الطيبون للطيبات

أطهو وأصنع الحلويات

أعدّ حصة لك معي في كل ما أحضّر

****

ما لهذه الصباحات والأمسيات تشبه أيام الصغر

ما لوجهك يؤنسني هكذا

وصوتك يدفئني

ولمسك يحييني

أنا العجوز التي اكتفت من أمور الحياة وقصصها

وانعزلت وبلسمت جراحها بخلوتها

واستغنت عن البشر والصحبة

****

ما لصغيرتي الراشدة البالغة تحتضني

ما لها تطلب حضني كأنها طفلة من جديد

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ما لهذه الايام كأنها بدايات النهاية

او نهايات البداية

ما لكلماتي تتلعثم

ولمَ أكتب بالعربية

****

أقرّ لك يا أسمر

انّك أعدتني طفلة

ومراهقة

وعروس صبية

وأمٌ مدلِّلة، مدلَّلة

أفرح بلقياك 

بل أنتشي من مجرد شوقي أليه

وأقضي ساعات الانتظار 

في حب كل ما يحرك فيّ وجودك

(ووجدانك وصدقك وعنفوانك)

وكل ما اعتقدت أن الحزن قد افقدني اياه

****

وأشارككما طعامي ووقتي ومكاني

وتدمع عيناي

 ويأنس قلبي

ويطمئن جسدي

وأستكين

****

هذه اللحظات

تشبه طعم الحب الاول

وأول أيام الزيجات

والأحلام الوردية 

والولادات الحديثة

والأمل

****

شكرا

وسلام 

يا أسمر

Fires in the fall

I used to know things, and talk.

These days I understand things, and I keep quiet.

What use does the narc have with my incessant telling of the stories of trauma healing, when all it can do is remain on being entraped.

I'll get quiet, and share my silent understanding with it, in that realm of illusional separation it keeps on evading, always submerging in a numbed out reality of ornate fakery and fuckery.

It pretends it's polite, and does nice, but keeps snapping, and losing the maskerade of its calm demeanor.

I was never bragging about my knowledge, I was just always so excited to be sharing, helping, doing this human co-existing on a deep level, but that seems to never be welcome, not four decades ago, not last year, not today.

I sit it in abandoned abundant knowledge and I teach myself more and new ways of humbling, and I get more informed, which humbles me even more. 

Simply put, life has a way of feeling like an eternity of endless days and nights and cycles that keeps on repeating. But I do trust the messages of this timeline, they're telling me to hold still, no action is required anymore. No moving, no movements, just grounding.

I sense the launching is nearing. I'm alert, but at ease.

I was prepared, always have been, all the pain too, it did that very thing, of preparation, and other things too.

I often smile in my aloneness, I bask in endless hours of sunshine, and the most beautiful illusion of solitude, for I am indeed on my own and one with it and them all. 

But write I must, for what a horrible loss it would be not to savour and cherish the moments, and all the in between's.

You can't tame the fire, but you sure can contain it.

Here's to December fire, and the very end of the autumn fires.

Fires in the fall.

Mantis

The mantis is preying, but that is the way of this world; calling things by not what they are or what they actually do. It's a Praying Mantis, so it is, nama stay.

Hearts closing, hearts opening, it doesn't matter what the actions are, as long as the look of it appeals, and fits the description, and the label.

Careful with the aesthetics, mind the appearances, as for the heart of things, it's not allowed to be discussed, only just if and when is needed for the purpose they set out for.

Hide the true nature of things, so the narrative fits in perfectly. Until the time of the big reveal, we stick washi tape to the cracks, call them cute and pretty, and hide behind a labyrinth of ornate words.

Sometimes we're big and mighty, other times small and fragile. Just make sure you check at the beginning of every given moment, and check during the moment itself, for all the shifts and changes, subtle and tiny, or loud and clear.

A hardy, real, and manifesting nature is called masculine ~ or detached. They left out all the other traits for the feminine, and they glorified all of its many toxic aspects. Surrender they tell you, go down, dive deep, stay up, that is the way. Don't you dare tell them there are other ways, they'll outcast you, and call you lost.

And if you don't listen to their words, and if you don't see things their way, you're scapegoated, and called a fool, and the bringer of toxicity in flesh, blood, and soul. 

Fool me once, fool me twice, fool me thrice?!

They whisper in your very soul and tell you that you're desitned to pay all your life for the mistake of not being broken enough, not being saturated enough, not being distorted enough.

They pull at your strings from down below, repeatedly, differently, sporadically.

Snap!

Who got time for this madness,

Heed the call of Spirit.

Amen.

Who knows!

Autumn grace

It happened so fast, I was too preoccupied to savour it. Today though, I'm slowing down. Here is autumn indeed, for I needed my socks and cardigan to be able to sit in my usual morning spot on the terrace. 

It has rained several times already, but I missed all of them, except the very first one, on the evening of September 1st, when I sheltered the kitten. I had decided to foster it earlier that morning and spent the day accomodating it. When the rain came by the evening, I knew it was to be called Ghaith ~ غيث. I was too worked up about its wellbeing that I missed the petrichor, and the small little joys of autumn rain and autumn things, but we're only just starting, so not all is lost.

I fostered Ghaith for 12 days in total. I nursed it back to health, treated it for the ticks and fleas, cleaned it, gave it plenty of milk and food, and a lot of play time and cuddles. It kneeded on all of my body endlessly, most especially my head at night, during my sleep. It especially loved nesting inside my hair and in he nook of my neck. It kept me awake most nights through kisses and purrs. Thought I was rescuing it, it ended up rescuing me; cracked my heart open like it hasn't been for a long time. (That was pain for you, it does horrid things!)

It was my first time fostering a kitten, so young and so fragile, and a street one at that. I was very apprehensive, but we did good, both kitty and I. I needed its trust so I could do the work, it gave it to me, abundantly, and it paid off. 

I thought I could change something in me that would make me enjoy the constant company of a cat - or a kitten, but I was wrong. Some things we can change, some things we can't. I kissed it and thanked it very dearly and gave it away, for it was time for it to go, and for the next phase of healing to start, for us both. 

I was made differently, maybe naturally, and maybe through a series of traumatic events inside of me, still, there was no point trying to normalize myself, in order to start enjoying mundane things like others do - though I desperately needed it. While my nervous system was crying out for small enjoyable things, and small scale everything, simply thinking it or acting it out was just not going to do. I tried, I applied myself, I failed greatly.

While I don't exactly require the company of a cat to thrive, I do however require an abundance of heartfelt gestures from humans, the warmest embraces, the gentlest of touches, and the most genuine and endearing words ~ for mere survival, not just thriving.

That is not possible at the time being, so I will try to remain present with my body instead of failing it, like I'm so accustomed to doing. Try and listen to it as it tells me its stories, where it hurts, where it feels nice, where it needs attending to, where it's ready to serve me and my ambitious actionable plans when the time is right.

It hurts all over, but feels nice at the centre, in my heart, when Ghaith showed up, and how deeply it stared into my very soul that first night that I had it inside, in my bed, as I was crying away. It hurts all over, but feels nice at the centre, at my heart, when Yasmina showed up, and laughed and cried, with me and beside me, and at our embrace. It hurts all over, but feels nice at the centre, in my heart, as I think of the ever so subtle grace hidden in the smallest of acts, facts, faces, and situations. It hurts all over, but feels nice at the centre, in my heart, now as I listen to En Al Andalus on repeat, and stare at the clouded morning sky, and feel the chilled and humid breeze on my skin. 

I had grown so very tired of the weight of the pain I was carrying, I had to put it down, all of it. All the pains inflicted on me, by me, through me. All the pains I was carrying that wasn't mine. I forgave myself, and then forgave all others. I reached out to everyone, I said sorry and thank you. I am not sure how much of it was felt, but at this stage of new level of apocalyptic realm, even if it reaches a tiny forgetful spot in their mind, I'm happy with that. This was the small little act I was capable of. That was what I felt called to do, and make. 

Who cares about stupid employment and cash at this stage, I mean, fuck this existence as they had planned it, I refuse to abide by their rules till my last breath, and one way or another, I know that my acts, thoughts, and stands are going to be fruitful.

If it wasn't to love and grace, I would not have lasted so long on this plane reality. Though every fiber of my being gets exhausted, though I'm fatigued beyond words, though I am suffering from chronic pains, and though mind is beyond exasperated, I hold on to thin threads of hope.

I had spent days and nights recently thinking of absolutely every person I ever encountered, asked their forgiveness, thanked them, and sent them love. 

There was no point in carrying on with life the way it has been lived so far, most especially the grieving period of last year, up until August 31st. I had prayed, numerously, and my prayer was answered, God indeed has helped me close that old chapter. There are new lessons to be learned now, new growth sprouts, new adventures of a different sort. But first, we had some cleaning up to do.

It isn't a one way communication anymore, this prayer thing, it's a dialogue now, we even joke sometimes, God and I. I recall I was writing in my prayer book a while back, towards the end of it I said: Giddy up Goddy! And then laughed and laughed...

Gotta filter this existence through the centre, it could never lead you astray ~ just make sure it's decluttered.

Thank you, for it all, seen and unseen, known and unknown. 

More please,

Amen.

.

.

.

.

جادَكَ الغيْثُ إذا الغيْثُ هَمى"

يا زَمانَ الوصْلِ بالأندَلُسِ

لمْ يكُنْ وصْلُكَ إلاّ حُلُما

"في الكَرَى أو خِلسَةَ المُخْتَلِسِ

Ticks and fleas

You're frustrated at me, how oh how do I bring a street cat into my house!? 

You're disappointed because you had hoped to call in tonight, you've missed me and wanted to see me, it's been a long August indeed, but now you can't, because of the possibly flea infested house. You crack me up, you obsessive maniac!!

Don't you know, that when you're away, doing your thing, like everybody else is, with your people, and your tribes, and your rituals, and routines, that I am usually left alone to my inflamed brain, which keeps leading me astray?!

I am the childless mother, and a motherless kitten called to my heart... I'm only just human after all, take it easy!

We were a match on that September morning, with our achy hearts, shaky bodies, and that same longing and craving, for the touch, warmth, and the belonging.

Her mother abandoned it.

My child abandoned me.

It's not hard to figure, is it?

Do you see it now, how I can't relate with other humans, why I keep to myself, and why my mind is splitting?

My heart got shattered, and I've been trying to put the pieces together ever since. 

It's been a year now since the move, I shall put an end to that specific cycle soon, I promise to do my best, and perhaps, meet you then at your exceptional level of persisting excitement and positivity!

I miss that,

I missed you,

I miss you,

You excentric fool,

You intimidating fuck!

Until we meet again...

P.S: you endured summer me, now you can rejoice, for here comes September, my favourite month of the year, and you're in for a nice surprise, April boy!

The many stages of healing

How much of the ego did you kill today? 

That's how much of healing you've got done.

Kill the mothertucker! 

Crush it.

Show it who's the boss.

It is you.

Your soul is online,

Bring it on!

Heal that achy heart.

Love it, 

For all the love it is capable of,

For all the love it has shared and given,

Love it dearly,

Love it, dearie.

I love you so,

Little girl,

It is I alone this time.

My inner child,

The discombobulated,

The disheartened,

The broken,

The most fragile,

Most sensitive,

Most open,

Most vulnerable,

Most hurt, bruised, damaged,

On the way to restorative healing, Rana.

I love you so.

Don't just read it or hear it,

Feel it in your very damaged bones,

Feel it in the achy cracks of your joints,

Feel it in your utterly inflamed tissues,

Feel it in your broken down nervous system,

Feel it in your inflamed heart,

Feel it in your inflamed brain,

Feel it in all of your organs.

Let it do its job,

Step out of the way,

Just you let it.

It's done,

Amen.

Thank you,

Thank you.

The essence

The mornings have a special taste of freedom. 

They're wild, free, and very rebellious.

They don't bend, they're inflexible. 

Though the days and nights are polluted,

Morning air is always fresh.

When they attempt to break your soul, it's the hardest for them to achieve in the mornings.

Morning sun supports in putting up the fight.

Mornings are real, raw, and very sharp.

You can't mess with the mornings, they mean business.

I'm not hyped about sunsets like most people are, nor do I chase them.

Give me an eternity of sunrises and I'll be as happy as can be. 

When leaving this earth plane and when asked about the best it offered, my answer would be:

Newborn babies, thunderstorms, cold showers, my father's hands, and sunrises...

I'm sitting in my summertime sunrise spot this morning on the terrace, I captured it with a picture. It won't be long before it disappears behind the building. By then, like every autumn and spring, it shines through the opening in the wall facing my front door. I sometimes open the door to let it shine through, but often times, I like to capture its light through the door's peep hole. 

Though we want to consume that which and whom we love completely, it isn't necessary. A fraction of the whole suffices. The rising of the day, a moment in the rising, a bit of sunshine, one casual picture, few moments of contemplation, few long and deep breaths, one heartfelt prayer, one truthful wish, one good-intented action, only one real human being, one heart warming memory!...

Essence is all that's left and kept after each chapter passes. And isn't this whole existence but a mere chapter unfolding and soon to be over so we can turn the page, and write its summary!? 

The curvature

I am frequently asked, and I'm sometimes wondering myself, why is it that I am kept stuck in stagnation ~ freeze mode ~ when that heavy weight that almost broke my back and I've been carrying for nearly two decades is there no more. 

One answer can be like this one that came to me today: that curve in my back, the pains and stiffness in my bones, joints, and muscles, the closing off of my chest, heart, neck, and voice, have all been going for so long that simply straightening up won't just do. 

My body isn't recognizing that the weight isn't there anymore to carry, and my mind isn't registering the change. As to my heart, well that's too long a story for now.

Another answer is this: when the cancer that has grown so big inside the body causing so much pain for so long has been removed, the pain isn't simply taken away with it. The body still aches where the growth once was, it takes a very long time for it to adjust and to start healing, if at all it does.

When a prisoner is released from his prison, freedom doesn't necessarily register as that in the prisoner's system, and often times, the prisoner fails at adjusting to life outside of his cell.

What I have wrongly considered for so long liberation was my imprisonment, and what I thought of as entrapment was freedom itself. 

This healing the mind and attending to the heart thing keeps going, and in fairness, I don't think there is a near end to it, though the soul is longing for release.

In the meantime, I'm learning still to communicate with my body, try to tell it things, try to listen to what it's telling me too, for I had abused it quite a bit as I prioritized other beings, other things.

Another thought was this: if I consider my body a separate entity from me, then perhaps I'm able to start recognizing its own limits, and both our boundaries (it and I), and respecting them. By so doing, starting to honour it, attending to its needs, and putting it first. 

Just another thought, there is no one answer. 

Time will tell, 

and hopefully it heals!?...

(that too is perhaps just another thought)

Packaged goods

A dying bee is going in circles on the floor of the balcony. There's water here and there from the watered plants, she makes sure she avoids it.

There's a cool breeze at sunrise this morning, moon is again setting behind me, though a bit higher up today.

I cried a lot last night, there was so much physical pain, in addition to everything else. All of my back hurted badly ~ and then there were the dreams and nightmares. As though the hardened hearts of those who mattered the most was felt in my very stiff bones and joints. Ah now, that's a revelation! I remember the specific days when the chronic pains of now started in the past. Which body parts, what events, what feelings, what thoughts, what actions.

The body keeps the score indeed, and when I chose to avoid processing things, it brings me back to the moments. There is no escaping the work.

I'm just so very fatigued.

The dying bee is like a toddler playing, I must let it do its thing without interfering, while watching from a close distance. I might be of assistance, but mostly I should just let it do its thing. One is figuring out a way out. The other is figuring out a way in. 

We all run in circles, those of us in the middle of figuring out and being figured out run in circles from pain, almost hallucinatingly excruciating pains.

We follow the sun, we follow the moon, we hope for clues, we aim for cues, we almost always miss the point. We confuse the acts with states, and are often held up by status. Misleading roles and rules and contributions, deeds and dues, actions and prayers, places and spaces.

When I say we I mean they, really.

The assigned roles are only just the packaging, the gift is in the content. The content is the essence, the essence is the core, the core is the Love. There are no tricks, it's that dumbfoundingly simple. 

Still, they seem to be often fooled, tricked without there being any trickery. 

Just remove the package, you fools, enjoy the real gift! 

Or else, keep running in circles...

 

To yin and to yang

The moon is setting behind me, the sun is rising in front of me. The cycles too are entrapment. 

I made myself a hot chocolate drink, I used my special recipe, with muscovado sugar, butter, lavender, and cinnamon.

I am tired beyond words. My body, my mind, my senses. I need gentlness, I need kindness. Heart could do with tenderness and soft things. Soft gestures, soft words, soft touches.

I pushed myself hard this week, today I aim to rest. I create space for receiving, for slowing down. Today I try to take a break from the crying and all other rituals and routines. Today I embrace a chance for companionship and some brief togetherneess. 

My cup is so full, it needs only sharing. In the act of pouring over, my heart gets mended a little bit more every time. To give is to receive. Who's in need, who's deserving, who's asking. To ask for love is to be love is to be transformed by love.

I wake up before the sun and wait for it to rise. I celebrate it and it celebrates me. I take in the brief quiet moments as the city wakes up to its daily turmoil and chaos.  

I'm a woman waiting for my man, achingly. The sun is salve, it acts as my lover, briefly. It shines its light and warmth upon my body and being, and I shine back my light to the world. I birth little hopeful thoughts, and I take little thoughtful actions. 

Breaking through the entrapment with a classic dance of masculine and feminine, both outside of me, and inside of me, with the other, and in my hermitage and solitude.

The scent of my buddy is left on me, I smell it on my hair and my skin, it's mixed in with my own, a classical dance indeed. 

Here comes another day, another season, another year. Shut your heart open where it's due, then open yourself up again, wide and wild...

Let God in.

Soulstice

I call on God, God calls back on me.

I say ya Rab... 

God says ya Rana!

Prayer is different now, so is everything else.

The dreams ought to have stopped, but they haven't.

I saw them all this week; all the men and women who've hurt me badly, at it again, in those recurrent dreams.

Same scenarios, same let downs, same trickery. Bigger pains, more tears, various ghosts of trauma manifest.

My mother back from death only to be much more active, lively, loving, and passionate, so that when she dies in the dream, it hurts 10 folds more. As though reality wasn't harsh enough, I re-live it in the dream with much more intensity. That particular dream kept me crying for hours on end since the moment I opened my eyes from it, few days ago.

I now have my crying routines, mornings at sunrise and evenings after sunsets. I'm on the terrace during those hours, doing my contemplation, listening to my music and tunes, giving myself the time and space to feel. 

When I'm not, I'm usually pushing myself to be more productive and much more creative. I work on schedule now, like the olden days. The fact that I'm still not generating money is irrelevant here, I have to love myself again, and it starts with commitment. This is here is my most essential commitment and to myself. Cash will flow, eventually, hopefully!?

I don't have control over the atrocities happening in the world on a daily basis, or the ones happening to me or under my noise, but I do have total power over my waking up every single morning and starting my day at 5:00 sharp, also the number of hours I put in on my workbench, and the number of projects I finish daily. And so that is a exactly what I now do.

I have a new cuddle buddy, he resembles my imaginary person. First time we cuddled, he did all the right moves and things. Needless to say, it's a soul connection. I only ever do those these days anyway, where there is flow, recognition, and appreciation. He's big and broad, and very warm, strong and soft, and very harmonious with my nervous system. Who got time or you energy for anything else anymore!?!

It's an intense week, summer solstice, cancer season starting, full moon in Capricorn, and other mad things all around. To say I need comfort would be an understatement. 

I painted my nails grey this morning, it used to be my favourite colour in high school when I was 18. 

I'm riding this new wave of summer madness while holding on so tight to my sanity helmet.

And I pray...

For financial security,

For safety,

To keep my dignity,

To gain more strength,

To revive all old powers,

And for grace.

A Rana (sun) song

Dreams

There's a sense of an ending in the air...

I keep seeing father in the dream lately.

Last night's dream felt like a wrap up of this madness, an ending of a sort, a feeling of packing and leaving.

A sense of homecoming,

of Home...

A Taurean tale

He takes your hand and leads you in

In through his many layers

A master of earth, 

He grounds you, 

He buries you, 

He plants you

You sprout

He breathes warmth and softness through your roots 

He whispers 

He roars

He's wild

He's tender

Double Taurus, double trouble

Tripple the charm 

Taureans earn the reigns 

They pull at your heart strings 

They press your buttons

They see through your very soul 

Taureans are spirit connections 

Be wary, not 

There is no resisting 

Those whose hearts are earthed 

And their footsteps gentle but firm 

And their chin ups, 

Head lifted, 

Tilted 

You orbit around them 

and inside of them 

and with them 

They lift you off your grounds 

And earth you in their lands 

They feed and water you, 

They nourish and nurture you 

If you've become theirs, 

Fear nothing at all.

It's okay if your words are failing you 

It's okay to be disoriented 

Embrace it still

Here we go again

Heart, mind, and womb entanglements...

And the intricacies of another souls' reunion 

Resist it not 

For it is home now 

Until it's time to move again 

Fear not the pain and the aftermath 

Que sera sera...

Let them lead

Sit back 

Enjoy the show 

Shush your mind 

Accept 

Receive 

It's your turn now 

Another cycle in the spiral...

Wheeeeeeeeeeee

Nina knows...

 

أصوات الكلمات

الإنسان نسّى

هَسّا

لِسّا 

إسّا

شَحّا

أحّا

هقْ

تْسقْ

بَقْ

دِقْ

طُقْ

أنس وجن 

ونس 

وجنون

جنى

جنان

جنات

جِنّ

دوروا دوروا 

مبسوطين؟

حول إمّن

أمّيّ

أّمي

 

شو حلوين

هلا وغلا 

اشتقنا

ما اشتقتوا؟

هالصيصان...

Hindsight

There couldn't have possibly been a greater pain than the one I've been through from being alienated by you. As the ice melts on my frozen and hardened pain, it is being revealed to me that I have indeed done it all to myself, by myself, for how else could I have given you the gift of free will, which is what you truly wanted, and what I wanted for you. 

The pain did what it always does: creates insomnia. That's trauma for you, and it happened in real time. But now I've awakened, and I know that not all mothers' love is great, but mine to you was. 

I'm humbled and grateful beyond words for God and the strength I was given to carry through this most noble act my soul has sat out to do. I have indeed released you. I loved you that much. You do and did with your free will whatever on earth you like. The rest is for us to deal with. I have dealt and am dealing with my part. 

I see the broken women around, whose kids are latching unto their very soul. You fantasied about that stereotype, the broken depleted women, but I have to break the news for you; this kind of mothers couldn't possibly fathom the concept of freedom for themselves, let alone their kids. Nor be as hardy as going childless mothers, it's detrimental for their existence! You have been blessed. It wasn't random though, you have indeed made the choice, I was the one for the mission. Your soul might come online and remind you one day. 

Done and dusted, matey! 

We are soulmates, that's a fact. 

(I hope you're searching for and finding your soul family.)

When you're in your fourty's you will understand, and perhaps you might even remember by yourself at some stage before. 

None of it matters, it's all good. 

For now though, here's another prayer, and a new goodbye...

في أمان الله والقلب داعيلك

Mayday Mayhem Madad

Whose scent is on my hair today

What smell 

Whose spirits entangled with mine today

What heaven 

Which hell

Engineered clouds

Fabricated winds

Sun rays 

Simulated things

Heart keeps thumping 

Humb 

Hump

Humm

Take a break or not 

You're off work anyway 

Off chart

Off grid

Holidays 

Vacances

Vacant 

Coffee after midnight

Or in the morning 

Or at midday 

Who's awake anyway 

Whose awakening

Who's awakened

A dream inside a dream inside another dream 

Layers of invented realms

Projected holograms

A trap 

Inrpirisoning 

Inprisonment 

A delusion of empowerment 

Keep meeting people 

Keep looking for the souls

Keep searching the eyes 

Keep hunting for that needle in the haystack

Heyday 

Mayday 

Mayhem

Summer in autumn disguise 

Twisted 

Masked 

Chameleonated

Question the colors 

Question the shapes 

Smiles at the attempts 

Marvel at the successes 

Acknowledge the failures 

Appreciate the efforts

Pray

Allahu

Allahu

Allahu

Allah 

Madad 

Madad 

Madad 

Madad. 

Birth your chart

Double earth single fire woman, learn to hone your game. Easy on the earthing, easy on the earthlings. Easy on the pulling, easy on the release. Arrow turns ball of fire, turns wild fire. Easy on the excitement, easy on the engagement.

Spirits of lack stepping down, back to basics now, learn to breathe. Blow the air through your fire, ground, cleanse, repeat. Find it in your chart, find it in your heart. You have got it all, and then some more. You don't need to imagine magic, only just remember. 

It's time already. 

Let's go, baby girl! 

A public embrace

It's at it again,

Fate, and its games.

Ripples of hope,

weaved unto threads of dispair. 

He was at it again, 

With his grace,

and that embrace. 

Same eyes of old, 

Same contentment, 

Same containment. 

You ought to have quit it!

I have... 

Destiny's been cooking,

This feast of abundance,

In his shape, and very form. 

He only had to deliver. 

Showed up, 

In his glowing essence,

Showed up, 

With your buried longing. 

Small talk, 

Big exchange. 

The rest is to God, his angels, 

And some two souls' unfinished work... 

Just you smile

Teared up woman,

It's only just another cycle, 

Brace yourself, 

Here we go again. 

Spiral away, 

Or stand your ground. 

It matters very little, 

But you know that already.

Armageddon

Can hardly catch up with the madness of the world. Gotta switch between different platforms and websites and apps to get a close enough picture of the daily and sometimes hourly updates. I sleep to it, wake up to it, have break with it, and on and on it goes. I baked today, first time in almost a year, I have lost touch of time and its passing. There was no point of making cakes anymore, for whom anyway. I've lost my appetite it's been years now. Eating is for survival, and binging. I can't afford binging anymore, still, I managed to make my famous lavender lemon rice flour cake. It wasn't to be shared with family members, friends, or loved ones. There's nobody left now, only just me. I had several slices, smeared with my favorite St. Dalfour jam. It didn't taste as nearly as nice as it used to. It's not the cake, it's me.

I've got pains upon pains upon pains, physical, emotional, mental. I push through, perhaps the end is near, Iran and Israel now at war, how far can that be. 

I don't bother look for humans anymore, they've all turned. Once someone can spot me and treat me like one, I know they exist, otherwise it's zombies unite time. They say the eyes says it all, to me, words and actions, especially actions and inactions, especially words... 

I keep listening to Jeff Buckley's "All flowers in time..." song, it seems to have a cleansing effect of a sort. Reset, restart, repeat...

I've been watching Roger Waters speak up ever so passionately and loudly about Palestine and its people, against the horrid ever going injustice, it brings solace to my aching heart. I looked him up recently to find out his sign and age. Good ol' virgo, bless his soul, and 80 years old! That's what happens when you got your heart intact, you don't wither and age like the rest of 'em.

I pray day and night, 

It's getting heavier and heavier. 

I seem to switch between anger and grace, there's no third state as of late. 

I stopped seing men a good while back. 

I stopped engaging with fake friends too. 

Every time I glance in the mirror when I go to the toilet I think to myself my eyes are looker more sad by the day, but purer too... 

My single go to prayer is a supplication word, for all other words have all been worn out...

Ya Rab!

Trailing

How far can one go with a broken heart?

I'll tell you when I find out...

(part of a conversation with my imaginary person earlier this morning)