They say: Before anything else existed there was Christ. I say : Before anything else existed there was this sky. Our common sky. Embracing similar inches of the riches' skin as that of mine. From welcoming 360,000 new little lives in the same cradle to bidding farewell to as many as 150,000 to grave by each rotation of the Earth. It's our common silent sky. No one's more. No one's less. The silent sky whose eyes witnessed our evolution from hominoid to sapiens, saw the civilization advancing through bronze age and classic Greek arts. Keeping silent it always kept an eye on us, watched us reforming in Renaissance, Enlightenment and Romanticism. Recorded the machines of Industrial revolution and explorations of colonialism. Felt the pain of the Two World Wars with humans. Became cold and frozen in the frost of Cold War. With the wrath of globalisation and crimes of environmental degradation, the sky is yet silent but weeping as the clouds it holds are heavy to control their tears back. The agony of depression is hard to hide but the sky tries to smile back on to us like a Jesus to a Child. Penetrating its light in our timid souls, giving us wings to fly, stating that "sky is not the limit", it pushes us to take new flight whenever it turns cotton white and blue from purple and starry black. It's our Common Sky. No one's more. No one's less. #pod@mirakee@writersnetwork@alluring_tulip @virtually_real@fatima_aslam
One day... The yellow paradise will ripe and breakaway. Your dream will become a distant memory and left orphan. The sheets soaked in your tears, will spell them out into words. Leaves will then lose their chlorophyll, flowers will abandon their colours, bees will forget the taste of honey.
One day... It will all just be a dream, you , me and the blind universe. Everything will drift apart faceless earth and endless azure. You will not remember me, nor will I. We will all just be strangers showing back to eachother.
But one day.... The judgement will triumph. Your and mine evils will be brought to test. The rest of the world will spectate, their heart will absorb the fear that they will be next. -Samiksha
i learned the process of making wine one needs to be prudent enough -
you start with harvesting first, judicious to pick up the grapes sweet, flavoured and acidic just like you are picked - beautiful, selfish, brave you sort them, and sometimes bad ones just hang around
then comes the crushing to let the juice get additional tannins, flavour and color to let out all the good and bad like heartbreaks and incomparable loyalty like scars and the tinted band-aids
now, allow it to ferment by adding wild yeast until sugar turns into alcohol moonshine, firewater, they call it like a spark igniting a fortunate volcano the chaos reverberating as chosen silence
we're almost there it's time for clarification - clean removal of tannins, proteins and dead yeast clean removal of toxicity, destruction, hatred take your sore time as you do it
and now, all we have to do is aging and bottling - aging in oak barrels, stainless steel tanks or bottles that makes the wine reach its optimal flavour the flavour of experiences, stories, mysteries grave dilemmas and raw indecisiveness
and when you're done you bottle it up through years making it better turning underlying water into an elixir turning your mess into an abstract art
you bottle it all up and know as it gets older, it becomes better as you get older, you become finer
Night that whelves in my Claustrophobic lungs Tapping the switch of light A sudden numbness carried My mind to Alamort I can fathom , there's an Orenda going to release The ashes from my nose With the tapping of switch Juxtaposing light and dark Face after face are revealing visualise the myriad of hearts
//I started from the left Although I've gerstmann syndrome I walk straight always, I just listen the echoes in chorus//
FACE l One Ancient King, whose kingdom is annihilated , still wonders in those grey, cracked walls, tastes the fungal leaves that could help him to resist his hunger. As his life has waned and sorrows rained, the flower was laid and forever remained in a place preordained where it has decayed.
FACE II One Old Mother, like an old flower blooms one last time, gloomy and shriveled, rid of all shine, guilty and withered. Silent or alone, as I looked at her with smile, rain down kissed her wrinkled cheeks and dehydrated lips. One mother who couldn't justify her seed when it's already a tree, couldn't give her space under to sit and oxygen to breathe
FACE III One Poor Farmer, who never knew, there was a struggle he always puts on his brave face, uses it as a blanket when winter falls in his autumn skin. He is floating separated from time and space, dreaming isolated from tongue and place.
FACE lV One Young Girl, growing a soul in her womb, but she couldn't tell the world about the root of her sapling that leaves her to fall apart, deprived from the society where she lives. She is a girl, going to be a woman with skin and bones, her eyes were in several tones. I taste the sweetness of sadness in her tears, expecting a soul will pull her out from the dirt, ever so lonesome, strolls through the labyrinth of my skin.
FACE V One Half Dead Soldier, bloodshed on his uniform, shoes are so dirty with flesh and mud, searching familiar faces. His eyes would behold the glory of the sun, his sweat evaporated, kissed the sunshine, evolved steam upward to heaven, his dreams downward of seeing his country again.
FACE VI One Widow, the eternal truth ceased the rainbow in her hair, her face is etched in the sun, painful beauty isolates her desire, moonlight caresses her silent stars. She is longing, aching, thirsting for one touch.
FACE VII One Reflection Of My Face, she has my eyes, my ears, my conflicts, my clothes and hair color too. As if I wanna look at a face behind me, a replica of mine. She came with tears in her eyes and cried, saying she wasn't good enough. The faces around looked at her and told she is more than beautiful, just looked weak and broken. Smile is very unique, rows of white teeth with a gap in between. Hair is so bright as flame, just curly and tangled that didn't want to be tamed.
Show me a face which is not sad Show me a face which is not stressed Show me a face which is not dead
*Morning vibes coming through the broken glass of my window
//My soul is roaming here and there wondering in shades meeting different faces in dreams who are still lively after Death She dreams of places high somewhere above the summer rain where the old pain goes and tells a tale of how she wades is all the bairn knows//
*Knowing the faces do not belong to this place, knowing they are harrowing pain on their withered face....
We can forget a face but can never forget their songs of pain with different rhythm and lyrics