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Sabika Oct 2018
I want to create a masterpiece,
become a masterpiece:
to live in mastered peace,
to die a master in peace.
For that I master peace,
and die piece by piece,
to become a master.
Peace
Sabika Oct 2018
Does the truth have any regard for my desire?
Does the truth change when a moment turns dire?
Is the truth ever outshined by ignorance's fire?
If the truth is too complex to be articulated,
then is everyone a liar?

Does the truth depend on my emotion?
Is it revealed through commotion?
Does it give a resolution?
Does it require devotion?
If the truth is too complex to be articulated,
then how can it be a conclusion?
If the truth is too vast to be situated,
then is the world not an abomination?

If only I was shown the truth, how would I know?
Would it possess a certain glow?
Would it put on a show?
If the truth is too complex to be articulated,
how would I know for sure that this is the right way to go?

I'm in a position
where I doubt the truth,
living in juxtaposition.
Diary of an agnostic
Sabika Oct 2018
Too ******
and impulsive.
Too selfish
and deluded, ignorant
and submissive,
wearing a veil of falsehood
in order to feel protected.
So inconsistant
to my promises and my solutions.
Too eager for a better me
and a better life,
but too greedy to truly see myself,
too blind to be truly kind,
too sad to strive,
too happy to move on.
Too bad,
I'm too human.
The human condition.
Sabika Oct 2018
My blood tells me a different story to my soul.
My passport has a stamp I cannot recognize,
An accent invades my tongue that I cannot pinpoint-
I am from many worlds
And I sing the songs of many souls.

My scattered roots find a way to your lonely tree,
And in my own confusion
I become the master of empathy.
You're so called 'difficult' name rolls off my tongue
Effortlessly,
And I'll have you convinced that we are kin.
Your language
Your skin
Your culture
Is no barrier on the grounds
of those who know no bounds
To existence.
Sabika Oct 2018
"What's that?"
It's the continuous sound of something familiar;
Something common in the way we all glow
and grow as the things we know
change within a different range
of perspective.

This is the time my soul goes in hiding.
And I know observing could be self-blinding,
but to hear rings of truth in the waves
Of your voice, I’m afraid
I don’t have much of a choice.

So
I keep my mouth shut and focus.
I will only speak if I know this.
And while I try to understand this familiarity,
I exist without existing entirely.
Am I the only one who's really fascinated by the huge similarities we have with different people? Yet still we are not the same.

— The End —