When expectations are in line with
            reality there is no
                              
                                      disappointment

Friendship is the door
That holds the kite
Kite can't fly without door
Without kite door is nothing

Fall is less beautiful at night

When the wind is blowing and you've forgotten your jacket and there isn't enough sunlight to illuminate the colour of the leaves and finally you see the season for what it really is
A season of death.

But we try not to think about it too much.

We are the crack pipe babies,
the suburban rats that lay in fields at 2 am.
We are the children of the night,
We smoke till we can't feel the chill of October anymore.
(we smoke till we can't feel the chill of anything anymore)
We are the boys and girls with holes in our gloves and rips in our boots and parents that swear to love us for the beautiful colours we have grown into to.
But they are colours of dried blood, and rust on metal and stained teeth.
They are the red and brown and yellow of autumn leaves.

We are the Fall.
But Fall is so much less beautiful at night.

///

I see you
You see me
And it is true both we exist

You love me
I love you
And it is true both we exist

One day you saw me
At least one day I also saw you

One day you felt me
At least one day I also felt you

One day I saw your beauty
at least one day you felt that I was in your mind
we felt that we loved each other
even you can believe it
cause still I'm loving you

Yet you never see the god
and me too,
but we both believe in god
The believe,
the most mystic invention on the planet earth ever
yet the gentlemen never can see under the microscope

Too many thoughts in our life
but we can't exceed the thought of death
always we feel a threat of death
when we grew older to oldest
and we carry it till our death

It is true that we see the death
and its pain that we have gained
when someone's closet moves to the past
but we can't lose his existence in our mind
and in the existence of our soul

I see the death,
the mystic beauty rises up to its spiritual height
and I say, it is true that is more than the truth,
the existence of death

Though still we exist on earth
yet we can't see any event that will be happened after death
but most of us believe in after death
there is a life,
the unlimited life
where we both will meet again
either we will exist in heaven or hell
Ah! The ultimate existence

It is true that we all have a fear of death,
the very dear fear,
moves us very near
to the god
the god,
dimensionless-
space less-
existence less-
but an ultimate divine existence of god
so that we believe in spiritual existence of god-

///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

I walk these roads as
if I had known that
letter boxes are more like
an ice-box for transplant hearts-
you must move quickly or else
time tames the rest.

Words were like the map of veins drawn
on the back of my hands; I
thought that maybe if I
keep on walking
my heartbeat like a siren beating very fast
could guide me home.

And I am home.

I dont like it
When you bombard
Me with compliments.
You telling me
How great I am.
I dont like it,
It makes me feel
Bad about myself.

...And I've seen what it's like to have good days,
really ******* good days.
Days when things go horribly wrong and surprisingly right but you see how much your mother has sacrificed for you
and how the sky looks so ordinary but it will probably never look the exact same way as it does right now
and  the sun shines on your best friend in a way that makes you feel happy to be alive.
I am happy to be alive.
I don't know what that means in terms of progress,
But I know it's October again,
and this Thanksgiving I am able to say the words that I couldn't say last year:
**I am happy to be alive.

My breath quickens as he draws close.
It's everything about him. From his tousled hair, unkempt beard, and those eyes of his.
Eyes that hold the universe.
Eyes that are the universe.
For me.
I am but the girl next door who made the mistake of getting too close to the stars.
And burn me he did.
Leaving scabs that are never to heal.
That can only be forgotten.
But how can I forget him when he has crawled onto my  flesh and taken proud residence?
How can I forget him when every insolent breath gives me a chance to hope?
How can I forget the stars that soar the sky every night?
But here is something that I have forgotten in my haste to love him,
You can only see the stars.
Never reach them.
And never for one, have them for your own.

Good girls in rows of frilly dresses and kitten heels and pigtails
seated with black tie fathers and black eyed mothers
in the sea of hymns and Church bells.
Don't fidget with your fingers,
don't stare at people too long,
don't ask why.

Good girls in short kilts and knee high socks and dark lipstick
seated next to boys in khaki's with hands that move like serpents
in the sea of rumours and stealthy glances.
Don't kiss in the stairwell,
don't talk too loud,
don't ask why.

Good girls with black eyeliner and opened wounds and glazed eyes
seated next to nothing in particular and nothing that matters
in the sea of emptiness that's left behind when they are alone.
Don't let your smile falter,
don't stare at the black pit of your stomach,
don't ask why.

I could probably write a bunch of stanza's
With black letters and white background of metaphors and similies
I could use pretty words and figures of speech
And end with something ironic.
Or use lines that we've all heard before and try to pass it off as my own,
or write something that's all too vague.
But the truth is
All I'd really be writing about
Is the same old concept that's been written about in poetry for years
And the same feeling that's felt all across the world on a Saturday night when we are alone:
A little bored
Maybe even a little lonely
And a little desperate for a miracle.