Spring

 

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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

Color me Grey

 

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The grey had found a home in the white, it consumed ruthlessly until it was dark and dull, like the sky had turned ashy. But it was beautiful, it was the color of death yet it felt like the beginning of all we never had, it was grey fog on our work of art but it was breathtaking.

Bronze, auburn and heather have their share of beauty but mauve is a breath of fresh air. The air tasted sharp the day grey took over, like droplets of water, the color of sea foam were dispensed somewhere inside. The air looked like the color of broken bones but it was stunning, like ivory had met stone.

Raven and ink have their share of hiding our scars but slate is the color of invincibility. The ground was soft the day grey took over, like its burden was already gone, like broken promises and unmet dreams had sailed away like dandelion seeds. The ground still looked shaken but it was bracing, like obsidian had met tangerine.

~ Saadia

Run

images-6Run, kid, run till your lungs ache and your shins split open. Run till you leave the dead earth hanging on the shattered horizon. Run, leave the immaculate fields behind, plains where the grass is too green, run and strip the unnecessary. Run, love, run till your eyes have drowned in an ocean of stinging tears, run till the trees drift away into an illusional distance. Run till the rain has drenched your bones and the snow nestles in your hair. Run till you are carved raw, run till you find the abode of your demons and the abbey of your angels, run , for the sake of your damned life, run. Run till colours drink themselves up in the sky and the night folds into herself.

– Saadia