Inspiration — what is it?
Not the warmth of the moment you trusted,
not the hand of a lover you longed for,
not a childhood dream.
It is the smile of a stranger exchanged just now,
the city you have just stepped into,
the sips of old red grape you were not supposed to have.
It is the stranger I met this afternoon,
the stranger I kissed in a dream,
the stranger I lost back to the moon.
It is the warmth of a teacup
that cooled a little while ago;
a body you could hold,
a touch you could keep.
It is an empty world
in which I am lost.
It is the stranger,
it is me.
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 10:53 PM UTC
My bad lucky day
Falling from the sky
Like snow
In the gloomy, cold winter
The hazaragi girl with almond eyes
Walking over Jasper avenue
Doesn't know where is home,
Doesn't know where to go
The winter season extends there and here
And the hazaragi girl dancs in the air
Like a moon, fading her face
Among her hair
When the winds blows
Slapping her fath every minutes harder and harder
Hazaragi girl whispers;
" Oh Edmonton, could could you be city of my dreams?
Could you open you arm wider?
The weather is gloomy
The road is scary
Could you hug me tighter ?"
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 10:46 PM UTC
The mirror right beside you,
And you, while thinking about the possibility of the situation.
The mirror is mockingly laughing—
A silent, taunting echo.
You say, "What could be,"
And sometimes, "What would be,"
While you push your pen harder and harder onto the paper.
In the worst-case scenario,
The mirror's laughter grows louder,
Hearing the mockery echo in your mind.
The walls in front and behind you inch closer
Closing in, tighter and tighter.
The statistics fall silent
And only you and the mirror remain,
Staring at each other in the quiet storm.
Neither of you knows your true proportion to the world,
Lost in reflection
While "what could be" and "what would be"
Fade into echoes, untethered from fact,
Drowning in fears you cannot name.
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 9:29 PM UTC