What are we?


AMARA AZIZ

We aren’t who we want to be.
We are what society demands.
We are what our parents choose.
We don’t want to disappoint anyone.
We have a great need to be loved.

So we smother the best in us.
Gradually, the light of our dreams turn into the monsters of our nightmares.
They become things not done, possibilities not lived.

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No one cares!


I am sad, not only today but, from a couple of months.

It’s been a long since any one from six of you (authors at this blog) have written anything here.
You’ve all abandoned a new born.. *cries a river*

cute baby pics cute baby crying free background desktop cool cute baby crying

It’s like I’m dead!
Revive please!
Let the words bleed!
Make me productive!

A Cure For Insomnia


Dark Matter

New Poem.

You find unexpected wakefulness
before dawn. You say to yourself

there must be some reason
to be awake, some insomniacs-only lesson

to be learned. You are correct.
Here it is:

there’s no point to being this awake.
No prophecy to be delivered. No importance

to be found in soured stomach
and aching neck. To assume so much value

for your problem, to assume you were meant
to go through this because it was necessary

to activate some gift or hidden power,
does not make you anything more

than typical. Everyone’s sure
they are paying dues on some 

postponed glory with every tribulation they face.
Truth be told,

when we are awake without reason this early
it’s probably safe to assume

that we are struggling with lying in the dark
strictly because we are lying

about there being a purpose 
to such struggles. We’re just not

that important. We aren’t 
the…

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IT’S DECEMBER AGAIN


The wind blowing through my hair
The frost on the ground
The cold frigid airtumblr_lvh7hh0QG91qktfhro1_500
The chilled rushing sound

The love for caffeine
The fireplace heat
The foggy side window
The cold surface of my feet

The freezing hands
A blanket of feathers
Embraces the heat,
Blocks off the cold weather

The dark  silent nightswinter-night
The falling snow
Sadness all around
Peace everywhere

The slashing pain
Of these hopeless days
The tranquille streets
The fading lights

December is love.
December is peace.
December is to stay;
all way long.

REMEMBER!


I was meant to fly but my once flapping feathers were sentenced to death.
Because I wanted to reach and achieve the eternities, I got myself caught in an old silver cage.
As you know people around can’t watch you at the climax and themselves still hanging between the first two stairs.
To all those, REMEMBER! I was timid. Yes I was weak, a coward perhaps. But I shall rise.
Once! At least once, when I’ll get a chance to escape.
And I will fly!

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