Malaikah

Phoenix How knowing are you, fire bird; You who lived a hundred years? What have you learned and heard Of mortals and their fears? How happy are you, fire bird; You who've flown a hundred years? What distant lands have you known And is it worth your tears? And how lonely are you, fire bird; When fire claims your hundred years? And would you sell the things you've learned To have someone who holds you dear?

Remembrance A picture, Of your smile and your laugh, It is your joy, captured forever. A vision, You are dancing, graceful, It is your passion remembered. A memory, Of all that you’ve taught me, It is the echo of your love, haunting me. A goodbye, I watched you, who loved life, slip away, It is cruel that I’m the one still alive.

Imagine, if you will, a dreary afternoon in the city. It was an afternoon where the only sounds that could be heard were that of the rain’s continuous susurrus as it fought against the mechanical noise of cars as they sped through the street. There was not a human voice to be heard and little human presence, as only those who were running for cover or those who had the foresight to bring umbrellas could be seen. Picture it in your minds and then picture her. Because, for some reason, the rain suited her and she suited the rain. She was young, about twenty-five of age. She could not be said to be exceedingly beautiful but she was not wit

She is the beginning and the end. She was born so that all may die, born so that she may die. She was the first whose purpose was death. She was the first because Death must always be the beginning of everything. And yet a child was she, small and innocent and perhaps all too aware of her lot. For, while encased in void, she let out a squall that pierced the shadows. Light heard, and move by pity came to her side. And Light, the sun, knew that because of this she too was doomed to die and though it troubled her, she would not forsake the child. And Light did watch over her from the heavens and when some pressing errand overtook her she woul

~Flower Buds~ A long time ago, the goddess lived amongst the humans in her own house by the lake. Everyone revered her and they regularly gave her offerings and left her alone, deigning only to approach her in need or when she wished for their company. She enjoyed festivals and often came and she would dance with all the young men of the village and many amongst them fell in love with her but dared not approach her for who had the courage to court a goddess? But one day, fed up with yearning, someone boasted that he would make the goddess his. He gathered all his courage and approached the goddess’ cottage by the lake. When she answer

How long has it been? How many hours? How many days? How many months? I sighed, feeling the burden of grief wear down on me. It was cold and I huddled in the dark, desperately trying to keep myself warm but I would not leave. Not tonight. Not any night. Here I am bound—bound to the place where forever she lay. Moonlight shone through. The pale glow reminded me of her smooth skin. The sea whispered to me tantalizingly. I never heard the sound of the eternal waves but rather her sighs and sweet nothing. Even now she spoke to me often, my Annabel Lee. I remember often our happiest moment. We were both young then. She barely fourteen and I

The writer wrote a drabble about a writer who was writing a drabble about a writer who was writing a drabble about a writer and he too was writing a drabble and I am stopping here because I believe you get the idea that this goes on and on and if I keep going through each writer and what he wrote about then I’ll reach 100 words without reaching the end and I still have to say that the chain eventually broke when the last writer wrote about dragons instead—and I just gave away the ending, didn’t I? Oops…

A Homage To Absence And To Beginnings And Endings As Well (For They Are Important Too) She is a radiant comet, a fire burning bright whose passing quotes the sky above. Dizzying in her course; she mesmerizes me with her speed and grace as she dances, the protagonist supported—as was just—by the stars around her. She does not wane but rather waxes—a breathtaking sight. I am beneath her. Helpless to do anything except watch on from afar. On her perch on the sky, I am probably a sorry thing, pathetic in spirit and insignifcant in size and yet there exists no other person who knows well how special she is save I. For she once gav

Lethe Lethe flows before me: A white noise, that of water free, Green grass, the smell of earth, Fresh water—all I see. The sight—I am breathless, The water is clear and beautiful, Yet I am hesitant—afraid, But I will not leave. The river, inviting, Tranquil water, clear blessing, I am thirsty. I wish to drink, The water is refreshing. Oh river of decay, Shadows have chased me, Your offer for escape, I hear: Come. Drink. Forget. Sweet oblivion take me. Currents, sweep me, Lest I lose all eternity, Taken from me by enmity.