#Light's Poetry Corner

[the-lights-are-loud]

Car

The left turn signal has been on for 6 miles. Only noticed when switched to turn right. It's quiet clicking hidden beneath the blasting music of broken speakers.

The gas meter slowly goes down until that flashing warning appears before puttering to a stop. Maybe enough fumes to make it to the next station.

The change oil symbol stares until thick black sludge fills the veins of the car. Everyone gazes in horror at the neglect.

A grinded clutch plate that can no longer go and all the motor does is roar, unable to move forward.

Tread has shredded off until the wheels are bald and skidding, just one bad day from a wreck.

It takes a thought and prayer for the starter to do it's job.

A busted headlight, driving blind in the dark, wondering what will come first. Being pulled over, or an unseen obstacle causing a crash.

I start to fall apart.

And it's the driver's fault.

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

[mysterieuxclairdelune]

I see everything. I remember it all.

Gently, lovingly, I preserve it in my heart.

-Anna Akhmatova

[rizuuspoetry]

[academic-vampire]

“Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night,”

By Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[inamoratasonata]

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

[starryvomit]

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

-Kane Smego, 2014.

[the-lights-are-loud]

I miss screaming into the void.

I miss how it simply looked back.

I miss how it would stay silent.

I miss being able to scream until my voice was hoarse and my tears were dry.

I miss how the void didn't reach it's arms around me.

I miss the cold of the void.

I miss how I was just another voice.

I miss how the void was just a void.

Now it is like everywhere else.

Masterlist

[fairydrowning]

It is in the nature of human that we outgrow something. We outgrow the things or person we cherished the most in our lives. And we start outgrowing things from our childhood and this porcess continues till our death. You may sometimes feel an attachment to that person or thing but not like that.

[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

[beloved-grace-of-mine]