The moon won’t shine bright without darkness;
it won’t appear to say “hello”.
If you are filled with so much sadness,
if your light of joy is really low,
your heart is plagued with heavy emptiness,
and happiness’ middle name is currently “Slow”,
stay strong in this moment of darkness,
the moon’ll be right there to make it glow.
There you are, sitting in the garden,
desperately waiting for the seed’s growth.
You water it for as long as you can,
then you say to yourself- “if I use my tears,
it might be kind enough to grow faster.”
You’re tired of waiting;
you’re tired of dreaming.
So, you slap yourself really hard,
punch yourself with all your strength,
and attach pins to your right arm,
one pin for every second
that you have had to wait,
but the seed won’t sprout, still.
Then, you realize!
You realize that what you’ve been waiting for,
what you’ve planted, is no seed at all-
it’s your heart, it’s your self, and
you can’t grow love on an infertile ground,
even if you ask and wait and beg for it,
with all of your heart.
I see the moon,
the moon sees me.
She also sees him, and him,
and Him, whom she notices first,
because he glows as well,
since he’s all clothed in lies.
It’s a crying shame,
she doesn’t really see me.
Painting: Lonely by Maryam Mughal
First, (s)he possesses,
but (s)he gets possessed;
then (s)he becomes possessive.
I wanted you to tell me you loved me,
but you loved me because
I didn’t tell you to tell me?
You were in love with me;
you locked me in it with you,
but you hid the keys and kept to yourself.
You put a blindfold on me,
and the day I finally got it off,
your swords cut me till
I stopped trying to hold you.
Then you put the blindfold on me again,
tightened it up till I couldn’t cry or speak,
till I began to find it hard to breathe.
You were in love with me
but you were with you.
You didn’t love me because
you didn’t show me that you did.
My fear of losing you made me lose you.
I was so afraid that you would leave me,
so much so I didn’t realize that you were here,
and that each time I pulled you closer,
it felt like a sharp push to you.
You were not here because I asked you to,
you wanted to be here.
I couldn’t make you stay,
I couldn’t make you do anything.
The only power that I had
was the power to make you leave,
and that exactly was what you did.
Crying a lot is bad,
not being able to cry at all is worse;
too much water won’t kill a fish,
the absolute lack of it will.
I am a sad fish,
constantly bullied the bigger fish-
De and Pres and Sion-
because my life depends on it.
I am uncomfortable in this ocean,
unhappy in my space,
because it feels like all the water
has been forced down my throat;
it’s really hard to swim.
The water isn’t in my belly,
it’s in my heart,
mixed with my blood,
it has become tears.
All the other fish are aware
and they’re moving as far
away from me as possible
because I have no breath,
because I smell like death,
except Sion and Pres and De.
Everything’ll be fine as soon as I cry,
but as much as I try,
I’m so numb,
I’m so tired,
I’m so… dying.
My darling sunflower,
you’ll always be my flower,
with or without the sun.
and you’re not beauty-full,
and that’s perfectly alright.
Don’t be one of the beauty-fools
who think that is not as it should be.
The most beautiful dreams
are the ones we create ourselves,
with open eyes and unconscious smiles.
Staring at something,
or at everything;
looking at one thing,
but seeing different things.