Floating

I dwell in
.....
I float
.....
Intense

tapiwamugabe:

a selection of poems from Zimbabwe

Beauty of words

(via nayyirahwaheed)

Why do men think that to love you they must control you someway somehow in the name of being the “MAN” ?
In the name of loving you so much. I have never been a feminist or so, and always believed that being a man is different from being a woman, but I failed to understand how men take it as an insult when their woman disagree with them on something and holds on to her beliefs?

Why don’t we have that space as human beings where we can peacefully agree to disagree, and live and let live.

I am not entitled to live my life according to my parent’s or my husband’s views just because I am a GIRL!

It’s such a sad recurring story!
Shit

Redefining all I have known …
Let it be as it’s meant to be …

amerikkkan-stories:

beautyandterrordance:

"The poor and the underclass are growing. Racial justice and human rights are non-existent. They have created a repressive society and we are their unwitting accomplices." - They Live (1988), via vintagegal.

Sound familiar? 

(via niamaniraine)

booksquotations:

على أبواب الملحمة  - صلاح صالح الراشد 

booksquotations:

على أبواب الملحمة  - صلاح صالح الراشد 

(via loltopia)

Magic

Endless array of thoughts racing in my head. Twisting me. Consuming me. Leaving me perplexed.
Endless. And in dire need to be written down, seeking freedom. Needing closure.

It is all there. All in my head. All in my heart.
All those:
Imprisoned words longing to be written. Entangled thoughts urged to be settled. Confined emotions strangling to be free.

The question is:
Have I lost my will to write? Or have time manipulated me?
Have I gone too far being indifferent? Or have passion lost me?

Words. It is only words, written on a paper. What’s the use then?
Is there more than what all those writers have said thousands of years ago?
What is to be said that’s new?
Are there any more stories that have never been told?
It is all repeated, just in different ways. In different languages. In different styles.

Not only stories. Not only thoughts. Even news, all are just repetitions of what already happened. Same new old news.

It’s all becoming blab.
It’s pointless.

Any interesting events in Cairo these days?

Working with children gives me energy…
Their energy and purity fuels me with happiness.

“For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse.

So collapse.
Crumble.
This is not your destruction.

This is your birth.”

—   n.t. (via tagharyen)

:)

(via parisdelusion)