Sometimes in sheer memory
I glide on smoothly
a matt finished lipstick
on my skin.
The color maroon
one November afternoon
I see through the mirror
the woman I have known
or reflection of my own.
Not any other
I see my mother
wearing Her lipstick
that compliments Her style
Her beautiful smile.
————————————–
Miss you mom. 💝
I never realized how important it is to write, how it brings life to something or someone long forgotten or dead, until I read:
This time Aishel, too, bent over the strange signs Ahmed was drawing on the ground. So that what writing did! It allowed someone to talk to you, even after he had died! She looked at her sister who was now repeating the sound of each letter after Ahmed, her usual irritation at Kimya (her sister) turning into sadness.
She always thought that talking sense to Kimya was like facing a wall but this impression towards her sister was now coming to end. Her younger sister was born to be different, learning to read and write was huge in her.
Having learnt to write is truely a blessing I realize now. How the Holy books of all religions are continously guiding us to the right path and how different the ways can be to talk to your Creator. As Rumi says: Everyone loves the Creator, and it’s true that our way is not the only way to talk to Him (The Almighty).
One of the other highlights from the book:
Do you know the story about the Moth in love with the Flame？
A beautiful description how deep can love grow, like an endless ocean without shores. One simply need to learn to bear with it. Because in the end the moth, the flame and the wind will all be one. Consumed!
Well I regret now not to have read The Fourty Rules of Love before reading Rumi’s Daughter. Will definitely be my next read after finishing this, So wish me.
HAPPY READING !
How unfair
Are worldly traits
*
The one you fed with honey
Will hate you less concerned
The one you crushed in pieces
Will love you in return
*
Leaving their marks
And trace.
How unfair
Are worldly traits.
*
(Anne Baluch)
Rain streaked windows and long drives
Lonely streets and lengthy rides
Songs on the play catching up mood swing
accompanied by the noisy wind
*
Journey followed by a dark night
On a verge of happiness, so bright
Moods refreshed
at it’s best
Kids playing by the street side
*
Driving on the lane for the night meal
To the window lady I booked the deal
Chickee Chicken with spicy top
My hunger hormones doing hip hop
*
People clustered on pavements roam
Eyes set for reaching home
And I reach my block with so delight
Oh sure! what a lovely night
*
(Anne Baluch)
This watchful dark night
Have driven me sleepless
That familiar looking person
Have driven me sleepless
A moment I pass a giggle
A moment I sit and grieve
Memories followed by the past
Have Driven me sleepless
Poetry’s ain’t a jest
But a blessing from above
Satire and resents of people
Have driven me sleepless
This watchful dark night
Have driven me sleepless
(Anne Baluch)
(Job Hunt)
I’m on a walk, or on a hunt
Pampered and suited
Buttons tucked and booted
Faking a smile
For this little while
To Shiny faces
On which maturity laces
Studying me from a distance
On my existence
In this little room
Whether I’ll fail or boom
To their expectations
Mystical creations
Asking their point of view
On my interview.
(Anne Baluch)
I bought a little canvas
For this little me
With a metallic gold
i’ll paint the sea
The grass with silver
and the sky with green
Why follow beaten tracks?
Why see what others see?
Art is the reason,
that pardons the soul,
for being insane,
for being me.
_______________
(Anne Baluch)
There was a young crab on a beach
The tides left life out of reach
With lungs full of fear
And a head full of air
The shell had a lesson to teach
~
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Everyone in this hour fallen asleep
So am I now encircled with dreams
One with a moon and a lots of stars
Another with a giant beyond the bars
And here I feel the heaviness on my eyes
Perhaps it’s time for me to lie
Come, smother me with fantasy
Or help me build a legacy
It isn’t that tough to surrender oneself
To dreams and hopes and lovely bets
And here am taken by a cozy flight
And here comes another “Goodnight”.
Scattered dust that follows every shaft of light
That seldom is my journey in your land magnified
(Anne Baluch)
Talking ART 