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We tend to tell people our whole story

Without letting them read the blurb on the back first

Giving them the option to put you back on the shelf

And allow the right reader to choose you

📖 📖 📖 📖 📖
LLZ Oct 1
Toh Kya hua ,
Pehenti hu Mei jeans top ya short skirt koi,
Par sabhayta dupatte Vali h ,
Ha Mei ladki seher ki rehne Vali hu.

Mana ki pasand h mujhe,
Pizza aur burger khana ,
Par maa ke hath se bani chule ki roti bhi pyaar se khane Vali hu,
Ha Mei ladki seher ki rehne Vali hu.

Ha hu Mei todi ghamandi aur batameez,
Lekin choto se pyaar ,
Bado ka samman karne Vali hu ,
Ha Mei ladki seher ki rehne Vali hu

Nahi sajana maang Mei laal rang koi,
Nahi bandhna Gale Mei kala sutra koi
Ab apne swabhimaan aur aajadi ki or kadam badane Vali hu,
Ha Mei ladki seher ki rehne Vali hu.

Hath badane valo se,
Hath milane Vali hu,
Buri nazar se dekhne valo ko,
Unhi ke nazaro Mei girane Vali hu,
Ha Mei ladki seher ki rehne Vali hu.

Batameezi Kar Jaye gar koi mujhse,
Toh madat ki guhar nahi ,
Muh tod javab Dene Vali hu,
Ha Mei ladki seher ki rehne Vali hu!
City girl😊
Your Pain is also His Pain
And,
His Pain is also Your Pain
Which makes it:
Our Pain
Irakli Beria Sep 7
You can't imagine
How glad I am
For every single meter
Walked with you

And

You won't be able to imagine
How I feel sorry
That
Early or late
Our
Paths
Will be divided...
Shadow Aug 23
Too often do we dance and fool our youth away, too often do we attempt to love without knowing how, too often do we write letters that end up in the hearth, too often do we get agitated by the song of the simple bird, too often do we hate and forget to pity those whom we despise, too often do we cage the blue bird in our heart, too often do we lie, not to the world but to ourselves, too often we ponder, speak, and forget action behind, too often do we ignore ourselves, too often do we ignore each other.  

Too often do the authors try to paint the world with colours of big words and elegant sentences, yet as beautiful it may seem to the eye, the world they paint is far too artificial, far too unnatural, far too normal.

We do it all too often; we hate without reason, we believe without proof, we forget that hate is the work of the unloved, we live our lives as if they’re shows for everyone else, we become bitter wolves with venomous fangs and poisonous tongues, we rip at each other, with words, with thoughts, with deeds of every kind.  

Too often we forget our humanity behind.
A recrudescence of inhumanity. ****** from 33,000 feet. The **** of children. Clandestine wars served with false narratives to placate the masses. Malnutrition, the meal of millions. Water once pure and clean now poison. Air we now breathe is toxic:  fumes are not perfumes from flowers. We cower at annihilation:  nuclear winter is not for skiing. ****** we used on plants and people like jelly on toast. We roasted dead bodies of millions in ovens. Slavery was de jure, racism its progeny. Genocide was soup du jour sipped by despots round the world. Oceans once full of fish now filled with plastic. UN now a prefix, not a fix for world problems. No Peace on Earth in sight. Night is all the while, supplanting the light of hope. What unites us now is pandemic of despair. It's in the air and water. It's in our hearts and souls.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, an essayist, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adlt life.
our freedoms
were
seized  
the day it arrived
on our respective doorsteps    
we're prisoners
shackled
tightly
to the disease's will
none of us can escape
we're heavily
restricted
our movement can't be
at fullest liberty  
the feeling of being
well hemmed in
stays constantly
on our minds
and we're all screaming
for
release
the holding power
of its infection
won't let go
and the torture
never
diminishes
Facts you told, our
Different-minds
Advices are vital,
They help alot
But, never force
Your subject in
To follow your
Own thoughts, cause
We're born with
Different minds, please!
Sonnenblume Jul 5
I get frustrated that you don't hear the depth of my words.
The tones, lyric passages that reflect what I want to say to you.

I get sad when I understand you cannot hear the novel behind my sentence.
When I remember that every story behind my words, is mine and not made to share all with you.

And then I think of you, all the stories of you that are unknown and I am deaf to. How little I can sometimes hear of you, in the background of your words.

At times like these, I wonder what the silence means.
After a while it gets better, even though I cannot know you how I do myself, I look forward to the future and the stories we share of our past and those we create of us.

Then my sadness flies away, until the next day when my words seem to mean nothing to you again and yours lack meaning to me.
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