hirapoetry

[hirapoetry]

As even the full moon slowly turns to crescent / never shying away to let his sufferings be known / but you seem so reluctant / wrapped in blankets of darkness / afraid of even the moonlight to touch your darker side / & become aware of that intensity / of grief you hold onto so intimately.

_Hira. A// Words She Doesn't Speak of

[hirapoetry]

Love i expect from the unexpected corners of life but the only love I get is from the words —

— you so subtly utter in your scented pages of a perfectly built story.

But maybe i only wish to escape to that fantasy because i know,

may it be happy ending or sad the story won't end,

I'll create the rest in my head and give my imagination a perfect love with perfect ending,

unlike my competencies, when death knocks on my door.

Yours truly,

A loyal reader.

[hirapoetry]

A laugh breaks out with humourous sentences, the dried ink of enigmatic book speaks

soon after, a moist drop is felt rolling down my skin and the pages seem to drink it's sorrows for me.

This sorrow of yours is bearable, for i cannot say the same for my reality.

it spoke to my imaginary world, thrusted me back to my loathsome present while i stay stuck in past

and overthink about time yet to come to destroy what's now left of my sanity.

Thus silence i prefer over their voice like sunflower to hummingbirds, like honey to bees.

[hirapoetry]

Dear book, A letter to you for my subsistence.

Asking her to take me far away from here

— Hira A.

[hirapoetry]

Dear book,

take me to another world of fiction and fancies where reality is blurred like difference between roses and lillies,

where imagination runs wild as thoughts do of my immortal beloved.

Each thought is different on these scented pages smelling like the fragrance of my childhood's trauma,

numbered like days of my counted happiness

with each turning page, the end only nears and then they ask, Why is it death that you fear.

[hirapoetry]

—Mahmoud Darwish, from To a Young Poet

[hirapoetry]

Impossibility of This

A sunset—  will never look as good in a photograph    as it does in real life. & a sunset—  will never stop being photographed    by people, until it stops setting. I guess that’s kind of how,  i go about  writing you.

[hirapoetry]

"I honestly have no idea who I am supposed to be",

"Yourself", they say.

"But how when i don't even now myself...", she smiled.

[hirapoetry]

"Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter's evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day."

virginia woolf

[hirapoetry]

Love is so hurtful i have long given up on it, but hearing some stories of love at times makes it sound so beautiful and worthy

-hira. A.

[hirapoetry]

and love now leaves me nothing but questionable

and i often brood, if love is lovable

so why it repulses my demons?

Is it because how they say,

"People who say they hate love are just really people who got hurt by it".

love not lovable / Hira. A.

[hirapoetry]

Honestly.

[hirapoetry]

Maybe that's the rule of life; to suffer with glee, and to enjoy but with grieve. -Hira. A.

(Painting via Pinterest)

[hirapoetry]

“Far too many people are looking for the right person, instead of trying to be the right person.”

— Gloria Steinem (via perfectquote)

[hirapoetry]

“The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea.”

— Vladimir Nabokov, The Real Life of Sebastian Knight (via thoughtkick)

[hirapoetry]

Lowkey

just wanna be pinned down and kissed slowly

[hirapoetry]

la casa de papel s05e05 | live many lives