We Are Blessed by Hamza Waleed

We Are Blessed by Hamza Waleed

We Are Blessed by Hamza Waleed

 Looking at the silver lining in the sky,
My heart whispered to gear up, and fly.
Of all the morning's bliss, on us, it showers,
That gentle breeze of air, embellished with flowers....
Seeing those marvelous clouds, fascinates from within,
And heavenward mountains drove the heart towards them....
See!there's a bunch of birds flying in joy,
And singing in a charming, melodious way.....
Those soft rain drops, falling on the ground,
Enrapturing the beauty of everything, all around...
The glorious sun, slowly, in gorgeous majesty retires,
Flooding the fields with the reflection of his golden fires..
Those twinkling stars, in the sky, so gleam,
Guarding the portal of mind to the world of dreams....
Looking at these pearls and when they wink,
The eye become their slave, and never even blink...
After the unruffled night, the dawn breaks n brightens the day,
Bewitched heart yearns to seize the beauty without any delay......
All these wonders seems to be far away,
But, No! they're right here, where our heart stay.....
Of all the beauty and loveliness, the earth bears,
Is like a symphony, by the Marvel, to his dears.....
Witnessing all these splendid beauties,
The heart, ultimately confessed,
Be thankful to the Almighty,
For We are blessed.

Band of Brothers

Band of Brothers by Hamza Waleed

 These are the soldiers of our glorious motherland,
Who faced all the hardships and still withstand.
Leaving behind the beloved, back at home,
They walk through deserts and barren comb.
Calling up those good times, they possess,
They miss those afar, but never express.
Living in the battlefield,
They cope with those awful sights,
But their courage never shatters,
And they stand together to fight.
They never shed a tear,
And put their wounds behind,
They forget the pain,
And put their memories to blind.
Surviving the field of honour,
Holding hands in hands,
Just like a thread,
Woven into a strand.
A brother shedding his blood,
Falls beside them,
But they shouldn't worry,
For in heaven, he'll gleam like a Gem.
They embrace the death,
With a grin on their face,
For in it lies,
Their soul's grace.
Those fearless defenders,
May have different mothers,
But they always stand together,
Like a "band of brothers".
They served with dignity,
And they served well,
For the pride of their land,
They chose to go through hell.
We are proud to have these lion hearts,
And shall remember those we lost,
For the freedom we have today,
They paid the awful cost.
Hamza Waleed
Hamza Waleed

My full name is Hamza Waleed. I am from Pakistan. I live here with my family, and I am a student of BS Physics. 

I’m an entrepreneur and just started writing poems. I write to manifest the feelings of my heart and soul. It’s so soothing to put your feelings in words. No books written yet.  My hobbies are book reading, travelling, and writing. 

Instagram: hamzakhattak567

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

The #1 Writing Tool

Augustine Oak Bound by Palm

Augustine Oak Bound by Palm

Augustine Oak Bound by Palm by Alicia Thompson

Solid oak, rooted deep,
like the tree in Augustine,
twisted branches reaching high,
verdant abundance towards the sky.

The palm grows gently 'round the oak,
symbiotic progress preserves her yolk,
leans in to his trunk so stout,
with support, fans fly free about.

The pair dance spirals towards the rays,
each perfect alone, a match to praise,
like the singular gator tone alabaster,
the palm and oak together uniquely master.

Sun’s Study of the One #1,657,000,000,000

By Alicia Thompson

Sun, she is the artist extraordinaire,
each day, painting the sky with flare,
studies of me, you, us, the one,
1,657,000,000 renditions of God.

Before the orb rises above the plain,
she sends light dancing in pink and grey,
crescent king hangs low to greet her,
their daily kiss, a Picasso piece without the painter.

Salute rises high in the midday stretch,
blinded by her brilliance, we almost wept,
another gallery, another showing,
the portrait she paints, the one, all knowing.

Prism in the cloud,
rainbow foamy waves on sky blue canvas,
colored icing, in a sea of white,
portal drawn to another world or love or life.

Our star, sustenance, survival,
brushes red, pink, blue, and yellow,
mirror image in the stream down below,
masterpiece moves, weeping eye and open channel.
Alicia E. Thompson
Alicia E. Thompson

Born and raised in Pennsylvania, I spent most of my childhood playing in the woods and the fields surrounding my home with family and neighbors.  When I was a sophomore in high school, I moved to Columbia, South Carolina and was introduced to a new life in the South.

Although I traveled back to my home state of Pennsylvania to pursue a degree in History at Penn State University and later to New Orleans, Louisiana to attend Tulane University Law School, I landed in the low country of South Carolina to be closer to my extended family. 

Myrtle Beach is now home. I am a partner at a southeastern based law firm where I focus on real estate matters. I am married to my husband Greg, and we have 3 children.

Poetry is a new outlet.  Struggling with the daily grind and trying to find quiet time, writing poems helps me tune into the world around me and to be present and grateful for everyday life. 

My poems focus on my family, nature, and my travels. In my spare time, I enjoy the beautiful South Carolina coast, yoga and meditation, organizing a book club with other professional women, and spending time with my family.

 You can follow me on AllPoetry.com @EleanorT.

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

728x90 ; 4/13 300x250; 12/2 30% Off Bestselling Personalized Books

I Surrender to My Darker Self

I Surrender to My Darker Self Illustration

I Surrender to My Darker Self by Joe Volpe

I surrender to
my darker self—

he that purrs
at discontent—

I’ll let him loose
upon the world—

and marvel at
his cruel intent.

And if his acts
return to me—

Cast a pall
about my eyes—

I’ll scorn his truth,
deny his shame—

leave him the one
you crucify.
Joe Volpe
Joe Volpe

Joe Volpe lives outside Boston, Massachusetts with his wife. When not teaching middle school English/Language Arts he enjoys reading, playing guitar, and watching baseball.

He has been writing poetry for as long as he can remember, and he sees it as both a hobby and a means to reflect. You can find more of his poetry on Instragram by following @joespoemaday.

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

Be Happy by Evie H

Be Happy by Evie H

Be Happy by Evie H

Be Happy
Real life is boring
No shame that it’s straight vodka you’re pouring.
Be Happy
The whole world’s depressed
Get up, get out, get stupidly dressed.
Be Happy
You may not get better luck
The only solution is not to give a fuck.
Be Happy
Your critics won’t be able to cope
That they failed to drain you of all your hope.
Be Happy
Shut down that stupid inner voice
Be Happy today – make it your choice!
Evie H
Evie H

I am from Northern Ireland. I like to write to process the confusing and conflicting emotions I feel about life. Life is messy. It’s hard to try to deal with all the mess, especially in your own head. 

Writing is a privilege for me. I love that writing, like reading, can connect everyone. I try to make it humorous, because I feel like life is part tragic part hilarious, if you’re not laughing, you might be crying. If the past hasn’t tried to hurt you, the future certainly will have a go. However, writing is a hobby and I do not have any published work. 

My favourite thing to do in my spare time is to listen to Desert Island Discs because I love people’s stories and music. 

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here. 

Corporate Zombie

Corporate Zombie

Corporate Zombie by Anamitra Sarma

dull and unenthusiastic faces
flickering away their wattage
of young life to sparse traces
glued to their desks in settled sacrilege

the skimming fish eyeballs
meandering across glowing monitors
their eyes, sleepless apathetic droops
their intentions, a night owl's wandering whims

like pale nodding lilies
kidnapped by the turbulent stream
they bend back and forth and stress
then let go of their childhood dream
<strong>Anamitra Sarma</strong>
Anamitra Sarma

I am Anamitra Sarma, born and brought up in the city of Kolkata, India. I have recently completed my engineering degree and presently working as a Data Analyst in the city of Chennai, India. 

Apart from writing poems and penning down my thoughts and feelings almost on a daily basis, my other hobbies include capturing the Nature with my camera and watching movies of a varied set of genres.

I have been a passionate writer from a young age, and I wish to showcase my art by getting my own book of poems published one day.

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

Biblio - used, rare, out of print books for sale Save up to 90% on International Edition textbooks at Biblio.com Shop CanvasHQ during the Holidays!

Sweet November by Micheline Mourad

Sweet November by Micheline Mourad

Sweet November by Micheline Mourad

Love as sweet
As I can remember
A new beginning
New chance or maybe
A reminder
To all broken hearts
And tired souls
Not to surrender
To the bitter taste
Left by October
Nor to be afraid
For it’s not meant
To last forever
So hold your Hopes high
Dare to dream
Fall in love
And reach the sky
For as long as I can remember
This is the true taste
Of a sweet November

Meet Micheline

Micheline Mourad
Micheline Mourad

 Hello, I’m Micheline Mourad, from Lebanon.  I’m a 25-year-old graduate with a degree in teaching English as a second language.  My career life never affects my dream of becoming a writer/poet.  

My hobbies are for sure writing and reading for other poets. My passion for poetry has become a rising dream for me till I came up with Poetic Dream.

Below you’ll find my IG link where you’ll read romance, real life relatable poems and quotes that I hope you enjoy reading.

I have a collection of poems (not published yet) and now working on Poetic Dreams short stories you’ll find on IG too.
Hope you fall in love of my poetry!  

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here. 

728x90 ; 11/8 AudiobooksNow - Digital Audiobooks for Less

The Girl of the Past

The Girl of the Past

The Girl of the Past by Victoria Borges

 She is pinned to the bed by the 
strength of your body.
No means no. You chose it means yes.
You grumble she had this coming.
She holds her breath and believes if
maybe I just listen and do as he says I
will be able to endure.
This moment is the moment you take
something she will never get back.
This is the instant she vanishes.
She is reborn and she is scarred.
Never smiling again that smile has
been forever tattooed to the
girl of the past.

Meet Victoria

Victoria Borges
Victoria Borges

Hi, literary world! 
My name is Victoria, a Torontonian millennial looking to put a smile back into society one word at a time.
I started writing to put my feelings down on paper –  almost looking for a way to release or understand what I might be feeling.  Started to think of all the times I read something that got me to move, feel or laugh and how those words just made everything a little better. 

I love photography and often like to match my writing with a piece of art that really impacts the words on the page. Writing is a passion and very important to me. Though I have nothing in the works, I hope to soon; I manage a business that can take up a lot of my time. 

I’m also the mother of a rambunctious Jack Russell Terrier named Chewbacca. He is my heart and a big part of my life. 
I hope my words have made a difference. 

Follow her work on Instagram:  t.solivagant 

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here. 

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 2019

Thanksgiving 2019 | Family, Loss and Forgiveness by Deanna Ramirez

Trigger Warning: Touches on childhood abuse and death.

Last night, I learned my grandfather passed away. I said my goodbye on Monday morning. His eyes, narrow slits, peered at me briefly. I think he saw me, though I don’t know for sure.  

I haven’t seen my grandfather for nearly two years. He and my grandmother lived with my aunt. She and I had a falling out years back.  She doesn’t like me around. So I’m no longer invited to birthdays or holiday celebrations.

Family history

I come from a family of enablers.  Many family members who protect and huddle around those who do bad things.  It’s a systemic issue, starting at the top.  That’s how disease is.  It begins at the pinnacle, then spreads as far as it’s allowed to reach. If nothing fights it. If no one uses antibiotics or anti-viral practices, it spreads its infection everywhere.

The vicious cycle of abuse continues in families so long as enablers are present. So long as enablers don’t acknowledge their part in it. This cycle distanced me from most of my family. Family that I moved to Oregon to be near. 

Silence

I wrote a micro-poem months ago and shared it on Instagram: “Silence. The most underrated weapon.” 

I know this to be true.  Sickness. Evil. It flourishes with silence.  In abusive families, it’s silently demanded. My experience with this broke my heart. My family rewarded the silence and shunned the truth when I spoke out. Speaking out, talking about it at all, met with discomfort, curiosity, judgment, and nothing at all.  

As a child, I experienced the worst violation. Never did I speak of it. Guilt and shame kept me quiet. Confusion and the inability to understand why it happened kept me silent too. I’ll spare you the unnecessary private details and include only those aspects surrounding it.

Breaking my silence set me free. And it didn’t set me free. It was not an instant band-aid. Speaking the truth was messy and confusing in ways I couldn’t expect.

In fact, breaking my silence at twenty-six years old led to the destruction of a marriage and my family as I once knew it. Instead of relief, it filled me with a fear of people “knowing”, and many unexpected emotions for me to process.  I didn’t process them. 

The problem with silence is that in its power, it creates a habit of it.  I became great at burying my feelings. Making them go away completely.  It wasn’t real.  I needed to believe that. When things aren’t real, they can’t hurt you. 

Cousins and Truth

A few years ago we had a “cousin retreat” at the beach. I’m the eldest of eighteen cousins, most of which live in Oregon. We rented a large beach house. Many of my cousins and their families showed up, and all was fun and light-hearted. Until…

One cousin asked me about my childhood. About the thing I kept silent about. My stomach flipped when she asked. But I saw her eyes. I don’t know how long ago she learned of it, but she had questions and concern and I could see she needed answers. I did not owe her answers. But I love my cousin and don’t want her to speculate on details of that nature so I answered each question she asked. Other cousins trickled into the room we occupied. They had questions too.

The next day, a family member that wasn’t part of the private discussion said something to me at breakfast. He felt it was inappropriate that I talked about my childhood trauma during our happy gathering. He seemed to think I started the conversation and offered the gory details of my childhood unsolicited. His side remark punched me in the gut and I felt embarrassed and ashamed.

An aunt who joined our cousin beach retreat stepped in to comfort the family member who shamed me. “If you want to talk about it, for some perspective,” she said, concerned. She ignored me standing there in the kitchen. Standing there in disbelief. Everyone else quiet, eyes down at their breakfast.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that day. It hurt me deeply. Instead, I’ve only screamed in dreams. Vivid dreams where I screamed everything I never knew I wanted and needed to say. Just writing this – the pain is there still.

Family Shame

Remembering that moment at breakfast with my cousin, whom I love, still makes my heart ache. It chokes me up. How could he not understand? How could he blame me? Why would he shame me by scolding me like that?

It wasn’t his fault. My aunt shielded him from the truth.  A family of enablers protecting the wrong people. In doing so, many of my family members had the wrong information. Can’t fault them for that. 

Still, it hurts.  No family member outside my immediate family (except for one aunt who sent a text message) expressed compassion for what happened to me.  No sympathy or empathy. Only judgment, questions, and now, separation and exclusion.  No invites to Thanksgiving dinner.  

And I buried it. For the past few years, I have replaced disappointment and hurt with anger and no shits given

I’ve spoken of the beach house incident twice to family members. Or tried to.  Always, it came out in this feverish, don’t-know-how-to-say-it way. I searched earnestly for an understanding response. A sign of support. Both times, it left me feeling worse than I did before. Sorry, it was inappropriate of me to bring it up.

Now, I save this topic, in any capacity, for my entrusted circle. It consists of few people. They know who they are. (My sisters, especially. I love you!)

This is my first time writing about it. My vague it. Because I still don’t like to call it what it is.

The reason I share now, with you…

Because Thanksgiving is a time for reflection. My grandfather just died and my brain is on my family. As death does, it claws reality up to the harsh surface and forces you to face it.

My whole life, people preached grace and forgiveness to me. “Forgiveness sets you free.” “Forgiveness is for you, not for them.” My small, developing brain hard-wired itself to silence. As a child, the only way I could forgive was to pretend it never happened at all. “Forgiveness” is an enabler’s favorite tool. It’s evil’s favorite control device.

Not to say forgiveness has no place. However, if someone violates you, forgiveness is a default expectation. It should not be. We should not force forgiveness down throats of little girls and women, young or old. It’s confusing. It is harmful.

Thanksgiving 2019 – Empowerment

This Thanksgiving I’m taking back my power. Yes, it’s cliché, but dammit, it’s a good cliché!

I’m thankful for the family I have that supports and loves me unconditionally. My brothers and sisters. Mother and stepmother. My husband and children. They know my truth and never judged or shamed me for it.

I believe in forgiveness.  This Thanksgiving I forgive myself. The little girl who silenced herself to survive. 

I forgive the young woman that broke her silence, changing the dynamics of her family forever. I forgive the single mother who believed she failed her children time and time again.  A mother who wasn’t always emotionally or mentally present in the months and years following divorce. 

My forgiveness of self won’t happen overnight.  I type this and share it with you to make myself accountable. I have much healing to do and it won’t be easy. Not with the ease in which I fall back into the bury-it-and-forget-it mode.  Not with the small hurts that occur from extended family who open up old wounds.  My wounds require serious naturopathic therapy.  Deep cleansing and flushing out of toxins.

Forgive yourself this Thanksgiving.

Now that I’ve shared personal information in vague detail, I hope to inspire you to contemplate forgiveness and what it means for you. 

This Thanksgiving, I implore you to focus on YOU.  To those who experienced abuse, for those who suffer in silent guilt, it’s not your job to forgive your offender.  It’s our life’s work to forgive ourselves.  To reclaim our power.  Erase the stigma we have of ourselves. Practice true self-love.  It’s the only way we can be free. And the only way we can truly give love to those around us who deserve it. 

This Thanksgiving I’m thankful for you. Thank you for reading my words and my truth. Thank you for your support and love. xoxo, Deanna

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

Poetry Beads Rock Candy Collection – 20% Black Friday Sale

Strawberry Rock Candy bracelet stack Thanksgiving 2019 sale
Strawberry Rock Candy Bracelet Stack
Blue rock Candy Bracelet Stack Sale Thanksgiving 2019
Blue Raspberry Bracelet Stack

Blurb’s Black Friday deal: 50% Off With Code BIGFIFTY

Unheard Echoes

Unheard Echoes

Unheard Echoes by Shikha Chandel

Some shadows of her sleepless nights, 
She imprisons her desires,
She rejoices in darkness,
She waits for you every moment...
.....
Some scars of your lust, 
She feels like cold meat,
She thaws her numb skin,
She takes your ego with a smile...
.....
Some attempts of your failed love,
She massacres her true self,
She never reasons your ruthlessness,
She fumbles over dead wishes...
....
Some brutal blows of your fist,
She resists your hatred,
She gathers her broken bones,
She strangulates her wishful heart...
....
Some happiness she asks for,
She is murdered slowly, 
She abstains herself from pleasures, 
She is captivated beyond horizons...
....
Some scars of her past, 
She bribes her courage,
She still survives,
She is lost, yet she is a “freewill”...

Meet Shikha

Shikha Chandel
Shikha Chandel

I am Shikha, author of the book “The Sublime Truth”.  I am from a small town, Kullu, Himachal Pradesh, India, and I’m a poet, teacher, homemaker, and a mother. 

Poetry for me is my life.  I’m alive if I’m writing unsung verses of my heart into words. It’s been more than two decades I have been writing poetry. It has been my biggest way to self heal and calm the chaos in my mind. I have excelled in my research as a Botanist, published in international journals yet, I have always found my truest self as a poet. 

Instagram handle: freewillpoetess 

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

Love Conspiracy by Sharon Dunn

Love Conspiracy by Sharon Dunn

Love Conspiracy by Sharon Dunn

My feelings for you have made me an anomaly to this programming. A fact that has tested my sanity and grace. Months without you feels like decades without years. At times, I have to remember that it is okay to miss you, that I do deserve the memory of your voice repeating in my head. So I lay here, follow the stretch marks you left behind and Whisper your name. Hoping that one day, you will be silenced enough to listen. Decipher the constant humming between your ears and reveal the aberrations in your dreams. If not, your freedom will be granted through my peculiar qualities. Eventually, you will understand the mystery of my choices. Until then,  I will hold myself the way I first cradled you. Except this time, I’ll make sure it is much harder for you to let you go.

Meet Sharon Dunn

Sharon Dunn
Sharon Dunn

My name is Sharon Dunn I am a 32-year-old mother. Writing and meditation saved my life. It’s allowed me to live the best version of myself and that’s really what I write about.  

Awakening and the spiritual aspects to life that we are programmed to ignore. The freedom in feeling our feelings and the revelation of our godlike nature. I love reading, dancing, cooking and running.
My daughter, family and twin are my greatest inspirations. I look forward to sharing and learning from my experiences with all of you.

Follow me on Instagram! Username: mindgallery74

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

728x90 ; 11/8