#Light's Poetry Corner

[the-lights-are-loud]

Dead Smile

They killed it

Murdered in cold blood.

And puppet its body

In a horrific falsehood of a dance

Gave it a lying smile

With razored teeth

Filled with too many sweet words to count

For the world fakes privacy

Lying with black bars and blurry faces

But what can we do?

When cameras are everywhere

Invisible

Blended into every background

In the open hands of every person

We cannot stop it.

So smile when you see privacy’s corpse.

Masterlist

[fairydrowning]

Grief is the only proof that I love and I love well. Love and grief are actually intertwined with each other and as "Akif Kichloo" once wrote, "the opposite of grief is not laughter or happiness or joy. It is love. It is love. It is love."

[luciferslilith7]

"How many graves will I need,to bury everything that died inside of me?"

~Naya Aknis

@luciferslilith7

[g0j0s]

you cut off women from dancing, because girls of good characters do not indulge in such lewd activities. if they become one with their swaying hips, how will you hold down their bodies and spirits?

you cut off women from reading, because books have so many vile ideas about freedom and humanity. hence, they may begin to spin ideas from the yarn of knowledge, jeopardising the conditional safety of your cage.

you cut off women from adorning themselves lovingly, because lest they begin to like the shape of their noses or the curves of their waist; they will stop caring about other people and conforming to your standards of beauty.

you cut off women from expressing because girls from good families do not raise their voices. you say the devil resides in their voice boxes and if they don’t watch their tongues, they may taint the name of their families.

you cut off women from being, so the only thing they’re left with is fear and misery. grinding that terror on the stone of fate like grains, they toil away their lives.

then you call them many many rotten things if any of them refuses to believe this. still, if they don’t comply, force is applied repeatedly.

they become a skeleton of their potential self, grieving in secrecy; because privacy is a luxury. what if in the empty silence they finally start thinking & questioning?

yet, you wonder why they’re exhausted and angry, fighting silent wars within and outside.

[poetic--elixir]

“I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can’t help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year.”

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights

[tofubutter27]

Sometimes the best thing to do is to look at the sky and think of nothing.

[mysterieuxclairdelune]

I see everything. I remember it all.

Gently, lovingly, I preserve it in my heart.

-Anna Akhmatova

[beasteaterr]

“…𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦…”

loving—so complex, so consuming—brings neither happiness nor even a place to rest, but rather a masquerade of unease and confusion. it can so easily be mistaken for connection, for being loved by another, when in truth, it is something else entirely.

maybe love itself has no butterfly validity, yet it remains a quiet neurosis of hope and trust, keeping us alight, sharing from both mind and heart. but if saving oneself from renewal or final balance is an error, then pure love rises.

beauty illuminates all kinds of love—elusive, unknowable—as if the essence of passion can sustain separation and reunion alike, stretching beyond time. it is shared even in spaces where destruction looms, because loving is everything, and also, nothing.

halo

[rizuuspoetry]

[the-lights-are-loud]

The Artist

I am the simple artist

Who’s wonders do not match the greats

I pray I am known before I am forgotten

For it is one thing to be seen

But never loved as a whole

I am the simple artist 

Who watches as they drown

I am not enough to stay afloat

Yet too much to sink

Messily bound by knots that do not matter

I am the simple artist

That may need to give up my craft

I lose hope that I may matter at all

Because who cares for the art

Of the simple artist.

Masterlist

[inamoratasonata]

he never left my mind. i never even crossed his.

[luciferslilith7]

My ink stained heart ~

@luciferslilith7

[g0j0s]

orange peel theory this pomegranate peel theory that. but have you thought about badaam peel theory? when they soak the almonds overnight and peel them in the morning for you. now that right there is love at its peak.

[poetic--elixir]

“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.”

– Marjan Kamali, The Stationery Shop

[starryvomit]

“If you do not tell your story, someone else will, and they will tell it wrong.”

-Kane Smego, 2014.

[cozy-brew]

this feels like a room in a book :)

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