Nine thousand miles

Nine thousand miles

handwritten letters
straining my wrist
sealed with drops of
sorrow

arrive at your door
crisp as the day
we met by the field
that smelled of cut grass

pages folded in twos,
fours, holding the stories
waiting to be read
by the one
they were meant for

encounters and
quarrels
hopes of meeting
again

wrapped in the
envelopes which pile
one on top
of another ten

chapters that count
the days it takes
to close
nine thousand miles

- Nauwar Shukri

Thank you for dedicating this to Paco and I.

mainstreaming

So I like a One Direction song. Shoot me.

For the ladies xx

dear Paco,

I don't know what you're feelings are exactly at the moment, but I think I can have a good guess.
I of all people would understand how hard times are right now.
And we fear for the worst,
we fear of what we'll become,
and we fear of what we'll be without.

"Well you only need the light when it's burning low 
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow 
Only know you love her when you let her go"

This is for him and I hope he knows it.

xx

waiting, anticipating, pacing

I have good news to share with you. I hope you get back to me soon.
I don't know what this is, but if you tell me, I'm sure I'll understand.






Ya Allah, besarnya cabaranMu ini.
KepadaMu aku berserah. Aku redha.

loving a love like this

“Immature people falling in love destroy each other’s freedom, create a bondage, make a prison. Mature persons in love help each other to be free; they help each other to destroy all sorts of bondages. And when love flows with freedom there is beauty. When love flows with dependence there is ugliness.

A mature person does not fall in love, he or she rises in love. Only immature people fall; they stumble and fall down in love. Somehow they were managing and standing. Now they cannot manage and they cannot stand. They were always ready to fall on the ground and to creep. They don’t have the backbone, the spine; they don’t have the integrity to stand alone.

A mature person has the integrity to stand alone. And when a mature person gives love, he or she gives without any strings attached to it. When two mature persons are in love, one of the great paradoxes of life happens, one of the most beautiful phenomena: they are together and yet tremendously alone. They are together so much that they are almost one. Two mature persons in love help each other to become more free. There is no politics involved, no diplomacy, no effort to dominate. Only freedom and love.”


— Osho 

i found her in the labyrinth

At some point in my life, I wish I was nearly as half as interesting as Alaska Young.

monsoon

Hello. Hi. Hey.

It's been raining a lot.

And the caprices of the weather reminds me of none other but myself.

I'm not saying I'm Pocahontas or I have a willow as a grandmother,

but I am easily influenced by the ambiance. The environment around me.

I can't help but cry if the skies cry too.

And I am thankful that God has blessed us with rain and the chimerical pros that come along with it.

For instance; 

Exhibit A, cuddle/sleep weather. 

Exhibit B, the eldrtichness of it all makes it depressing enough to make one feel insightful. Great weather for writers, they say.

To add to my being fatigue whenever it's rainy season, my immune system betrays me if my body's exposed to the attack of heavenly tears.

I guess it's my body's way of saying "who asked you to play under the rain all those years ago?"
Thus, making me grow from just being morose to bloody mad at myself.

For being so weak.

For being so vulnerable.

Against my will.

niddering no more

I think it's high time that I live for myself.

gravity : a reality?

It's one of those nights-
Where I'm so lost in a blunder of emotions, thoughts, feelings - most which I cannot fathom and feed my soul enlightenment.
Lately, this chamber in which my mind has so oftenly traveled has been made a permanent abode for escapism.

As the light of day crept it's way into the corners of my room, lighting it up, burning the skin that's exposed and unhidden from the quilts that enveloped my body, I will awake with the thought of you inviting me to that sweet escape again. My eyes still shut, I'd trace the shape of your lips, your eyes, the bridge of your nose and all the way to the strong feature of your jaw, slowly finding my way back to slumber as I was painting my canvas.

I try my best to lock the door to that room. Because once I'm in it, I would be lost. Detached.
It's a dangerous place, it is. But I find myself coming back, wanting for more.
It's beautiful. And it's poisonous.