he plays with my love
with the strings of his bow
it makes such a precise sound
consistently on pitch

he moves his hands
inch-perfect on strings
each tune a new sorrow
each string used
more infatuated then before

The tones, gracefully

rising to the better one:


my whistling-kettle.

Apple pie and hunting ducks
rusty, worn out pick up trucks
tales of being out of luck
The story's in the song

Broken hearts and drinking beer
Friday nights, the weekend's here
Strong enough to shed a tear
The story's in the song

The story's in the song my friends
The story's in the song
If you can not hear the tale
I've told the story wrong
The story's in the song my friends
The story's in the song
Listen close and you will find
The story's in the song

Driving on a red dirt road
Carrying a heavy load
Living to a cowboy's code
The story's in the song

Backroad driving in the dark
Pick up games down at the park
Memories that leave a mark
The story's in the song

The story's in the song my friends
The story's in the song
If you can not hear the tale
I've told the story wrong
The story's in the song my friends
The story's in the song
Listen close and you will find
The story's in the song

There are no songs to express my joy,
So I sing them all in glee.
There are no songs that feel my sorrow,
So silent I will be.

life is a flower, an echo of laughter.
a scene of blooming  colors.
then there is a  gentle breeze near it.
then there is a ripple of fragrance.
then there is a shelter of desires around.
then that will hug you tight and encircle your eyes.
then In its will you will pluck it again.
then Below it there is a thorn like a spike.
then in the middle of blood flow there is a sharp pain.
then there is a scream from empty ground.
that no one listens to.
that's where your deficit is waiting for you.
life is a trial.
after the trial there is a beginning when a Flower withers.
there it Become petal one by one.
this is how the time of each flower is decided and fixed.
that how long it smiled in it's bloom.
but,
then will you throw it away?
no?
then You will save it by picking up it's petals.
then You will hold yourself up again.
then you will put it in the middle of book.
where your story begin to flow .
you  will write it up. How did you pass from flower to petal?
a paper that is Drenched in your tears, ink will  spread on it.
every word of it will be in  remembrance of your laughter.
then you will say, What a life like a fragile flower it was.
but dont left  this book in tears.
write on it   that how you will Encourage  to gather yourself again.
keep the book of the past with you, never throw it .
all the bad and worst have made you.
this book is asking you to feed this flower again.
it want to save a scene, where an innocent child to laugh heartily when he sees it blooming in its own color.
Writer : Kainat Rasheed

~
Mammaries
Light the corners of my mind
Misty watercolor memories
Of the way they were

Scattered pictures
Of the ***** we left behind
More bounce to the ounce
In the way they were

If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we?
Could we?
God-given vs. Store bought?
I'll take the Lord's work
Every time
~

We dance, do sports
we cycle and we sing
along with the songs

of our life, as long as we
don't pay attention to the words
Otherwise we would stumble

through the blow of the message
or over our thoughts
about the sung sorrow

or the clumsiness
of the lyrics, how possibly
has the singer learned them by heart?

And that it's such a lucky coincidence
if you find a matching partner
in love and profession

as if we are space travellers
with a mass far too small
to attract each other