The Evening Star

For ladies out there, all young and old age For fighters out there, all ready to show grace For victims out there, fading at snail’s pace October, dear October be a blessing for the braves My mother was a beauty, brown hairs black eyes From head to toe, an example of how to live a life When she fell ill, I thought it was ordinary But the doctors concluded what put me through hell I’ve always admired the way she tied Her long hairs in a pretty French braid Then one day she started to hide under scarfs I was sad, so sad, to see her this bald I cried every night when I heard her threw up Couldn’t tell she was same Cause she gained weight too much I stood deadpan in hallway of hospital The night she lost all her potential It was October, yes October I prayed and prayed October, dear October be a blessing for the braves “Dedicated to all victims and survivors of breast cancer.” Originally Posted on Wordlogue https://wordlogue.wordpress.com/2017/10/28/october

As I am sitting on the window sill, staring at the sky outside, watching the birds fly, some with probably food in their mouths while some remain empty but they are still flying, still searching despite the setting sun. They have faith and not irrational thoughts and fears that the sky would fall upon them or for a moment, they will stop flying or they will have to return empty-handed to their nest, to their kids, whose eyes are filled with hope. But, that doesn't happen, the sky doesn't fall upon them, they do not stop flying and the hope in their eyes does not die. As the sun sets and the birds go home to warmth, I can hear my mother on the phone with one of her friends. She's telling her friend to have faith. Have hope. That everything happens for the best. When God takes something, when God takes someone, when He doesn't give you what you want, what you asked for, then He's planning to give you something much better than what you asked for. He's plan

I wrote many long captions for my mother and her motherhood, my best friend and our friendship, my people and their places, for him and my feelings, but I never wrote something for you Abbu (father). No, today is not father’s day. No, it’s not your birthday or death day. It is just that I am missing you a lot, or maybe it’s the time of year when people start missing people and I am filled to the brim today, so I want to spill some thoughts out. I have preserved you for a long time now and today just wanted to check if you are there at the right place in my heart where I left you eleven years ago or maybe you left us eleven years and one day earlier. All the places I sauntered and food I consumed, I remember you. You were so gregarious and I am exactly the opposite. You bonded families and spent on happiness a lot. I remember how you took your meal; making small loaves of roti (tortilla) and you would never drink water after eating but in between. You always left 2 sips in

The bloody lift is always malfunctioning. He kicked the steel frame with a vulgar slang. He was a man of faith. Decent and always looking at life from a positive perspective. His head ached while he was climbing the stairs. His world was upside down. It was a filthy old building. The placed smelled of rust, and the air was dense. The stairs were like a snake coiled up after digesting its prey. The bulb flickered every once a while in its efforts to keep the darkness of the night away.  The stairs were littered with used cans and cigarette bud. There were a few traces of the grill along the staircase that used to exist sometime. The walls were dark as a single bulb was making a feeble attempt to keep the stairway alight. The walls must-have been painted white when the building was built, but now the colour has faded with traces of dampness all around. The pale yellow colour shines in the light and displays its art of pathetic graffiti and useless adverts that are placed around the w

He was a man with no faith. He smiled as he crossed his small garden. The flowers were blooming. It was a sunny day, relatively hotter.  There is the strange phenomenon that the hotter the day, the greener the plants are, maybe it is due to photosynthesis. The birds were chirping around. Maybe the world wasn’t as happy as it seemed but he had decided to live the last of his day to the fullest so everything seemed happy to him. He was a poor man, dealing with a series of debts. His wife left him and took the kids away because he was unable to provide. It wasn’t that he was a failure, he used to earn big time but time changes and now he regardless of how hard he tries, fails. It was as if bad luck had surrounded him and there was no silver lining in the clouds. Days like those, it was hard even to feed his own self. Despite all these pressures, he was addicted to positivity. He was addicted to happiness. That day, he had decided to enjoy the day so he took out his best dress and dr

Bad days are bad, they are like a badass and it hurts when I say that good thing about bad days because there is nothing good about bad days but trust me there is. If you are having bad days, you are lucky. I am not a crapbag to say that on your face, just hear me out okay? First of all, you need to understand that a bad day will come to challenge you and the only strong area of you will be challenged. If you have enough money that you don’t give a fuck about it so you will be challenged financially and if you are mentally strong that you take pride in your mental strength than the bad news is that you will test to your limits, it is how it works and this is how you improve. The good thing is, which you know already is that whenever this phase will be over and you will be good and successful, you will look back at these days a focal point and you will compare that how you used to feel and how you have improved. Not only that, things you will learn in this phase especially one t

Today it had rained all day, but now the clouds are gone. I noticed that while observing the night sky. There were no clouds, just the stars, shimmering, showering their lights upon us. There was no moon either, it was relatively dark. The night sky has always been my favorite, it reminds me of my childhood, the day I discovered the peace we can get by gazing at the stars. It has never disappointed me, especially because of my star that is always there, smiling down at me. While looking at the stars, I thought about the past, the good old days. There was so much light in my life, so many friends. But now, my life has become a night sky, one without a moon. There is light, lots of it, but it is all so far away. I remember my childhood, the games we used to play, the swings and the bicycle. Everything was so special. Now everything is so complicated, there are always two sides to the coin, it was never like this. There are repercussions for everything we do, heck; it’s just a lot

It was a cold day of the summer season. Dark clouds had covered the area just before the nightfall. The winds made scary sounds, warning the people; that a storm was coming. It was a small town near the shore. Most of the people who lived there was the fisherman, who spent all the time fishing so they could feed their family. The town was dark and shabby with no electricity. Therefore, people of the town place fired lanterns at their windows sill which was blown by the roaring wind making the town very dark. The only light available was the lightning strikes every now and then. She was seated near her window sill. Her head was hidden in her arms, her hair was a mess because of the blowing wind and she wasn’t making any attempt to stop the wind hitting her head. She used to be so scared of the dark but that night she didn’t even care that all the candles had been blown off. She was deep in her thoughts; mascara in her tears had made black spots on her face. Her eyes were dark and

Book Information: Hotel Pastis: A Novel of Provence is a book by Peter Mayle published in 1993. You’re in for a bounder of a story about Provence including some English official (who, for this situation, is named Simon) who has had enough of the business world and experiences passionate feelings for the south of France. More often than not for the creator, the most vivid characters are the French villagers the primary character experiences, yet Mayle turns this on his head, acquainting us with a tough American advertisement executive named Ziegler who, in my imagination, was Dolph Ziggler from WWE and adorable Ernest, Simon’s valet, and a testy questioner with the wonderfully Dickensian name of Ambrose Crouch. In the middle of purchasing an incapacitated gendarmerie and transforming it into lodging, Simon begins to look all starry-eyed, rubs elbows with the Mafia, criminal bricklayers, and gets associated with a hijacking. Book Review: Hotel Pastis is one of the greatest novels

He noticed the empty road as he walked. He was walking to some destination unknown. He was walking away from the past. Walking away from things that hurt. Walking away from sorrows.  It must be autumn, the road was so full of fallen leaves scattered everywhere. The rustling of the leaves was making him sad. A little breeze was blowing making his ears numb with cold. He can never be the same person, he thought. He had embarrassed himself again and the pain is inevitable. His compromises have become regrets for himself. All his life he was against this. It was a deed that was not to be compromised, he always said. Now he has compromised that, his love has become his weakness. Lately, things have become different; all his compromises are becoming his regrets. He was walking away from this, telling himself that it never happened. Trying to soothe him up by telling his mind that he doesn’t want to care anymore.  The thought of redemption and playing the game has died. He can’t live with