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Daily Archives: July 11, 2014

Shifting Sands – Promote Yourself

https://naziyahmahmood.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/sand-dunes.jpg

We were two grains in a desert, so vast, of sand that never saw end;
Rolling dunes of countless grains painted the canvas of life, and yet my sweet,
We were carved from the same stone, and bound together by forces unseen,
Two separate entities, coming together as one in an amalgamation so pure.

Each gust of warm wind, our daily struggles, could not deter us in our fortitude;
You were my strength, as I was yours, to endure the lashings from the rising Sun.
Our comrades at arm’s length, constantly changed with the silent breeze, but no,
We were to remain strong in our struggle for continuation and devotion; our souls.

The hourglass cracked; that painful day fell upon me like an arrow to the throat,
You were torn from my side and left me without breath, in your quest for something new.
My eyes scanned the horizon, shifting through every grain in a land left desolate; barren,
You were gone, I was hollow, as you had taken the shell that had held me together, my pieces.

The storm subsided and so, my dear, I called to you in hope you’d hear my plea, my cry;
The horror, my grief – I had found you, and yet you it was not, a face so contorted in pride,
An entire being changed, your shape unrecognised, with a heart that had eroded in sin,
We were no longer bound, yet my mouth knew no words but your name and your prayer.

Confrontation; that moment of pressure, the heat of your anger, a true face emerged;
Once an opaque grain of sand, you had now become a transparent glass, crystal clear,
Which could no longer hide it’s true self, and yet your wrath you used to cut me, why?
My blood poured for you, still I forgave, in hope that you one day see the truth in yourself.

The cracked skin of my grain had lost its youth, but my heart would still skip at your voice,
My colour, once vibrant, had faded with time, yet my eyes would reflect only your image.
Your seat now empty, I look to my side, and reminisce on the history we’d carved, in stone,
It cannot be erased, nor do I wish, but I must now carve a new path – a new me.

A new me – with or without my once loved grain; He will be my shepherd in this desert life.

My name is Naziyah Mahmood, and I have recently started publishing my short stories and poetry on WordPress, and this opportunity is just what I need!
I am an Astrophysicist and Aerospace Engineer from Scotland, having worked on some missions for the European Space Agency, and my passion in life is martial arts and all things sugary!
 
© Naziyah Mahmood, 2014.

(Image taken from sallysjourney.typepad.com)
My blog post: http://naziyahmahmood.wordpress.com/2014/07/07/shifting-sands/

– The burning one. – Promote Yourself

desire

I am a ‘seraph’

The burning one

. Green Orange Blue Red yellow

You The colour of my fire.

Love might be industrialized

but my heart is a shire.

Your heart,

I madly admire.

Life, death Samadhi, maya All is you.

You grow stronger in my strength more than ever.

But I wont find you no, not ever.

One does not chose love one can only lose love.

Little Moth

A little Moth Little but loud. Exploded into life with a lifespan of a day.

Because a day is enough for it to learn .

(Unlike me. I want to live for more than a hundred years.

More than that I want to be immortal).

Will a moth ever want to immortal?

There are no gaps in this story.

It is as revealing of itself as a dimly lit driveway .

Finds a rusty light Stuck on a wall.

Hanging for its life. Nailed to the cement.

“Maybe I should spend my night on that” (thinks the little moth)

As soon as the day ends

Transforming into a regular night in a regular city in a regular driveway

where regular people lived this little moth was inspired.

The passionate dull yellow space around the dark green ambiance

almost hypnotized the little moth.

Soon it was ready.

Taking in a deep breath calculating its flight the little moth began its pilgrimage.

It moved towards the source restless but hovering with desire swiftly

making its way cutting through the waves of unseen atmospheric particles.

While its skin was glowing. Blue at times green.

Of all the things the little moth had seen

in this life this space this hollow space of light was the most serene sight ever

and the little moth landed on the head of the light. On its black steel skin.

Rested on the hard glass. Fuzzy and warm.

The little moth was stationed.

At one spot. For the entire night. Not moving . Not even an inch.

Two more lives were harmonized.

That night The lamp that never knew it could fall in love Found a lover.

Subtle wind blew

The moonlight passage turned into the garden of pure joy

. until the morning sun appeared and then that little moth never returned to that lamp.

In fact Never did any moth chose that lamp as its home

. It was always the little kids moving their fingers across its body touching it

To see how warm the glass is because of the dull yellow light.

Nandini Bansal

 

I hope you like them.

Nandini.

Your Words – Promote Yourself

weeeeeeeeeeeee

I am your words

there for the taking

sometimes accepted

sometimes not.

Yet I remain

Captured, I am released

Yet no malice there

or jealousy

For I am yours

and will always be

to use as you will

to leave as you choose.

When you find me

I am crafted

Like clay to the potter

to form or substance;

a thing of beauty.

For I am your words

JEREMY CROUCHER

You can see them – Promote Yourself

 

them

You can see them,

On an aisle in the supermarket,

As they fill up their carts,

With the things that,

Fill their lives.

What’s for dinner?

The bathroom is a mess.

What have you been doing all day?

You can see them sitting,

In the living room,

Eyes darting from the clock on the wall,

To the door.

From the clock on the wall,

To the door.

From the clock on the wall,

To the door,

That won’t be opening

Till their eyes have closed.

You can see them counting quarters

While their dollar bills

Are neatly tucked

At the ass of a pair of sweaty undies

Legs swinging about.

You can see them,

Washing lipstick off a collar,

while their own lips remain unmoving.

uncolored.

unsmudged.

You can see them on the sideway,

With their facetious smiles,

And bruises from banged doors.

They say.

You will see them,

Knife plunged,

Blood spewing,

Life drifting.

You will see them.

The women who gave it all

For love.

And the men who

Could not give a damn.

Omayeli Arenyeka

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