And days kept getting worse; the silence was gnawing at her heart now, eating bits of it with every passing second, tearing her apart and making her realize that the bubble she once lived in had popped and the zombies of the dead reality were coming for her. She was scared, and all alone.
There once was an angel
with no halo or wings,
but that angel was upset
with many people and things
For the people who loved him
held him fast in a golden cage,
and the cage, all alone,
he’s suffocated by his own rage…
He needed air,
but air was all he had;
he wanted to break free from
even his mother, her love, and dad!
He gathered courage
and left the cage that was of love;
the peaceful beauty that he was,
he soared higher than the doves…
The angel was free,
and now his wings did grow;
he created a world much happier,
leaving back each worry and woe
His love did find him again,
and his passions were re-lived;
the angel did survive
and in every sense of it, he thrived…
There once was an angel
who craved freedom more
than his breath and beating heart combined
and he fought,
and he fought,
and he lived;
now his story will unwind…
There are elaborate procedures that people today follow in order to coin words, terms and concepts. However, this was not the case a few centuries ago. We know of so many words that we use on a daily basis that were pure creations of some famous writer; we may not be aware of them, but we use them nonetheless. Shakespeare and Roald Dahl, for example, have coined the words like drug, scrumdelicious, hurry, and puke. Yes, we’re still using Shakespearian English!
These authors and playwrights came up with their own words just to be able to express themselves with ease, because, we all know, sometimes words just aren’t enough… When there are no words that can express your feelings and writing is the only means to express yourself, what do you do? You make your own words, of course!
We have all played ‘Contractions’, consciously or unconsciously, a game where me merge words together and form new words, and sometimes these words became so popular that based on their usage, they were added to the dictionary or had products named after them! ‘Never the less’ turned to ‘nevertheless’, ‘Pass word’ became ‘password’, and who hasn’t heard of ‘Snapple’?
Slips of tongue or just a corny conversation with a friend can often lead to creations of new words which often are used as inside jokes; but one word in many turns out to be a powerful one. It has the power to describe what you couldn’t put together without using many words and sounding like a dictionary, and in the process killing the mood of the conversation.
One such word that a close friend of mine came up with was ‘Comfortability’, which I have decided to make a regular use of in my vocabulary now onwards. The context he used it in was very clear and it took me barely a few minutes to structure a definition that defined the feeling just fine. After consulting him on the matter, and when we both agreed, I submitted the definition to Urban Dictionary and am waiting for the process to get by. Let me, however, present to you our definition of the word that I’ve used innumerable times in the past 24 hours!
n. Comfortability (-ies)/Kamfōrṭabiliṭī/ 1) The capacity of an individual to carry out a task without putting in much effort; 2) The ability of an individual to carry out a task without stepping out of his/her comfort zone.
Etymology: Comfort (English) + Ablete (Old French)
Example: Do the work as per your comfortability, I can wait.
When conversations coin concepts like Comfortability, it makes one think if words are really all there are to expression, and if a word doesn’t exist for the feeling trapped within us what needs to be done. I think the answer is that we all just need to create words as per our own comfortabilities, because expressions aren’t meant to be confined to the use of a dictionary!
We were supposed be together this Eid,
we were supposed to bear the weather;
we were to stand hand in hand,
and celebrate us together…
The blessed month has gone by,
and I haven’t seen your face,
I see your reflect in the crescent moon,
and my heart beats at a pace,
This was to be a special day,
but now that you have turned away,
I seek my love from Him, above,
and for you all I do is pray…
Eid Mubarak, my love!
Eid Mubarak, my life!
It’s still a beautiful day,
if we decide not to strife…
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Let’s support Humanity!
I have decided to invite guest bloggers to post some lovely works here every month and I take pride in introducing you to my first guest blogger, Gloria!
WHEEL by Gloria
What civilizations froze that fated day,
a thousand miles of thought away,
when the wheel turned on the doomed creature
whose life sang of the god mentality?
I watched through the window as the people ran
from their homes screaming for blood
to wash away their sorrows and flood
their minds with something greater
than righteous grief – so brief
was the chaos that when I blinked,
serenity had returned to the world.
Blood will have blood, but who was it
that remembered the butterfly eons after
the philosophers told them that
there were more pressing matters to attend
to but all they really did was pretend
that life would go on?
I still see that Daphne with wings of light
and hope she never fades from sight
and one day when the wheel stops turning
on its axis, I’ll tend to her wounds because
I’ve got a pair of wings that just don’t fly.
She sat in the bus, covered in her black robe, a scarf draped over her head in the most Islamic fashion; in her hand was the copy of the Noble Quran.
As I sat opposite her and waited for my destination to arrive, she sat still and cross-legged on her own seat, her slippers under her seat. Huddled up in that comfortable position, leaning against the window, she was in her own spiritual world, away from the hustles of commuting.
Her long fingers, with nicely done nails and a loving wedding band, traced the Arabic verses as lightly as they could, her kohl-filled eyes ran faster and read every verse there was. Her lips moved fervently, reciting the verses her eyes were yet to read and her fingers yet to touch; her mind remembered, recalled and re-read the calligraphic words she lived by.
Every so often would she wipe her face and the gem-studded nose with her hand; there was pain in her eyes for a history she had known long enough to be able to feel…
After a while she closed the book, kissed its cover and touched it to her head. She pulled out, from between the olds of her robe, a velvety red cloth which had on Arabic words threaded in gold. She carefully wrapped the book into it and then in a small pouch she carried.
The words still resounding in her head and aching in her heart made her uneasy and she turned towards the window and hid her face. She might have held back a tear or two…
Her lips repeated over and over again a single inaudible verse and she closed her eyes, waiting for her destination to arrive.