nish 4h
it’s crazy how superstition works
any belief, sometimes even religion
can make you go completely bezerk

it’s 23.10hrs in the night
i’m lying here and thinking
it’s really, nearly time
ironic how I write this
for my mother always told me
itll only come true
if you keep it a secret


but,
I just have to write this
and pray that you see it


It’s 23.11 in the depths of the night
I wish you were here.
I always wish on 11:11 instead of the stars. Time isn’t real but the stars are there all through the night. It just feels more right to use 11:11.
come and share
a silence with me
feel the breeze
caress your face
this sacred ground
lives beneath our feet
come share a secret
with the empty space
I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in a while guys, I've been so busy lately. Hope you like this one :)
May 1d
i’ve noticed something i never had before

i think about you a whole lot more

like what it would be like to fall asleep

and wake up next to you

for you to kiss me and to see that

awkward smile you do so much

but that will never happen

because i will make sure it doesn’t
what a feeling, huh?
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2017
Every star across the seven skies
Wishes to kiss it is a gold dust.

Not to mention the Moon in the centre
waning and waxing in the open and in secret
keeps unleashing longing to rub
this non-sublunary piece on its forehead.

She knows only then the rough seas beneath
her will calm down in the soft raining moonlight
shedding off such a lucky blossomed forehead.

Oh, if only scarcely they could ever see it
the galaxies since their inceptions longing for it.
Bliss of the eye tucked away from the scene
Paradise lies beneath the mother’s feet!

The mother is fast is for all and is down to earth
She, the mother Fathima descended down
from up above the heaven that pivotal frontier
only all the prophets’ Prophet has seen.
Then was no Adam nor Eve or Jibreel!

Paradise finds its core with its resonant lore
in the shadow of the original feminine Fathima
the immortal hotspot the original physics explored.
Paradise lived and breathe beneath her feet
but she touched down at the heart of the earth
without stepping or touching on paradise
only to give her stake away to others indeed!
No land she would take on her way back
Not in her name, know where Fathima’s grave is?
When people visit Islamic holy city Medina they look for the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been the tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown It's been said that she preferred her grave to remain unidentified.
Has anyone else been fighting a war they keep losing?
Fighting and fighting, with little difference?
Change of tactics, change of mind, change of though.  
That changes the mind to a unknown prison you can't escape?
That in the end, causes a change of person that you don't recognise when you look on the mirror and repeatedly asked; "What am I?" to no avale?
Or am I just a forget soldier, sent to die, in this war?
This, like every single one of my poems, has a deeper meaning, and like the rest, It connects to the rest. As always, Don't forget to tell me what you think in the comments below. In the end, It will all fit together.
Enter the foyer. Dilapidated.
Look to your sides and sigh,
up at the splintered wood
of the stairs in the center.

Climb, please. You're safe.
I welcome you in my place.
I welcome you, maybe mis-
takenly, forever.

If you're willing, I'll
weave a web about
honesty
and the like
for you, so that
you might take
a lesson
in return.

Shall I begin?
(May I sit?)
Make yourself
at peace, my
home is your
home, now.

White knights with rusted minds
took refuge in spreading lies,
"Be yourself. The truth shall set you free."
Quickly apparent, the barriers ensconce
at once, whatever bit of bravery
remains in the brain of a child.

It was when I took the literal
as literal, that I faltered, hard.
I fell face first
into the
As Seen on TV
human being
blending machine.

I declare, honestly,
honesty is a lonely thing,
though mass will praise
and encourage shape
until you take a shape
that bothers the shape
and form
of
celebrity status.

Oh?
(I don't believe you.)
That's the beauty.
(Only the cruel are lonely.)
Oh?
(Right? . . .Right?)

You're staring at cruelty,
incarnate.
here the artist rest their sad and choked down words
waving tales of loneliness
flocking here in herds
but where they think they'll find a place, to reveal their sin
they are still just artists, shouting above the din
"please hear me!"
"please help me!"
do you see?
we are all alone surrounded by people just like us
i only told the people i trusted
which didn’t include my parents.
when he did it i was too raw to see the bigger picture
so i let myself hurt
and be afraid
and live with the shame.
i was so skinny before.
but after i ate and i ate.
“fat girls don’t get raped”
based on a story my close friend told me about her experience
“i can’t love you back”
i said it right to his face
And watch his expression crumble then replace
With a smile and a nod and a shake of his head.
“I know you can’t, love” and he smiled, but his heart bled.
i lied. l
i said he was nothing to me.
he’s everything.
i said i would never speak to him again.
yet i am at his beck and call.
i said i wouldn’t forgive him.
but a single touch and i am promising myself to him all over again.
i said i could live without him.
i do, but in the end it was him who didn't choose me.
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