True Self care

20190418_185529.jpgI’ve realised that escaping grief leads to unanswered questions. It prevents you from learning about your problems and hence prolongs them.

True self care is hard, its messy and slow but its a skill we all need to acquire.

Art by Barooja (https://www.instagram.com/barooja/)

 

On Memory & Loss

20190413_213345.jpgSome cope with loss by trying to wipe the past, pretend it never happened. They build anew, over old places, the ones that strike memories while others, the artists, the poets, smear it over paper, let it thaw over years and years.

Being Present.

IMG_20180814_182816_892

Just a little reminder to stay here, be in the now, love the present for what it is, you’ll never have it again. Take a minute, be grateful, today is all we have.

If you want to see more art infused poetry be sure to head over to my Instagram @saadiapeerzada

Art by @mind.drawing on Instagram.

 

– Saadia

A Torch In The Night

IMG_20171231_132642_625.jpgShe looks at fireworks
And the child in her resurfaces
I watch her, my stomach twisting
And despair creeping up my throat
She’s silhouetted against the night
And the skyline of this city
She’s beautiful
And I am afraid
For her, for what comes next.
She’s the torch in the night
And I run my way back
Skipping a step at the stairs
To the dark that feels familiar.
She’s alive
And I envy her
She’s brimming with delight
And I feel like my insides
Are burning and curling
I run my way back
So that I don’t run into decay.

~Saadia

This Story

tumblr_oovcdyaCVb1v2b1lto1_400.jpgFlipping through the leaves

Of all the times I’d still been here,

And thinking of what went wrong,

but my mind is as blank

As the sky after snow,

Intersected by the dead, cold branches.

And the book snapped shut

I blinked at all it truly was,

And saw that after all,

The story ends with us.

– Saadia

Inspired by All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven. ❤

Spring

 

images.png

Its beautiful.

The tiny velvet blue petals and white dandelions, the sparrow and its hearth, the pine. The budding grass, lush and young, the marbled columns, long roads and the singing of the rare scarlet bird. Its magic and I have fallen for it many times but there is this dark place inside, where the night reigns and stars peek through sometimes, smoke and carnage, broken bones and tired limbs, grey and raven, overlapping and drowning, spring has not found a home yet. Not yet.

– Saadia