they be caged? anger coated in despair, sadness in a wall of shame? 
          not all the enslaved remain silent, under the chest of oppression. the earth gets heavier and it cannot chase the burden. it must let it become known, must speak of it with the sky. must make the effort to let it go wild. 
          
          nature speaks with emotions. the only language that can nurture life to quality. and where there are none of them, there is Satan with his kind. 
          
          emotions, just as the language our tongue speaks, is a form of comfort to the troubled skins. let them flow, let them be possessive of the blood in your stream. grant them the power to bury words that are inaudible. they extend aid, not propagate wars. 
          
          exhibit them like the sun that becomes fiery and the moon that shrivels. just as the earth that refuses growth and the ocean that rejects the essence of calmness. express with eloquence and elegance. 
          
          become as quiet as the sky, and let the emotions speak like the sun and the stars. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (20th July 2021) 
          
          do you see how the night has the courage to rise after the sky has bathed well in the sun's glory? 
          do you notice the darkness, with pride, take over?
          both the phases have equal importance in our lives.
          you would certainly not prefer the dark to forever leave you astray and the Sun to always have its eye upon you. 
          then why must we resent so much the stumbling steps we take in the dark and only appreciate the ones we take in broad daylight? 
          why must failure or imperfection be kept away from glory when the sky proudly exhibits the dark as well? 
          
          of what use would your days and nights be if the night is not given a taste of the day and the day a little of the night? 
          
          in the dark, many a battle have been fought. and in the light, certain other matters have been tackled. 
          
          and you know when the clock of failure starts ticking? 
          
          when you choose to leave the experience from the day to it and that of the dark to it without combining them. 
          
          because incase you had not taken notice, when the light and the dark of the sky meet, there is an extravagant explosion of shades; each day a unique combination. 
          
          so what then would be the result of igniting a sunset with your distinctive set of lights and darks every single day? 
          
          fusions like these are always going to be unlike any other of their kind. the more you let them happen, the more closer you are to victory. 
          
          oh and enjoy these sunsets while you are at it. perhaps you may never find them to appear before your eyes again. 

a small token of kindness (19th July 2021) 
          
          some days are mundane. it is just a characteristic feature of certain weeks or hours to be simply uninteresting and empty. 
          like the sky has no clouds and the night has no stars. 
          like the earth has no human to weep for it and life has no one to appreciate it. 
          like the flower has no happiness and the birds have no will power to claim the sky. 
          
          such hours are inevitable. one cannot move past them without feeling the effects of it. and we cannot skip either with the thought of avoiding it. 
          
          you have to face each day no matter what it appears like. just as the sun that rises despite finding the sky empty and the moon that shines alone in a starless ground. 
          indeed, all days are unique. perhaps they are a little solemn compared to others but they carry their own spectrum of light. and anyone who chooses to understand their range while working with consistency and dedication will find his day improve as time progresses. 
          
          you cannot merely avoid the day or give up on it for the reason that the clouds too were not present with the sun. your time is precious, it is limited. each day brings its own death and each death its own end. each day you live a little and die a little. make the most of your life and feel your end a bit. it is highly neccesary that you passionately fixate your mind and will over what you desire to attain. nothing should be able to separate you from your dreams. you and your goals are precious. and you must fight for them each day, every hour and perhaps even every minute. 
          
          time, my dear, can be clever. it can use you for its benefit and not the other way around.
          
          
          and therefore, you must ensure that you walk the day or even crawl (you need not neccesarily run), if you do not want it to run you.