One day I was sitting by a tree,
By the park filled with laughter
Of a child, of a mum, of a dad, of a brother.

A leaf fell to the ground
And I thought " What a pretty leaf "
As I was thinking if I should pick it up,
An old lady who was about 70 years of age walked pass and said,
" What is this garbage doing here? Doesn't anyone clean the park? "
She then picked the leaf and and straight into the bin it went.

She walked away and I began thinking.
It was obvious then,
We're all humans and fortunately, gifted with a pair of eyes.
And unfortunately, we see things with our very own pair of eyes.
Thus, forming a contradiction of opinions.

You can't force upon your opinion upon someone else,
Nor should you only believe in your opinion.
Someone else may be right sometimes, at the same time,
You may be too.

Here comes point number two.
Because we see things differently,
What I think is beauty, may seem to you as unfascinating.
What I think is normal, may seem out of the box to you.
What I think isn't attractive, may be the world to you.

But that is okay,
Opinions were meant to be heard.
Thoughts were meant to be listened to.
Hopes were meant to be fulfiled,
And feelings were meant to be felt.

*Unless you've got nothing nice to say,
Then you keep your mouth shut.

As ambiguous as the title may seem, it dives into the vastness of human nature, it explores a sensitivity that most neglect, and it leaves you breathless with each and every single word.

  At first glance, this book caught my eye due to it's boring cover and unfascinating title. But then I read it's synopsis and I was simply blown away by the stream of consciousness - how she took me from one place to another, how she gave me air and then drowned me underwater, how she sat on the edge of the moon with me and how the moon cut us with each swing between dreams and reality, how she showed me women of the Victorian era wearing ****** little skirts and how the whole street smelled like a smithy - like raw metals and earth, how she took me to the Hastings's backyard and made me an accessory to Alison Dilaurentis's ****** - I was buried alive!... and how she brought me back to the modern bookstore with dusty bookshelves and people walking past me like I did't even exist, like I didn't even belong here, and this wasn't even me...

  Ah! How she made me want more...!

Suffocating under this hopeless violent shade
of an exotic violet
Peeking through the clouds of all divine nature
saw
The tiresome one dragging his insignificantly weightless soul
and deeply profound mournful shadow
over the wisely aged support of ground
and
under the heart condensingly
sole comforting warmth
of the frightening sharp sight of the assuring moon's gaze
and
while he ever slowly decays
with unshaken belief of his haplessness
what turned from a sudden and short view
became a never more enchanted relief
and
REVEALATION

from life's start
to life's continuation
here the story lies:

Habitually crossing the windows

One can’t help but notice the existence of two brothers

Although, residing under one unfascinating roof

With all frustration, one will definitely notice that

The place of residence is not one

But in reality two by division

One main, one sub as it is under



The elder of the relation

Appears sadly clueless to the other’s existence

Having never doubt, in all possible faith, his loneliness

Though, the younger, might be well aware of the duo

Nonetheless with pains, anger, and the uttermost speechless helplessness

All his doing, or knowing

Is always credited to the elder

While the latter accepts the acknowledgment in complete bewilderment

the tale In oneself
without the deeper implication is enough of misfortune
for us to pity the Self