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I am sewing a dress
with the thread of strength,
And knots of ambitions,
And when it’s ready,
Then will iron it
with the remission,
I am sewing my broken soul!

By: Nida Mahmoed.
I believe that
There are people who’ll
Not believe that faith has
Got teeth, Sharp incisors
And canines that tear into the
Flesh of doubt with razor sharp precision.

It’s got premolars and molars
That crush the bones
Of hardy ignorance.

Mountains too are no match
For one so formidable a foe as faith.
A single monumental hurl
And they’re displaced.

Faith’s a kind friend
Who never forsakes
Sticks around in times of need
And of melody and cheer.

Faith’s faceless and multifaceted
In the same breath and is formless
Maybe that’s why it takes
The space of whatever it’s inhabited in
What convenience?
If faith's not your friend,maybe it's time you sat down a cup of tea in hand
for a  tête-à-tête
When a loved one’s sickly
All household’s affected thickly
Suffering in unison, well-wishing
For quick recovery, busy as bees pampering
And showering them with love and affection.
The fluctuation in complexion
Is met with mounting concern
And all efforts are expended to discern
The crux of the medical conundrum
At hand even if it means trying to charm
The supernatural forces that be
To intervene to assist with the sore reality.
A need to look inward
Can’t be sidestepped much less ignored.
love for family.
I am air
I am everywhere
Human beings and other animals do try to stare
See me they don’t, I am invisible, invincible not susceptible to wear and tear
I am every thing to life, a truth easy to bear
It does feel heavy on my scrawny shoulders though, no one does care
I soldier on day in day out as life is a dare
Its very essence is strife and one has to fare
Well against all odds, what a nightmare.
even air,untouchable by the hand of inconvenience
does feel anxious about it's own existence.
I want to believe in a world
Where ashes do not go back to ashes,
Where dust will not go back to dust,
Or into the bones
Of oblivion.

I want to believe in a world
Where hats would drop off
When the artist speaks,
Or sows together pieces
Of melancholy and precision.

Yes, I want to believe in this perfect world
Where a thought can be bought
For more than a penny,
But for a whole
Golden mine.

This world is both yours and mine,
So please believe in it,
So we can stop beating around the bush
When it comes to you and me
And art.
This is for all the artists out there feeling they are not worth it. Or thinking their art is not good enough. Your art is worth it. This is the kind of world we create, so please believe in it. Believe in your art, as this is the way of making a difference.
Don't be scared, Love;
show me your scars.
Give me a piece of your soul,
and maybe a glimpse of your mind.

I could show you beauty,
without a field of flowers.
And an amazing high,
without the foul aftertaste.

Just let me in,
let me feel your pain.
I'll touch your soul,
and make you go insane.
2/19/2017
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