Tag: love

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1988 – After a Hard Day of Work

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In the twilight of ’88, when the sun dipped low and shadows stretched across the land, my ancestors bartered with life. They traded sustenance for survival, weaving threads of existence through the loom of necessity Three loaves of bread, warm from the hearth, exchanged hands for a goat’s weathered skin. The bread, a promise of full bellies, and the skin, a promise of warmth against the biting cold. A transaction etched in the ledger of survival. And a fat hen, plump and clucking, found herself in a dance of trade. Her feathers ruffled, her eyes sharp, she strutted her worth. … Continue reading 1988 – After a Hard Day of Work

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In the Arena of Life

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In the grand arena of existence, where souls collide and destinies entwine, we find ourselves caught in the dance of competition. From the individual’s heartbeat to the pulse of nations, the rhythm of rivalry echoes through time. Yet, there exists a whisper—a gentle murmur carried by the winds of empathy. It speaks of a different path, a road less traveled. For you, my friend, harbor a heart that beats not only for kin but for every fellow traveler on this cosmic journey. Remember those days when the sun painted the sky with innocence, and the world was a canvas of … Continue reading In the Arena of Life

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Petite Amour

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This my silly heart, so small, a fragile vessel stitched together with whispers and stardust. It beats in syncopated rhythms, a clandestine dance beneath the ribcage. And then there’s love—mon amour—grandiose, a tempest that defies gravity, that spills over the edges of existence. Picture it: love as a nomad, untethered, riding the wind’s currents. It flits through open windows, rustles curtains, and leaves traces of saffron and longing. It descends, a feathered comet, alighting on the branch of a pomegranate tree. There, it loosens ruby seeds—the secrets of passion, the taste of forbidden kisses. But love is capricious. It falls, … Continue reading Petite Amour

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Unapologetically Me

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I am the woman of my own dreams, a constellation of desires that need no permission to sparkle. No longer do I seek validation from hollow echoes; my worth is etched in stardust and fire. My wishes unfurl like silk ribbons, and the universe nods in agreement. My wish is my command, whispered to the cosmos as I paint my reality with bold strokes. The canvas of my life stretches wide, waiting for the hues of my choosing—crimson courage, azure adventure, and golden resilience. With hands unshackled, I lay each brick upon the foundation of existence. My life is my own, a cathedral … Continue reading Unapologetically Me

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Father

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Allow me to be the mirror of my dark days, reflecting their shadows and scars. Let me hold up the glass to my own soul, unflinching, unafraid. For it is in this raw reflection that I find the seeds of transformation. And the echo of my truths—those whispered confessions, those unspoken longings—they resonate within me. They bounce off the walls of my heart, reverberating through time. Teach me to listen, not just with my ears, but with the depths of my being. Let me hear the symphony of my existence—the dissonance and harmony, the crescendos, and lulls. Teach me to … Continue reading Father

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Whispers of the Soul

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I saw my soul once, near my father’s grave, crying. It wept silently, its tears mingling with the dew-kissed grass. The wind carried its sorrow, and the heavens bore witness to its ache. In that sacred moment, I felt the weight of eternity—the fragile thread that binds us to memory and loss. Crying is what I do when the winds blow, when the world turns its back on my solitude. The sky knows my secrets, the hidden crevices of my heart. And I am alone, a solitary wanderer in the vast expanse of night. Against the darkness, I fight for my … Continue reading Whispers of the Soul

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Hungry Hearts

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In the quiet chambers of our souls, where vulnerability blooms like wildflowers, there exists a hunger—an ache that defies reason. It is not the gnawing emptiness of an unsatisfied stomach, nor the desperate longing for mere sustenance. No, it is a hunger that transcends the mundane, reaching for something more profound. There is no shame in this hunger—for it is the pulse of life itself. We are starving creatures, yearning to be seen, touched, and known. Our hearts, like famished travelers, seek refuge in the warmth of another’s gaze. We crave connection—the kind that stitches souls together, leaving no room … Continue reading Hungry Hearts

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Dreams in the Shadows

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On my worst day, when the world conspires against me, when the weight of existence threatens to crush my spirit, I find solace in a quiet truth: I am still living my dream. It’s not the dream of grandeur, of fame or fortune. No, it’s the dream that whispers in the corners of my heart, the one that blooms even amidst adversity. It’s the fragile ember that refuses to be extinguished, flickering in the darkness. My dream is not a castle in the sky; it’s the humble cottage by the sea, battered by storms yet standing resilient. It’s the ink-stained … Continue reading Dreams in the Shadows

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Wounds of Storms

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There are wounds, my love, that echo the tempests. They are not mere scratches on the surface; they are cataclysms that tear through flesh and bone. These wounds, like storms, arrive unbidden, raging across the landscape of our souls. Imagine the harshest of winds—the kind that howl through ancient canyons, stripping away layers of vulnerability. They whip and twist, leaving behind rawness, aching and exposed. You, my love, were that gale, relentless and unyielding. You tore through my defenses, scattering fragments of who I once was. And then there are the bitter rains of longing. They fall from skies heavy … Continue reading Wounds of Storms

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Tomorrow’s Whispers

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Tomorrow, they say, is the name we give to the impossible. It dances on the edge of our dreams, a tantalizing waltz with the stars. We wrap it in gossamer threads, tie it with ribbons of longing, and place it gently on the doorstep of our hearts. In the quiet hours before dawn, when the night still clings to our eyelashes, tomorrow tiptoes across the threshold. It wears the cloak of uncertainty, its footsteps echoing like whispered secrets. It knows our deepest desires—the ones we dare not utter aloud. To hope, they say, is to invite the universe to conspire. And so, we listen … Continue reading Tomorrow’s Whispers