Art is a beautiful thing. It portrays the deep emotions of the heart when words elude the tongue. It speaks when the grandiloquence of words lose their flavor. Suffused with hope and angst, art creates vibrancy in a black-and-white world.

A blanket of darkness caressed the street
Of people asleep with misguided feet
With hollow hearts devoid of light
They couldn’t see which way was right.

They flirted with death quite comfortably
Acquired great knowledge yet remained empty.
Nothingness stopped them from venturing out
They couldn’t see past their realm of doubt.

One girl arose and examined her soul
Unlike the others, her heart was made whole
Her citizenship was not of that street
Her home was beautiful, bright, and complete.

She was an ambassador from her homeland
Spreading its light with the book in her hand
Whenever she went to a cold, dark place
Her heart’s luminescence would radiate.

Attracted to her light, many gathered to see
What made this girl so loving and free.
As she read her book it opened their eyes
Many chose truth over superficial lies.

This book from her homeland was about her King
Who created beauty from every broken thing.
If the people came to Him, He would heal their hearts
And mend together all their fragmented parts.

Many said it was nice, but couldn’t be true
Others said it was myth, something construed.
Yet some believed, and received new life
Escaping the blanket of darkness that night.

I've never had the luxury of material things,
but I'm starting to think that it was a blessing.
I find it easy to give up any material thing,
and do not find it the least bit depressing.
More than I, if someone needs this material thing,
come to me and I will give it to you.
For I hold no attachment to material things,
because I've only had but a few.

Two months and seventeen days
Since I last heard your voice.
Though it plays daily in my head.
Your face still vivid
As I sit on the porch
Marlboro in hand
My head hazy
With your touch

My mind has stirred
With hatred and longing
Sadness and anger
Love and confusion
And through all this
I cannot stop replaying
You

.
•
fes-
tooned
against the
canvas of night
•your efforts would
reach but it's just too far•you twinkle the hardest...despite•
being crowded by the other stars•at times i see you
faltering dim•you fight to conserve what
fuel you've left to burn•as you
feel the encroaching void from uni-
verse's rim•keep    twinkling for only
time...will                                  tell what's
left t-                                                  o learn•
•                                                         ­               •
.

~~
This is called a bed, a bier
All the faces who have
gathered in the windows have blurred
The lens is worn around
Still, I am going away from
the bottomless star

They have moved away from road
Sounds become smaller sighs
Anymore I do not see,
The yesterday's busiest bird
Alone in the silence,
The haze pine forest standing  

It is a pleasure to wait for the bird
while close the eyes,
Springtime in the gray forest
My hand in her hand,
In the late afternoon's soft light
Strong wet black hair smell

All that is going
To move away from my sight
Pull together in the dark
The childhood, her hand, the drunk smell
Covered with a black screen

I'm going up from the CoT
Are mixed in the air,
moving clouds, rafting
unfamiliar tunes of fair, anywhere
At Times, Unseasoned, without any reason!
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen