I weave your name
into every tale,
as if you're the
beginning of time.
It’s not that I've never lived,
loved or laughed before,
but you know, a colour
looks different with glitter on.
You’ve dusted my world
with golden light,
the matte of yesterday
fades from view.-
~Find a part of me in paid series under- ... read more
2024 was like a
crumpled paper
I tried to unfold,
caress the
mountains formed,
plant some hopes on,
wait for it to rain
but not so strong.
I told myself
nothing's wrong.
For, sometimes
fear was the weight,
on some days
I feared the wait.-
I adopted colours from people I loved.
Sometimes the sky-like hearts,
sometimes the blush of their cheeks.
The transparency of their tears
through which I saw their
bleeding dreams and dark fears.
What is my favorite colour you ask?
It's the shade between love and anger.-
Preserving art is more important than spreading it. To understand and appreciate is not everyone's forte. I prefer 10 people talk about the good and bad in my art over the 100 who cannot understand. The same goes with the pieces I love. The rarity of things. The weirdness with which truth is told. I don't like these places to be crowded. It shouldn't be anyone's duty to explain art. It's self-explanatory and self-revealing, each time hitting differently.
-
It's this kind of hope
that the string won't
forsake the kite
even when a hand
lets it go,
I hold onto.
-
and my words scattered,
lay lifeless on the shore.
The sand failed to bury,
sun tossed the waves away.-
Two years have passed
like a wheelchair and its owner
sliding up and down a ramp.
While I look at the one seated on,
I pity his legs. My eyes gaze up
to smile at his laughter. I wonder
how brave he must've been
to enjoy his disability,
enabling me who feels immobile
despite my feet to help take
strides through his words and
leap across his stories.
I remember every detail,
the book covers and their
colours in the background,
the wheelchair and its owner
on the forefront, the ant eyes
and their sweet tears, the weak
body and its strong heart.
This picture fills me with hope.
That in the vastness of this universe
a star, however small we view,
still shines, however far we be.-
Though an extended December to apply for a test,
January feels like the bucket list soaring from my nest.-
I was looking for a place
where no one could read me
and here I am. Irony but truth.
An empty home is still a home
just with memories stuffed
even tighter than before,
letting love be the illusion
I try to imitate each time
I return.-
when the comment section of Instagram has a boycott button, respect button, dislike button etc.
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