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As the wind blows while sounds of distant oceans waltz around her sullen heart, she lay there alongside deafening silence of a midnight celebration. All she could feel were reels of her memories, of sunsets over the Persain Gulf, sanddunes slipping through her fingers, wind caressing through every strand of her dishevelled hair.

Her mind wandered to an age of curiosity from the eyes of a child, charred by emotional voids but nothing like the impenetrable pain she felt pulsating through her being; some 15 years later. Time almost stood still for a few minutes, invisible ghosts of her past wakened, demanding their rights; whilst her icy eyes glazed in crystalline. She sang herself to sleep.

“. . hush little baby don’t you cry, one day you are going to be alright.”

© .S K.

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fleeting banters

 20/09/2009, 12:47am

Having forsaken creative writing years before, my mind is an empty slate washed clear of clickable words on a digital writing pad. Even though, I was never much of a traditional “writer”  I find it difficult to bring myself to “write”, in essence for much of my optimistic allure, curious voice has succumbed to unfortunate turns of fate.

As the fleeting carousing moments triumph and tragedy, appear then disappear within the alleys of my core whistling away like breezy summer nights . . I am absolutely aware that no amount of expressed words can do justice to the intellectual eloquence of the voice within myself but I may try, perhaps one day succeed again. .

. . to write again, in the death of nights when my soul truly comes alive, however fleetingly. . . to be able to express myself perhaps, through written words, rather than watching the beautifully wrecked tragic chaos within myself do that intoxicating dance they do, as I continue my journey with or without any light at the end of my tunnel. 

God is my witness, so is the universe, I must go on.

© .S K.