There She was - standing, waiting and watching the world even after the world never recognized her. She was unknown to the world, and the ones who saw her were chosen by her to see her. She doesn't show herself to everyone. A shy apparition in her early twenties with slim and oblong face with sharp countenance, long midnight black hair flowing around her and shaping her delicate features, tall neck and she wears a long and flowing white cloth, possibly a sari that shimmered in the light. She angled herself on the left side, her back resting on the wall, yet not touching the moss covered wall at all. She gazed into the distance from the second floor of the ruined building. Her gaze was indifferent, yet her sadness was showing in her almond shaped eyes, dark with lashes long, reaching to the pale cheeks. When her eye contacts with another, she gives a dead look - nothing scary but as if she was seeing but not seeing at all for she waits for something else; maybe someone else. But something in her postures beckons to her. She wants a few to stand where she does and see what she witnesses. The time has lapsed and the skies have changed, but she was still captured in the time where she existed in flesh and blood. Some fortunate ones are willed to find her place and stand there, at that ruins where she stands and watches everything. She lives in the hall that is possibly the biggest of all the remaining ruins there; every intricate remains belonged to her. Every broken stairs lead a step towards her favorite resting place, where she waits. She dwells in the hollow and empty rooms, tentatively step through the hidden spiral stairs, shows a few to see what she sees and where she lives, now all alone. If one is asked, they see nothing. But why do you think she shows herself to a few? She shows because she is lonely; she shows that there is no end to waiting for something worth waiting for. Even after the flesh turned to mud or ashes, even after the sands of time has been blown away along with the wind that lets her white sari and thick, long and straight hair flow from left to right, she never left. Some souls never leave their purpose even after death. That is why she is there, captured in the weaved circles of time. #151119#she#waits#ruins #collectedpicture You will find some past and present tenses mixed-up, but I can't change the err, as it seems fitting to me.
APPEAL OF THE DEAD I am a soul of a little girl in a temple Soaked in a knee deep pool of crimson blood, Behold! There is a scene of confusion; Quite oblivious of her past perfunctory bows My mother cries like a child and cusses, Not a single goddess saves My child in your very house.
My father hides his eyes and considers Religion is in want of a change, My uncle often says his Namaz While I cover my cheeks and calves; My aunt searches for her misplaced Gita While my cousins break my yet undeveloped eggs-- Blood branches like vines down my thighs.
My brother wears a tux of purity and holds a candle Yet unlike the Samaritan winds his eyes with a scarf; My sister swears that Thy love's untrue, Her unbelief is not the fault, But her believing in any thing is.
She's never heard Thou hast bathed her with water, Washed the blood and put ointment, Adorned her with jewellery, and fed her honey, Olive oil and the finest flour, She has become very beautiful and rose to a queen. Indeed, the most beautiful, the last of your creation.
Boys call her goddess; how often I yearn for the title unaware That goddess could be killed in her own dwelling, Could be raped and burnt by a devotee.
And the guardians of my motherland So troubled and confound by their own voices-- They lack a moment of silence to listen To your voice raining in their hearts, If only they... Conceited as man ever is He turns away as did Pilate before the truth.
Lord, I have a small request-- Who is there to avenge me? Make my sister as brave a woman as Queen Esther, Like Rahab to put her trust in you, Grant us one to hold the sun in place; Your soldiers are tired fighting the darkening night. Grant us a wise jury to draw the line, And the sagacity to judge wisely, To seal the mouth of hungry lions, To skin alive the filthy wolves that come for lambs.
Give a man a heart which loves his life--his woman.
"I passed by you again and looked on you; you were at the age for love. I spread the edge of my cloak over you, and covered your nakedness: I pledged myself to you and entered into a covenant with you, says the Lord God, and you became mine" Ezekiel 16:8
The world is crumbling down around me and all I see is a vast ocean and drowning me. The symmetry of paper cuts are so align. No one notices how heavy are those lines.
I carry the shadows of ghosts, which dance on my head. I carry the dessert mourning over the rains. I carry the hurricanes which left me devastated. I carry the volcano that erupts every now and then. I carry the deadbeat dreamer who scribbles itself among the woeful verses.
I carry the thoughts which tear me apart. I carry the clouds, no one can see, just I can feel. I carry the hate which no one has ever felt. I carry the demons messing up with my mind.
The thousands of papers and millions of proses, they never came as savior in rage. The journals and the pages, how can they aid the sleepless ages?
The melancholy and the wails, my eyes have seen the endless rains. The anger, the world finds annoying, I know how I've kept them inside my mind. Those enormous fire, flames as papers and ignites as coals, only I know how I've oppressed them among the nerves.
The horrible cries The terrible lies The tormented sighs The fears and doubts The weird insecurities The haunted memories The supresed screams The shallow promises The hollow soul The numb eyes The endless wails The sleepless nights The earsplitting weeps The shattered dreams
I carry them all in a beautiful cloak. The nightmares from those cloak visits my vacuum sleeps. I fight the battles in the cramps of sheets.
The drifting feelings and endless essence. Then, some say you're too weak to carry such heavy emotions. Wanna see my strength, just live a day with my passions.
Behind my curtains, there's a wooden window decorated with bloodstained words which echos through my heart. The devil from past with armors of present, knock out my life with endless messes. The choas in days, dressed up as silent ways.