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Although all poets write well, only those becomes popular who learn to respect the work of others..
This is what my favorite teacher used to say.. " do you know what makes a person's work more important?
the ability of the work to adjust with the reader, and that adjustment is only possible when - you learn to respect the sentiments and style of how all express and that's the way you should write.. "

She died in a car mishap, 1 and half year... I posted this in her memory, because If we see - its not just about a writer and his readers, its about all, about everything in fact..
Pondering if I can be forgiven and free
Knowing I deserve to be drowned in the sea
Searching for something to assuage the pain
Hoping out of this something beautiful I gain.

Mistrusting of people around me everywhere
People only curse; not love, not care
Bewildered why I must go through life alone
With paralyzing silence and no friend to phone.

Yearning to break free of my destructive addictions
Rebuking Satan's false and furtive jurisdictions
I embrace the crucifixion and fall to my knee
Beholding my King who died to set me free.

Then kneeling at the cross, the sky breaks with dawn
My tears and my pain are surprisingly gone
As the Son bursts forth in glorious light
Obliterating the dark and malevolent night.
A poem I wrote a few months ago when I was growing through a struggle; I never gave up hope and I got through it :)
If you're struggling, don't give up. Never lose faith. Every trial you come out of only makes you stronger. It'll be ok ;)
Art is a beautiful thing. It portrays the deep emotions of the heart when words elude the tongue. It speaks when the grandiloquence of words lose their flavor. Suffused with hope and angst, art creates vibrancy in a black-and-white world.
A blanket of darkness caressed the street
Of people asleep with misguided feet
With hollow hearts devoid of light
They couldn’t see which way was right.

They flirted with death quite comfortably
Acquired great knowledge yet remained empty.
Nothingness stopped them from venturing out
They couldn’t see past their realm of doubt.

One girl arose and examined her soul
Unlike the others, her heart was made whole
Her citizenship was not of that street
Her home was beautiful, bright, and complete.

She was an ambassador from her homeland
Spreading its light with the book in her hand
Whenever she went to a cold, dark place
Her heart’s luminescence would radiate.

Attracted to her light, many gathered to see
What made this girl so loving and free.
As she read her book it opened their eyes
Many chose truth over superficial lies.

This book from her homeland was about her King
Who created beauty from every broken thing.
If the people came to Him, He would heal their hearts
And mend together all their fragmented parts.

Many said it was nice, but couldn’t be true
Others said it was myth, something construed.
Yet some believed, and received new life
Escaping the blanket of darkness that night.
 Nov 2015 Tahirih Manoo
xx
Love
 Nov 2015 Tahirih Manoo
xx
Love is like
your favorite
superhero --
it brings salvation
along with
its destruction.

Love is like
the air we breathe --
felt by our senses
except for the eyes.

Love is like
a sincere prayer --
where our hopes
and dreams
are being kept.

Love is like
a faithful devotion --
the act of being loyal,
of being truthful,
and committed.

Love is like
a memory --
lives through the years;
immortal when
scripted on pages.

Love is like
the promises --
uttered from
many years ago;
by a lover, to
a wishing well,
or to a falling star.

Because love
is something
you can never
hold on to;
but can only
believe in.
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