we are leaves and seeds
drifting upon gentle winds
here for a time—gone.
//
love comes to us
we
are that love
//
what we re|member
of you will always be your love
a sea moving home
we are leaves and seeds
drifting upon gentle winds
here for a time—gone.
//
love comes to us
we
are that love
//
what we re|member
of you will always be your love
a sea moving home
I taught her to give birth
and her me to be a man—
enough to love her
//
mothers give birth to men
who will give them love or grief…
the sky is darkened
when our daughters are stolen
the future is a void
casting love as shade
dancing in the wind with grace
—mothers are our trees
we are deserts without them;
loveless—a shore without sea
three years since the wave
cracked open Fukushima
Sakura blossom
your words are the sun
to a soul lost in the night
the spring of winter
I became you
when
I read you
your poems became fire
to a wild bush unconsumed
a revolution
you the idea
art
in full bloom
you have transitioned
immortalized by your art
beyond our mortal grasp
[we will miss you Abbu]
your smile warms the heart
that mourns the sun in autumn
where time turns winter
I heard the dawn’s song
sacred as our breaths give birth
to old and new souls
Whispers within a scrambled mind ...
Power Of Thinking can create Miracles
.Welcome To My Metaphors.
Seeking Truth
Musings and books from a grunty overthinker
A music review site
Oh! Take a shit, read a story. - My Mother on flash fiction
Author. Writer. Poet. Creator. Artist. Lover. Woman. Wife. Mother. Child.
Is this it?
My sarcastic travels through life while trying to remain true to myself and not kill others.
This Blog is about discovering the magic of forests in every aspect of life from a small plant in a metropolis to the forests themselves
le parole cadono come foglie
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"ONE HELL OF A WRITER"--Derrick Jensen, award-winning author of Endgame~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
by Hina Khan Palwasha
A journal forever stitched into the abyss of the internet
Words. Photographs. Power.
Colours Weaved by Silk and Quilling