poem

Love

Love. We don’t know what it means. There is no rational, logical meaning.

Writing this down, trying to find the words to explain what love is and coming short. How does one express, describe the one element of life that surrounds us, we can’t see, nor touch, but we feel. We feel the vibrations, the energies of another person, of our thoughts and passions.

Love, the priceless gift sourced from the Universe.

Love, the freeing air that engulfs us, bringing us to life.

Love, making us weak, succumbing us to the energy and yet, feeling alive, powerful, and infinite all the same.

Love. We know the beauty of love but, somehow think we are above it, think that we can run away from it, play with it. We know the beauty of love but don’t cherish it. We know the beauty of love and yet, think our lives doesn’t revolve around love.

Love is the energy that envelopes us, ingrained within our souls, in our hearts. We thrive through love, through embracing love and being love.

Love is our truest, purest form.

Love is the essence of life. Love is the unknown source of life that fits our puzzles, melds our life with blessings and peace.

Love is the beauty that carries us through this life, keeping us afloat. We are love. We are surrounded by love. It is the fundamental essence that teaches us the ways of life and what it means to us.

We are love, not because of its feelings, the ego-self or the mind. But the fact that we yearn for it, it is an energy, it is a gift so profound that it allows us to prosper and become one with our being.

I am love, by loving another. I have found my love by moving with love, keeping love in my heart, and within my fingertips.

Love is the living energy connecting us with the Universe. 

I love you, my love.

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Blog, Story

Talking to the Moon.

The clouds cocooning the moon, the moon was lustrous like a fluorescent light illuminating against the darkness. Stars sprinkled amongst the sky, flickering their celestial galaxies. The ocean was luminescent from the burning glow of the moonlight. The ocean creating waves as they hit the shore, the coolness washing over my sand pillowed feet. My heart full, my soul sound, enveloped within Earth’s nature. The crisp air clinching onto my skin, the waves moving in sync with the gentle gust of the wind. The silence comforting, the tranquil sounds of crashing waves stirring my soul, feeling lightheaded and hazy, from the peace of my heaven.

Bringing my knees against my chest, wrapping my arms around my body with the wind blowing my hair away from my face. A small smile dancing around my lips. Gazing up at the moon, the moon emitting brightly away from the clouds, whispering sweet sweet gratitudes to the moon and the celestial orbs. “Nobody really knows what it is yet, we do feel it. We don’t know what it means yet, we do seek it. We crave it. When we have it in front of us, we don’t see it. We yearn for love, regretting the missed opportunities and fearful for the future potentials. Unclear about what the future holds; hoping, wishing and wanting” I say absent-mindedly, the clouds circling the moon. The glow intensifying almost as if my words were being heard. “We don’t know what love is still, we yearn it. The pangs of longing sharpening within the chambers of the heart. I miss him. He isn’t listening. Can you see him? The thoughts of him filling my head. The stars can see him too huh? We don’t know what love is yet, we yearn for it. Creating imaginations in our heads and being disappointed by our delusions. He doesn’t want me, wants me to wait for him.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. Looking up at the one star that is shimmering deeply than the others.

The ocean ricochets in rhythm with the stinging sensation unfurling within my chest. “Waiting. The highs of your hopes and lows of your dreadful thoughts of insecurities and uncertainties. You are the sacrificial lamb, who has to wait until it is convenient for them to want you. Waiting is like the tones of sadness prolonging, not knowing when the next storm surges. I miss him, he isn’t listening. Can you see him?” I questioned quietly, my nose tickling from the cold. “Waiting for someone is like willingly pausing your life, at an impasse. Waiting for them to come back and press play for your life to resume again, from when they were in your life. It’s not his fault, I suppose. I have chosen to wait because these hopeless feelings never falter. Feelings another crazy notion” I murmured, my voice muffled from the notes of the fierce ocean. “Feelings… feelings… the unfamiliar sensations trickling through your veins, pulsing once it reaches your heart. The vessels of the heart pumping, thrashing against your chest and blooms. Coming alive once your eyes reach for the person that it desires. Galaxies intertwining and rejoicing from your reunion. Feelings are simple, delicate human experiences however, they can be paralysing and complicating when your being isn’t nourished. The foreign vibrations making you feel unhinged, crazy. The Universe laughing at our despair but, soothes us with unconditional kindness of our blessings that are yet to come” I end, my fingers playing with the sand. The moon rising higher, the gleaming light glistening. The chaos quiet as the being savours Earth’s gifts. “I miss him,” I say, lightly. One lone tear travelling down my face, fading away into the sand. Staying still as the breeze tenderly touches my skin. My eyes closing, body lax; a deep presence within me. Inviting his energy, a soul presence that never left my heart, the comfort and security enwreathes my body, gripping my heart. The moon hidden in behind the clouds, that one flickering star gone. The fallen, shooting star.

“He is listening” whispered the Universe.

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Blog, Love

Solitude is Your Power

Since young, we knew about love. Seeing the love between our parents, having love for our siblings, family and friends. To some having love as dreamers, for their passions, and for our Planet Earth. We are taught about love. We see love. We are love. Yet, we are not taught about self-love. The power and beauty love holds when we make space for ourselves. When we fill our cup and appreciate our own company. Relationships and romanticism are notions that have influenced our social perceptions since we were young. Creating an identity with it, placing our values in whether or not we’re in a relationship, especially with the pressure of being a woman. We are taught that we are valued, we have a place in this society when we are in a relationship, taken by a man.

Not many are comfortable with being alone. We are scared of being alone, of living our lives alone. Obsessing over the psychological time, thinking we are running out of time, not having the time to fall in love or be in a relationship. When these are simply social constructs and have no significant value. Why do we put a time stamp when it comes to finding love? Why are we allowing ourselves to be pressured into finding love? Why do we not celebrate being single? Why is there such unease in being alone?

The power of self-love is being able to embrace aloneness. There’s power in knowing yourself, having a relationship with yourself and being comfortable in your being. The power of self-love is when you’re able to pick yourself up when nobody sees. The power of self-love is knowing your worth and not tolerating men who don’t know how to treasure you nor love you. The power of aloneness is being self-sufficient, independent, and sure of yourself. Being friends with your soul, nourishing your soul, and when your lover comes into your life they’ll flourish your being, your energy and protect it.

The beauty of love is your lover finding you and entering your life in the way they’re supposed to. Your love will come, and it’ll be everything you’ve wished for. Patience truly is a virtue.

Love is the source of life, love will come to you in the most unexpected ways. That being said, for the sake of desiring a relationship, for love don’t allow anyone to be in your space. Your energy is valuable. Not everyone can care for it and reciprocate it. You’ll just end up hurting yourself in the process of desiring a relationship, it’s not worth it. The power of self-discovery. The power of self-awareness and self-reflection. The power of healing and enjoying your own company, your being. The power of aloneness. That is the true beauty of oneness. Being whole and complete with yourself. Being able to remain one with yourself. That is your power. Being one with life.

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Blog, poetry

Hues of Yearning

Stagnant. Stuck. Lost.

The sharp tinges of pain echoing inside the hollow canvases of my heart.

“I miss you” I whisper into the night sky.

The moon illuminating luminously against the dark, starry sky. Gazing up at the flickering, twinkling celestial orbs.

“I miss you” I murmur into nothingness, the burning sensation within the heart transforming into flames.

The hues of longing still, motionless. Reaching into every corner of my being. Consuming.

Moments of happiness burrowing the deep-rooted yearning.

The hues of longing clawing at my inflamed heart, scratching at the heart to relieve the pain.

Lips quivering, nose tickling as tears fall, dampening the skin. Unleashing the dam.

The blazing, raging ache gripping my soul.

“I miss you” I breathe into the void. The syllables falling from my lips as my voice breaks.

The yearning pinching my heart, clutching my throat.

“He isn’t listening” I utter. The shrapnel exploding into the abyss of my soul.

Stagnant. Stuck. Lost.

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Blog, Self

Breaking Generational Curses

Growing up I always felt alienated from the Bangladeshi community. Not understanding why I felt this way, not comprehending why I couldn’t connect with family members, why I didn’t have mutual interests with my cousins. Not knowing why I couldn’t relate to the norms and traditions of my culture that never made sense to me.

I was that introverted, socially awkward girl who would sit quietly in a corner of the room, surrounded by people but not speak, just observing. Listening to older generations talking to each other, gossiping about each other. Throwing ‘harmless’ jokes at each other, commenting on other people “when are they getting married?” “She’s of age now.” When are you going to have children?” And if you go against the norm you’re instantly ostracised, exiled. Wincing to everything they’d say, never aligning with the ways they were, their beliefs, and values. It was never about belonging, it was the realisation that my life’s meaning, my purpose was different. It was to break the restrictive norms and traditions for future generations. It was to break the norms that society held of girls, of women. It was to heal the generations to come, it was to break the generational traumas and values that had no significant values. My purpose wasn’t going through the traditional route.

Transitioning into an adult, seeing the unspoken traumas, generational unhealed sadness that I realised the norms, ideations that existed never had an essential purpose. It simply confined the people, immobilised us to mind-ego and never seeing the light, the beauty of life. It isn’t just about the traditional route of going to university and graduating, nor about getting married by 25 and having children. It’s the gaps that reside in those spaces of conforming to these concepts. It’s the regret of not doing more in life, not knowing what your purpose is and why you’re here. It’s the pain, suffering they have of blindly following man-made societal norms and projecting the traumas that were created onto the future generations, onto the children. The trauma and suffering repeating like a cycle.

It never was about connecting with my community because that meant I affiliated with the societal norms that were created. It is about breaking the generational curses that controlled, imprisoned them because they never saw an extraordinary life. They simply saw the life of survival. The need to survive. It is my purpose to crack open, and break the generational curses, so the future generations don’t have to worry about breaking norms that limited them.

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Blog, poetry

Intimacy

Streaming, seeping, ever flowing energy between two lovers.

My soul wanting to devour his mystical being.

His loving aura, his love for me addictive, devoted to only him.

His body close to mine, encasing me, fire burning inside for him.

Wanting him to take all of me, wanting to give him all of me.

Because that is what he has made me, a crazy lover.

His intimacy is my constant yearning.

My soul light and free.

His love florets my heart.

Thanking the Universe for giving him to me.

Thanking the Universe for giving me unconditional love in him.

Our souls burning together, creating a passionate, blazing inferno.

My love for him pure, limitless, and transcendental.

 

 

 

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Love, poetry

Musings: Fate

Fate is like the ocean that comes swooping into the shore. The ricocheting essence

overwhelming you yet, soothing you.

Fate is the unknown, leading you to your one. To your purpose.

Fate bringing two souls together, connecting them, interlocking them through the lifetime and the here-after.

Shocking you, moving you. Fixing your missing enigmas and putting you together.

Gifting you your light, your meaning, your purpose.

Suddenly life makes sense.

Creating series of circumstances like a domino, trembling your core when you are at the crest.

Two aching souls bind, unite through the purity of their love.

Fate is the unknown.

Fate is the essence enriching, radiating your light.

Two souls intertwining, seeking, finding, and loving each other.

The unknown is where you find love.

He is my one.

He is my unknown.

He is my fate.

Now I know.

https://www.instagram.com/konijjajaannah_/

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Creative Writing, poetry

Unspoken Words

Watchfully gazing from a distance, as his face lights up. The corner of his eyes crinkling, delving into the skin as his eyes beam brightly. With his mouth tilting upwards into a radiant smile like the luminescent moonlight illumining, bringing my soul alive. His darkened complexion enhanced his strong features, his eyes twinkling like two celestial orbs. His dimples deepening as his smile enriches, beautifying his already handsome face. Whispering his name as I look up, watching in all its magical glory.

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Creative Writing, Love

Fate

Ezra

My throat filled with fluid, reaching down my body. Keeping me down, leaving me fighting to get to the shore. In futile. Left paralysed, as my body is submerged under water. My body smothered with water, immersing deeply into the well of hollowness with no way to flee. “No. Help” I hear myself scream. The bleak darkness drowning, flooding me into a sinking void. “Please. Stop it” I hoarsely whisper, spiralling in and out of consciousness, trying to escape. My closed eyes swarming with bright light, leaving me momentarily hazed. My body tightening, seizing as I have become delirious. Feeling uncontrollable as my chest constricts with my throat compressed into knots unable to bring in oxygen. “Stop. Stop” I inwardly whisper, needing to leave this hellish trance. Beams of intense luminosity emerging in my vision. Glowing, brown eyes alighting, their breath exhaling. Yielding my body to arch, the heaviness of my chest relinquishing in sync with their breathing. Immersing me into calmness, oxygen coming back to me as my throat clears. The illuminating, brown eyes rising, providing tranquillity. Serenity washes over me as the feminine voice lulls “breathe” in a hushed murmur. “Breathe” the soft voice repeats again. My eye flashing open, unblinkingly staring at the naked walls, sweat gathering around my forehead and body. With a fast-beating heart and heavy breathing, I get out of bed and into the bathroom. Splashing water on my face, washing away the last remnants of the nightmare.

Anxiousness simmering inside my body, adrenaline bursting through my veins as I walk to my makeshift painting area. The blank canvas mimicking the end of the dream, creating the image that surfaced in my dream. Itching with dire need to be released and created. The dark sky, transforming into early morning with birds chirping. Not with the times and hours, as I sunk myself into running away from the hallucinating illusion. Turning the heaviness that is left in my body into a state of peace. Finishing the touches of the latest painting I have curated. With the rest of my paintings already in the gallery I am prepared for the exhibition. As I brush the last stroke, I step back exhaling at the wonder that my eyes lay on. As I let it sit for two hours, I begin to shower and get ready to convince the head curator to put this forward with the rest of the art.

Taking an uber to the gallery, my mind lingers on the stranger women I had the seconds with, lightly hoping I will bump into her again. Somehow not being able to forget. Walking with intention as I have reached the entrance, I see Miguel dressed in colourful clothing, an open chested red shirt, black artisan blazer and trousers with unique designs. Miguel was a European Spanish man whom I have met in New York art exhibition in my art gallery. Within seconds we hit it off, talking about the arts culture, our favourite artists and collections. Since then we have stayed in contact with each other and maintained a friendship relation.

He greets me with enthusiastic arm movements as soon as he sees me, eyeing the black bag in my hand. “I need this piece to be included in the exhibition” I demand bluntly. Miguel stares at me, piercing me with emotionless eyes that wants to tell me off for a cold welcome. But he needs to know my seriousness when I don’t have time to play nice. He signals for me to follow him, heading to his office upstairs. Once we have reached, he closed the door behind me, I lay the bag on the empty table, unravelling the painting for Miguel’s eyes. He stands beside me, taking in a sharp breath, without saying another word he turns towards me “is this who I think it is” he questions. Knowing what his underlying words mean “yes” I utter, “this needs to be in the exhibition, it completes the collection perfectly” I continue. With Miguel in deep thought, I shake away the jitters that comes with being patient, suddenly sighing in admission he says “okay, we can make adjustments. She must be beautiful, for you to be bothered like this” he jokes, but his eyes reflecting respect. Miguel was a person who embraced vulnerability, he never let the ego drive him into making his decisions, he enjoyed being in companies that think alike and who are not crippled by their ego, their identity and not being afraid of humanly feelings and desires. So, with him knowing who this was and me wanting to show this painting in public, he valued me and even more so, this friendship because of it.

Taking the painting in his hand, we go downstairs to the floor of the exhibition, placing it in the focal point of the collection, the centre wall. “Do you oppose” he prompts with one raised eyebrow.

“No, absolutely not” I affirm, feeling accomplished knowing the last art had finalised the collection.

Going back to my hotel suite, I make a start to get ready with spending the whole of afternoon in the gallery, preparing and organising the event, time flew by me. With Miguel picking me up for the evening, I pour myself a drink to remove the apprehensiveness that are rising.

Walking into the gallery, bustling with people and photographers. Grabbing champagne in the entryway, studying those who are looking at the art. The best part about being an artist and establishing your painting in art galleries is the anonymity from publicity. With painters, artists, art investors recognising you due to the close-knit community we have formed for ourselves. Diving right in as I start to talk leisurely with interested customers, negotiating prices with their likened art, positive feelings of success surging as one art had been sold. Long black hair in my peripheral vision convincing myself that it is not real and only imaginations that exist from my dream. Informing the staff that this painting has been sold, they begin to discuss buying the art with the costumers. The long-haired stranger stopping at the latest painting, moving closer and deeply analysing it. With my focus strained, I begin to watch her, her form, her skin and the stunning dress pulling me to her place. Instinctively, my feet walk towards her, eyeing the way she moves closer to the painting. Stopping just behind her inhaling a waft of her flowery, vanilla scent “No, it can’t be” I internally whisper to myself. Out of all places. She is here, knowing she felt my presence I move backwards only for her to turn around and bump into me.

Helping to balance her, I place my hand on her lower back. Silky smooth skin burning my fingers alive. Her scent engulfing me, her wide eyes blinking back at me in recognition and in shock. “We need to stop meeting like this” I mutter light-heartedly with a grin, simmering the feelings wanting to surface. “My name is Ezra” I prompt, waiting for her to speak.

She pushes back to maintain distance, “My name is Luna” she begins “you need to stop appearing where I can’t see you” she says. She studies me curiously. Looking at the person who inspired my painting, her alluring, mesmerising eyes, opening her mouth in futile as her words become unspoken.

“This painting was inspired by you” I mumble, “from the last time I saw you to now, I was not able to forget you. You came up in my dreams and you are what I painted. I want you.” I utter in hushed tone.

(Another part. Couldn’t help myself. Writing this got me excited of the prospects. I’m proud of the characters that are coming alive. Writings from a current story. Thank you for reading 😀 ).

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