I was chosen by pricelessJoy to write a post on “What is Love in ten sentences”. And the twist- each sentence must be composed of four words. After a lot of thought and brain racking, all I could come up with was “love is being happy” (and some silly rhymes about pink and pancakes); I decided to go to my trusted friend, google search. Turns out, all I needed was a little inspiration and the words would start flowing. So here they are- my take on “What Is Love”.
Love knows no reasons
Love knows no lies
Love defies all logic
Love is not blind
Love isn’t always easy
Love is being patient
Respecting each other’s lives
Love defeats all ego
Love is not proud
Love’s the purest emotion.
And now, I have to share my favorite quote on Love. For someone who is single, I don’t know how I happen to have lots and lots of love quotes. But one of my favorites is a scene from “Grey’s Anatomy” where Meredith Gray says to Derek:
Nothing is more attractive in my opinion than a woman who knows what she wants, puts all pride and ego aside, and fights for what she wants- we can agree to disagree.
And I know February, the month of love is almost over, but who says we cants spread some love in march too?! especially considering it’s my birth month. So I nominate the following the following wonderful people to pass on the love this march. All you have to do is write in ten sentences, “what is love” and each should be composed of four words. Sum it up with your favorite love quote.
In the words of the humans she tried to speak, the words of the world misguided as it is. She strived to fit into the shell made for her- but she stumbled constantly at the edge of it. The world of man is a confused place, she thinks- men wave with their fingers but curse through the lips. The land of man was no place for her- just buildings and structures, that ate up earth’s vast.
And on she went, in search of new lands. Where words little impacted the language of the heart. She stumbled upon a land filled with clay- tall trees with branches near the top of it, guarding the short trees from earth’s harsh winds. An oasis with roses encircling it, had butterflies in colors perching at their leaves. She gazed at the beauty of all that she’d seen- and though words weren’t needed, still she felt at peace. Something was missing a voice spoke within.
Out stretching her arms to the water beneath- she felt a cold thrill up her spine and she shivered. A rhythm emerged and at tip of her fingers, a dance ensued as they sift through the water. She felt for the roses and ooh a surprise- the lusciousness not like the oasis she felt. The soft gentle petal held between her metacarpals- and her sense of touch once more ignited a spark. The missing link between words and the heart- she discovered via the touch of the hand.
Image Credit. This is a response to Writing201: Poetry assignment 7. Wrote a poem in the style of a “Prose” using the prompt “Fingers” and the device “Assonance”. I don’t really know much about prose poetry so I hope this passes for it 😀
A story that she never told;
A burden she roamed with for long;
The yells and the screams,
The screeching of boxes,
A little girl- left what was “home”.
A story that she never told;
Of a young man who drunk himself stone cold;
With a little girl the brute that she bore;
Like a tornado, spiraling-
He always came attacking-
Till he passed out exhausted for words.
But oh father, the past is now gone
If I could turn back the time-
I’m not sure I would leave you-
I would try to restore what you had;
But a 12 year old knows only so much,
I’m sorry I let you destroy your life.
A story that she never told;
Was the reason she cried herself to sleep,
Every night till the sound of the crows;
And they thought she was ill-
And prescribed loads of pills-
But she was just reminiscing her home;
At a time it was filled with,
Voices sounding cheery,
And a father- a hero he was.
A story that she never told;
Unravels itself after a decade of running,
As a letter addressed to her from-
A drunkard who’s passed on,
With a letter in hand meant for,
A little girl who long left her home.
On his way to a meeting,
Getting rid of alcoholism,
He met his end- hit by a truck.
A little girl who long left her home
Smiles at the thought of-
her father getting clean-
For the love of the daughter he had;
And though he’s now gone,
To the place up above,
She forgives him and hopes he’s at peace.
The little girl never could let him go.
image credit. This post is in response to Writing201 poetry assignment: write a poem the form of a ballad using anaphora/ epistrophe as a device. This is also a (sort of) part two to a poem I wrote a long time ago, For The love of a daughter.
I’ve been through a lot of journeys, literally speaking. I’ve been “almost” left on a bus (thank you Khadijah), missed the same flight twice in a matter of a few days, had an unexpected 8-hour transit at an airport while fasting and a lot more I could choose from. But then, I came across this quote while scanning through my albums and I couldn’t help but share it, so here goes:
The best day of your life is the one
on which you decide your life is your own.
No apologies or excuses.
No one to rely on, lean on, blame on.
The gift is yours-
it is an amazing journey- and you alone are responsible
for the quality of it. This is the day
your life really begins. – bob Moawad
Life itself is an unexpected journey. We plan our weeks and days and more often than not, we come across something totally unexpected which displaces the balance of the plan we had already set up. But that’s life, it is an “unexpected Journey”. True happiness comes from realizing this fact and trying our best to the make the most of this journey despite the number of bumps that pop up.
As Bob Moawad says, we alone are responsible for the quality of our lives. The sooner we realise that thorns and all, we can still bloom, the more amazing the unexpected journey called Life would be.
This is my submission to the blogging event “Essence of Reminiscence” hosted by Yuvathi.
Peering out her room window, Ella’s heart raced faster as she noticed a silver camaro parked at the left end of her building. In a few minutes, the calm that enveloped Main Street books apartment would be disrupted and all because of her. She felt a lump rise in her throat at that thought.
Ella grabbed a bubble gum, unwrapped and chewed on it in order to dissuade her attention from the drama she was about to unleash. But what did they expect? That she’d go quietly with a marriage that she was uncomfortable with?
Since the passage of her parents, Ella feared Nana thought she was a burden but never did she think Nana would dash her off without her consent. There was only two weeks left and…
The sound of a horn catapulted Ella from her thoughts. The time for her freedom had arrived. The question on her mind wasn’t should she? But rather, could she? Could she runaway, escape?
This is my Submission to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers. Word count: 162 words. To participate, just click on the link and it’ll take you there. 🙂
Break away- oh little one,
Unto the sky, to see the world;
Taste the pollens on rose buds,
Trust in your wings, to take you there;
Embrace the beauty you’ve become,
Rock your wings, unto safe haven;
Follow the path less taken,
Lest you be caught- in a web of sly;
You trust in your wings, you’ll make it.
In response to Writing201 Poetry assignment 3. The prompt is “Truth” written in the form of an “Acrostic” with an internal rhyme.
I journeyed towards the top of a hill,
And met a Man tilted at its brink;
He looked distraught,
He stood, head first-
I stumbled upon a man looking for peace.
I once journeyed towards a man in need-
Of a wanderer to talk to, a soul to speak;
Till the sun arose,
We exchanged tales of old;
A wanderer and stranger once met at a hill.
Writing201 Assignment 2: Write a “Limerick” which is a poetic style consisting of 5 lines in a-a-b-b-a scheme using the prompt, “Journey”. IMAGE CREDIT
clear, untainted, purified
please, purify me.
My submission to the first “writing201: Poetry” assignment. Write a Haiku using the prompt “Water” and the device “simile”.
The sight of this quote makes me want to scream “Preach Sister”. That’s the beauty of writing, with every experience, there is a good that can come out of it, if we choose to see it. How many musicians do we know that have won grammys all thanks to songs inspired through heartbreaks? Lots of them. The best stories are often those spurred by tragic emotions. And the best poems are often those which we connect to on an emotional level.
It hurts… being broken hurts. And that’s why we need quotes like that of Silvias’ to remind us that “its okay to be broken”, who knows, maybe that would be the muse behind a behind a best selling novel. I am a believer, and i believe that for as long as we can write and we can read, then we sure are undefeated. I can’t end this post without giving a little background on Sylvia Plath, so here goes:
Sylvia is mostly known as a confessional poet, but she is also a novelist. Born on the 27th of October 1932, Sylvia had to deal with death at an early age after her father passed away when she was eight years old. Despite that, plath pushed forward and excelled academically in college. During this time, Sylvia battled with depression and in late August 1953, attemped her first suicide. She had a six month care at a psychiatric facility following the attempt , and then resumed back to college.
Over the years, Sylvia got married, had two kids and then separated from her husband, Ted Hughes, also a writer. Sylvia Plath passed away on February 11, 1960 at the young age of thirty in her kitchen flat and her death was ruled as a suicide. During her life time, Sylvia published several poetry collections. The most popular of which are The collosal and other poems and Ariel. She also published an auto-biographical novel, the bell jar. For more information about Sylvia, here is a link.
Thanks for hanging out here for this week’s writers quote Wednesday hosted by Silver Threading which you should totally check out for mor inspiring quotes. I apologize for the late post, my network isn’t at it’s best these past few days. Till next time ❤
Aren’t they always?
No one to catch it.
dust and it glimmers.
Leave more cracks-
For rays to shine in.
Like meddled thread,
It glimmers on-