#poetsofwordpress

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Mothers of the Oppressed (A poem for the oppressed mothers of our Ummah)

I really can’t get you out of my thoughtsThough I may have never met youI may have never seen your face beforeBut still trust me that I will not forget you (more…)

It's my first time actually making a Tumblr post lol.

Read more below

Lucky-doodle the poodle

Ate the whole kit and kaboodle;

Out of house and home

And even the garden gnome –

Because it tasted like strudel!

🌹𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬. 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐩 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 - 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝. 𝐈 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟, 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

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This is inspired by an IG prompt, 'electricity in my veins'.

I was inspired - within 5 seconds of reading it and

a chat with a friend gave me the idea for this... So thank you Mr. X On IG.

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Picture credit: Pinterest. A star is Born Movie.

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Higher than seagulls in the sky, The tapestries of wafting clouds change In the blurred blink of an eye.   Lighthouses in the distance fade Beyond the darkness, their beacons guide Small islands on barges as they float away.   From these demons I cannot hide Above the city on the 11th floor As they wash out the bridges of my dilapidated mind.   Locked in blackness behind this door I gaze out the window where the waning Moon shines  Over a familiar place I’ve never been before.   Casco Bay twinkles red, gold and green As tiny lights brighten matchbox buildings ashore Nestled in cold gardens of bare trees.   Little windows glow orange evermore  Of hearth and home, I long to see Inside each pane to find my savior.   Alas, the sea of amber apertures recedes One by one into the onyx of night As rooftop ghosts escape from chimneys.   Over Portland, smoke and steam take flight, Whispering secrets that linger over me As this picture frame transforms with twinges of pink light.   On this twin horizon, a new dawn creeps As inlet waters shimmer like fire on ice While I struggle to solve this mystery.   Far below in the maze of wintry streets  Someone waits for my arrival, holding a sacred key That will unlock this puzzle and set me free.  

A woman stands at the entrance With a shopping cart full Of her cherished belongings, Waiting patiently on the generosity, Or, rather, pity, or worse, guilt, Of the passerby, to convict, To shame, or maybe, on the rare instance, To inspire, to give a gift. Aren’t we all like her, Dragging our materials From house to house, Packing them away For that rainy or cold day, That is sure to…