The world of 2017

The world of 2017

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We live in a world where-

misery is loved,
Violence ignored;

Hope is foreign,
Faith- turned scarce.

Living is dreary,
Dying is norms.

Tears have dried up,
The soil is bloodied.

Wealth is secluded,
Poverty- rampant,

Walls are put up,
Humans are shut out,

Colour is a measure,
Of worth of living.

It’s 2017,
And the life, many are living.

the beautiful image I used above is courtesy of The dream store

I am much more-

I am much more-

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To all the friends
I pushed aside-
Sent every call,
To voice message .

Somedays my dark
Empowers me,
I blink, I breathe,
That’s all I can be.

To all the friends,
Who stood by me,
From dawn to dusk
And the dark in between.

When sorrow wipes
Aside my joy,
Your thoughts, remind me,
I am much more.

Much more than pain
Much more than tears
Much more than another,
Sad ending.

Because of you-
I am much more.

H- Hope (took my hand)

H- Hope (took my hand)

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Hope took my hand
And said-
Let’s walk a while,
At first I was unsure.

It subtly webbed,
Our fingers-
I couldn’t, them, retract.

With the sound of just,
My heart thumps-
We walked for miles at length.

I tried to slip,
It held me back;
Without making a sound.

Hope took my hand,
Whilst despair,
Was wrapped around my arms.

It gently made
It’s way until,
Despair could not abound.

Hope took my hand,
We walked a while,
And that’s made all the difference.

A- April revival

A- April revival

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The first time we spoke
Was April,
The day you were born,
Was in April,
The last time we spoke,
Was March,
The day I was born,
Was in March.

My Lord- He kept giving
Signs,
It was over before
It began,
But I clutched on to ropes,
Walking blind,
For he, who was
Never mine.

And I spiralled,
And I crashed,
And I burned,
It was March.

And my Lord,
With his infinite mercy,
Picked me up,
Despite my rebellion.

It Is April,
And spring has arrived,
With His mercy,
healing my cracks,
The one, who’s got my back-

Always.


Surprise! I figured ehh, it’d be nice to try the April A-Z challenge once again this year, to make up for my embarrassing unofficial quitting at letter D last year. (Hopefully this year I’ll fare better.) what to expect? I haven’t chosen a theme, but most probably, poetry and prose from letter A-Z. Let’s see how far I can go this year. Here is my last year’s post for letter A: Absolute Day

And I wonder-

And I wonder-

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And I wonder,
If the seas,
Ever wish,
They could be me,
Free to wander,
Farther than the shore,
Unattached to the moon,
And it’s pull at dusk,

And I wonder,
If the moon at times,
Gazed at me in awe,
Dreaming up
a life
Without binds to the sun,
Free to live and shine,
Without needing a source.

And I wonder,
If the women across,
Sullen eyed,
With faces white,
Ever wonder,
What life would be like
Without a child to cater for,
Free to live and travel,
At the whim of desire.

And I wonder,
If the slates were cleaned,
And the freedom was of my choice,
Would I choose to be bound,
To be needed and need,
Would I choose my life
Or theirs..

As close as it gets-

As close as it gets-

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For some,
It takes the form of,
a cup of black coffee,
Drowning in its scintillating,
Effect.
Knowing,
Without a doubt,
Today will be okay.

The act of,
Staring at the face,
Looking back from the glass,
And re-affirming the statement,
Today, I can.

For some,
It takes-
a little more tears,
A lot more prayer,
An occasional day off,
To feel slightly better.

And sometimes,
Putting on a mask,
Which looks like a smiley,
And says the words “I’m fine”,
Is as close as it gets.

The truth about…

The truth about…

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No,
it’s not pretty like
the poems written about it,
it is sad and lonely
and loves solitude.
It feeds on silence and
screams the loudest.
It comes at dusk and doesn’t
depart at dawn-
it’s a sticker.

It whispers,
In tunes- entrancing,
Into its clutches;
It doesn’t let go,
Makes the cracked, feel
Broken; and the broken,
Feel damaged, and the damaged
Unfixable-
It’s a downward spiral.

Yes,
It’s defeat-able,
No,
It’s not like the switch
on a wall
To be turned,
Off at choice.
A journey it is,
With more bumps than
Most.
It is called depression,
Yes- it is real.

The above picture is courtesy of Bbc.co.uk

Resilience-

Resilience-

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Last night,
My walls crumbled down;
The roof above me,
caved in;
My skin tightened,
Flesh upon flesh
With blood rapidly pulsating.
This must be it,
I thought to myself;
This can’t be it,
I declared;
A brewing storm,
On my insides-
My throat, my eyes-
Blazing.

Tonight,
It all seems distant past;
There’s something
To be said about-
Resilience.
Last night I said-
This can’t be it;
And my Lord,
He got me through it.

The above image was gotten from Pinterest

Writer’s Quote: How frail the heart must be-

Writer’s Quote: How frail the heart must be-

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For this week’s writer’s quote, I want to try something different. But of course, it requires you guys to play along. So, last time, I shared the poem “thoughtless cruelty” by Charles Lamb. This week, what I’m going to do is share a poem and leave it up to you guys to guess the author. Are you ready? Okay.

The author wrote the poem below at the bare age of fourteen. I am almost 21 and I can only hope to write as good as that some day. When the author was asked regarding the poem, she said “Once a poem is made available to the public, the right of interpretation belongs to the reader”. I absolutely agree with that. Here is the poem below:

I thought that I could not be hurt;
I thought that I must surely be
impervious to suffering-
immune to pain
or agony.

My world was warm with April sun
my thoughts were spangled green and gold;
my soul filled up with joy, yet
felt the sharp, sweet pain that only joy
can hold.

My spirit soared above the gulls
that, swooping breathlessly so high
o’erhead, now seem to brush their whir-
ring wings against the blue roof of
the sky.

(How frail the human heart must be-
a throbbing pulse, a trembling thing-
a fragile, shining instrument
of crystal, which can either weep,
or sing.)

Then, suddenly my world turned gray,
and darkness wiped aside my joy.
A dull and aching void was left
where careless hands had reached out to
destroy

my silver web of happiness.
The hands then stopped in wonderment,
for, loving me, they wept to see
the tattered ruins of my firma-
ment

(How frail the human heart must be-
a mirrored pool of thought. So deep
and tremulous an instrument
of glass that it can either sing,
or weep).

As I asked at the beginning, who do you know write the poem? Looking forward to your answers in the comments, come on, don’t hide your knowledge. 🙂

Worth Saving-

Worth Saving-

 
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She said “you are worth saving”,
And I wanted to ask why,
For I went to bed at sundown,
Dreading seeing the daylight.

She told me, you are beautiful,
And I traced down all my scars,
Feeling every indentation-
Shrivelling at their sight.

She told me pick your self up,
There’s still strength in your stride;
But darkness had convinced me-
My bones could barely stand.

I wished that she would leave me,
To the company of my thoughts,
But my Lord had other plans, for
She stuck like gum on a wall.

Until I began to ponder,
What is it she sees in me;
Maybe beneath, I was more than,
Brokenness and fragility.

I sifted through the darkness,
For a single ray of light,
Something to show I was deserving,
Of such friendship, such heart.

Then everyday at sundown,
Under the company of the stars,
I searched for worth within me,
Even a trace, would suffice.

She said, I was worth saving,
Now I finally understand;
You can’t compel a person,
You can only show them how-
To believe they are worth saving.