English
Grief found me before I could name it, and now I see it in everything, everywhere, all the time the unwritten letters I never sent, windows I left unopened despite the wind calling my name, the roads I refuse to take because they all lead back to you. In the
Poets are innocent fools. Feeling more though reality forbids, We cling onto what may never be — Chasing the lie of a merciful end. Poets are innocent fools. Hiding behind the pages we bleed, Shielding our aches in rhyme and metaphor — With a hunger the world cannot feed. Longing to be
I stared at the distant hollow eyes, Searching for a shred of hope. My palms pressed against the glass, Praying it would reach out to me. Calling out its name, And begging to be heard, My cries were lost in the silence That screamed back without a word. The face
The screams echo through this house, A child too young to know what it is about, living in fear of what they will see next, broken glass on the floor, Broken hearts this is no safe home, nowhere to feel safe in this warzone, The howls haunting through the night,
The moon best explains the concept of imperfection, Teaching us how one is perfect just the way they are, We can be a source of light for others even if we ourselves are in darkness, We can be someone people look up to even with being full of scars, Nothing
When you left, the jasmine withered on my windowsill, and the city tore its dress of spring. Even the clocks refused to move forward— as if time had no reason without your breath to count. I wrote your name on the tongue of fire, and it burned my mouth each
It’s Not Raindrops I wish they were— Mother, look outside: Those are warplanes and bombs. I’m the oppressed, not the oppressor. Let me tell you all— They are destroying my right to exist, But not my existing soul. The day will come, and you will fall, Just like
Like a Tree, I Grew in the Desert Below your feet: As you rest on the thirst of my roots And bite the fruits of love... Let me ask those glass eyes what they’ve seen, As they want to be gone—seeking Refuge in the wind. So, to hold
Come down towards me, O’ night sky, Come, rest in my narrow grave, And tell me the stories of those breaking stars, As we have some laughs about their indispensable behaviour. While the gravedigger has gone to break bread, We’ll lie and talk about light and colour, sin and
She sees herself and her flaws, Puts on makeup to cover her insecurities, Her mind shouts your fat, and ugly, No one will even look at you, Her thoughts are breaking her self-esteem, She takes pills to “help” lose the weight, Starves herself to look a certain way, Comprares herself
Buried alive. You worry Horror, indignation, a man with a soul still in His body. Banished Hades will close his welcoming doors to him, alive. But me, dead And still I wander these streets. Him, you seek to recover Me, nobody hears My legs and arms, still suffer My head,
He thought we were similar We both saw the good in strangers And created joy in little things. He told me I looked like the kind of girl Who would like cumulonimbus clouds And the sunny days, You know the kind, When you have to squint your eyes. I was