Tell those who come across my land You will never own it The fertility of the land will never be touched by your ***** hands Free and wild, black, white, green, and red All the full want to own YOU Yet, YOU only belong to Me If they tried to harass You Their hands will be cut You should know I am mad of her love She is Mine. Mine. Mine.
I write because... I can bleed onto something pure with no judgment or shame, it does not seek to heal my wounds nor does it yearn to wipe my tears it accepts my flaws and imperfections and allows me to paint my sorrows to say my words to feel my pain.
At the end, it is changed forever no longer pure no longer blank, it carries the burdens of my world with no guilt with no judgment with no shame. And so I write...
All the beauty in the world envies you. Yet you offer out a hand to any who may need it. Holy beings dance to your melodies, songs so soothing they cure a broken heart. The ground around you sparkles with a myriad of blossoms. Words so sweet satan himself shows you compassion. Your silky golden hair eclpises the shine of all precious treasures. I never knew love could be filled with such certainty.
I miss how you used to laugh And inspired everyone else to do the same. I miss your fearlessness. Your curiosity. I miss how much you loved to run and play games. I miss a lot of things. But what I miss the most is how pure you were. Like the light from the midnight moon. You were gone too soon, Innocence.
My favorite pursuit of happiness is to recite the enchanting verses from the beauteous Quran. To be lost in its splendor. To Mesmerize myself with its grandeur. Breath with pure sublimity. I can wipe out my woes and blues. And rise to the majestic heights of glee, like an uncaged eagle who soared to be free.