His voice was made of lullabies
His eyes were made of stars
His smile was made of sun
And along these things i couldnt help myself
Except falling in love with him
something that i wrote 2 years ago
"Somethings are better forgotten"
How many times have you heard that?
But the thing is
Are those "things" forgettable?
I think that I wake up every day now just to hear that
Our love was made in the spring like a flower which is just started to bloom
Our love was fall apart in the fall like a leaf in the tree
Did you know that everyone
Is in a time loop?
For everyday has 24hrs
Every week after seven days
After twelve months
And up to four seasons
Will eventually repeat
Back to the beginning of the loop
We wake up
And do our things for the day
And at the end of the day
We all fall asleep
To repeat the loop
The next day
But different tasks
Even the planet's
Will eventually rotate
Till they are back to where they started
Rising and setting
Each and every day
With their hands always moving
Eventually both restart at twleve
To the humble ant,
A blade of grass is a tree,
In a vast forest.
the sun she hides,
cease the birdsong call
the leaves frozen, frail
the darkness long,
quiet river weeps
silence but scurry, settle
lay still to rest,
dying carefully, cautious
I haven't written in so long so just a little piece of whatever about the weather and stuff
I'll see you in the movies
I'll hear in the songs
I'll feel you in the art
You might be gone but your soul is still here
Nobody can know everything, only God can,
Yet the same God asked Adam where he hid.
But that’s none of my business,
Because everything happens for a reason.
And babies cry for a reason,
And seasons come and go, for a reason.
I love Carlos for a reason,
and he’s dad died in my father’s arms...
for a reason.
Everything we do has consequence, intentional or not.
Good or bad.
And everything we experience comes with a lesson
Because experience is the best teacher.
Nobody calls you when they have everything,
Unless of course you are a part of that everything.
And almost everything is noise,
So whatever is important…love, friendship, family,
Should be kept sacred.
Everybody is somebody’s everything,
Nobody is nothing.
And everything that I write,
Is either for or about…
Because I love you so.
But of course, nothing gives me joy
Like good poetry
Because when all falls down
The material body was yet in the making
The first and foremost luminary feminine
ebb and flow heartily pans out
flawless flow to the finest angle.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it like it
shapes and forms are waxing lyrical:
The pure masterpiece without a mirror!
Arts on the go Fathima moves on.
Praise be to the Lord she being made
to measure inborn mathematical the pi is her!
(For the perfect circle the circumference is masculine
The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer into a whole full number!
Hops up her first step she looks for ‘the all’
the complete whole the absolute one Allah.
Time and again she steps up but finds no floor
Her measured step by default lays on 360-degree circle
Scans all things at the first go still finds no bottom!
The first luminary masculine peace be upon him
first looks in the open she takes the veiled angle.
Through the evermore pi decimal micro-hole
She looks on and witnesses the first water drop
surfaces up without a base without a roof on top!
It follows through truly the copy of the original
softly springing around the serene water paints
of all the maters to be created from this first drop.
Fathima looks at it and veils withdraws her reflection.
It’s still remembered in the sky that follows suit.
First, a star was born stepping in Fathima’s shoe.
It tried so did the full set of the galaxy only to disperse
into a profound constellation never finds a bottom.
Because amidst this water circle floats the first soil.
Allah called it His house that He first created from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimage around it in the core
known as Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.
In the pre-designed world after the first masculine
the first feminine Fathima thus did the first pilgrimage.
She walked the walk did so in the patternless pi veil.
Nature is never uneven on the hidden hand of the pi.
Every little fraction, the small decimal does it count
connects to the dot without showing up a pattern
Long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise!
Retracing time and again the sun rises in the median lane,
yet the black box scores it's only a dark chart at the end of the day!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and sync in the feminine water cycle but save only one
with Fathima floating out of the box it can’t link up!
Like millions, ever wonder where Fathima’s grave is?
The earth strived too to the death bite to print her footprint!
Most of the mass visiting Medina look too see the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been a 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. Reportedly she wanted her grave to remain unidentified.
Our love has become an old photograph with a lot of memories we tried to keep it but it ripped by the bad times but it's okay i'll always have the best ones with me in my denim jacket like we are 16.