Celui que vous aimez est parti.
La blessure a déchiré votre coeur;
et tandis que la cicatrice semble pâle,
la douleur saisit encore votre âme.
Mon amour sent votre amour,
donc il sait que ce n’est pas pour moi.
Vous pensez que cet amour est pour moi,
je sais que ça ne peut pas être.
Vous êtes ma raison d’être.
Ce coeur ne veut pas d’autre.
Et pour vous, à chaque haleine,
mon amour va renaître.
Amidst the clouds, the stars sparkle,
as if hiding a secret.
Afront the stars the clouds stay,
as if guarding the secret.
It is this mystery of the skies
that keeps me up at night,
And the dazzle of it all
that keeps me looking for the light.
Tomorrow you shall see
the barren Heavens
shimmering with stars;
the dark of the night
ousted by a nascent moonlight.
this empty expanse of ebony
is inspired by you;
it has looked into your eyes
and said that it wants to
sparkle the way they do.
It has watched
your smile illuminate the world,
and cannot live with the shame
of not being the same.
But the night after
shall be dull again,
for the stars will renege
and the moon will concede —
Eyes that are sharp and bright,
like his mind.
Big, clear… pure,
like his soul.
Eyes that are black.
An ensorcelling, sparkling black —
An onyx on a moonless night,
graced by but a few stars,
catches even the faint light
An onyx that glistens
even on a dark night;
in the absence of light.
Gleaming – distinct in the dark.
“Maria, you are still sleeping!”, my roommate exclaims as she walks in. I open my eyes and jump out of bed. Giving her a hug, I run to the door. I’ve been waiting for them all day… for him, actually. That’s when I stop short, and turn to the mirror. Staring into the reflection of my eyes, I chastise myself, “What are you doing?! You can’t be enslaved by your emotions! You know none of this is for you. Don’t you dare tarnish the treasure of this friendship”. My smile turns forced as I leave the room.
I greet them all, desperately trying to internalise the aura of bliss surrounding me. I’m hanging onto every word they say, laughing at every jest and jibe, making an effort not to look around for him… yet, at one weak moment, when my senses elude me I steal a glance at the doorway, where he appears. His startled jerk when he sees me is covered by a laugh as he says, “You scared me”, reaching for a hug I inevitably return. As I feel myself melting in the warmth of his embrace, I tell myself that I must be rigid, frigid, and gelid. I tell myself that nothing can make me falter, not even the love I can’t deny I have for him. Interrupting my angry monologue, he pulls away and says, “I missed you”. View Post
Violence. Is it genocide? Is it homicide?
No; it is the frustration of many unheard cries.
Cries for freedom, for rights, for education.
Virtues that an orthodox world fails to give.
When deprived of these blessings the mind is tortured,
The dormant seed of violence is nurtured.
And with time this torment grows to power,
That one day, will the whole world devour. View Post
A deep thinker.
Maybe a brave adventurer.
Quite strong; a little broken.
But determined never to fear.
Have an abyss for a heart,
Because I’ve been betrayed and torn apart.
But with an unwavering faith in God,
I know I’ll follow a righteous path.
Grounded because of regrets.
And while I’m no Lady Macbeth,
A little arrogant because of ambitions.
Not prudent, yet patient and peaceful.
For every blessing, I can’t express how much I’m grateful. View Post
The wind is an emotion of the land and the ocean.
It is a record of every hour, every minute spent in motion.
The wind is a story of the world and its history.
A memoir of moments, whether war or prosperity.
Of every human sold and of every soaring eagle,
the wind is the narrative, the only real chronicle.
The wind is a memory, the song of every bird caged or free.
The wind is a story of the world and its history.
Tonight, I will watch
the dusk dream into dawn,
and let go of all I think I own.
Every light and every darkness,
there must be nothing to love or mourn.
Life is a single breath,
One moment from days to death.
So if nothing lasts, why feel at all,
when someday it will be gone in stealth. View Post
After months, if not years, of excruciating heartbreak,
An emotion I sure once did deem was fake,
After all of the tears and the fears it did bring,
I decided, at last, I must put a stop to this thing.
So did I venture, deep into my soul,
And turned my heart into an icy hellhole.
A frozen inferno did but not any good,
Even after I had done all I thought that I could.
Then along with my pain, I turned all of my sorrow,
Into a deep abyss, a large heartless hollow.
The breeze fluttered into the room and softly rustled the flowers around me. Papers on the receptionist’s desk inched closer to her, the chimes on the window hummed a sweet little tune, and the eager wind lifted the edges of my simple black coat, because of which I now felt poorly dressed for my interview.
The room was big enough to seat about nine people at distances, but one would still be able to hear their hushed tones of talk. It was airy and opulent, with an aura of regality that made me feel small. The floors were a magnificent hand-scraped dark wood that ran lengthwise and reached up to the wall two-thirds of the way, as if in impetus from the run. Above the wood, the walls graced a stunning, but simple, taupe-on-taupe damask wallpaper that glistened in the light from the chandelier. Twenty feet above me, the chandelier looked like a glamorous, miniature version of the sun. Little crystal ‘droplets’ projected unnoticed spectra on the walls. I was not expecting my prospective office to be so elegant and sophisticated. View Post
This is the story of a thirsty crow,
But mind you, not the one you know.
Here the climax is different,
So see you hear it till the end
This story has a young hero,
the grandson of the older crow.
Remember? The one who threw pebbles,
In the water to change its level? View Post