Category Archives: creative

Circle

Image result for circle art

Drew my circle above and around me,

Testing all that tries to plant a seed,

maybe of doubt,

to just let go and allow,

In all truth I dont want any more,

everything that once was has dissolved on the shores,

melted into the sand, the waters have washed away and worn

I can now see the cycles of time and folklore,

We have waded through the nettles,

the process begins with the base metal

once the dust has finally settled,

out of time and out of place,

clocks ticking, no more attempts at trying to save face.

Going at pace,

exiting out of their rat race,

In this shadow world,

We observe,

Go back within to retrieve all that was lost,

reclaimed what is ours and pay the cost,

for apathy and denial, beyond each and every trial,

sugar coated and adorned,

still a new moment is born,

from ashes we rise forth,

we are the roses that bloomed yet are protected by thorns,

Faatima

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The only way out

Image result for magic

Finding magick in the mundane,

Leaving a trail,

Depression, grey skies, rain,

on grassy terrains,

painting pictures,

art, inspired by features,

subtle little details,

Woven through moments we entail,

When even words fail,

thoughts escape us,

lust for life, feelings and climbing up,

the ladder to what’s above,

hidden in plain view,

within the red and blue,

poles, the burning heat and icy dew,

So we learnt and grew,

I guess it’s really true

the only way out is through,

Love,

Faatima

X

No more colours

Just like an empty Sunday,

We wish away,

The barren moments taking form and shape,

Playing tricks in the light, painting a maze,

a blurry haze,

In between new ideas,

There lie dormant fears,

Colours seep,

From view and we are knee deep,

Wading through layers,

Finding our own way out,

So don’t tell me to smile,

Hold back or live in denial

Till I am ready, and have walked this mile.

Till every stain has been washed away,

and nothing remains.

Faatima

 

 

 

Inner child

Image result for dreams state

Hey little child,

Everything your little heart desired,

was meant to be yours,

tapping into subtle details and walking through doors,

the cold breeze we ignored,

trying to keep warm,

when the sky hit the floor,

and when they fled from their stores,

simply selling objects became a bore,

what for?

chaos made us crave more,

engaging without remorse,

as we board upon our horse,

heading north,

and without much force,

left it all behind,

but as the clock chimes,

it catches up the tide of time,

sure as light blends into the dark night,

eyes drag south, shutting, we are blind,

sleeping you’ll find,

never-mind,

I guess tomorrow the sun will shine,

Faatima

Slipping by

The majority of the time it’s the case of a means to an end,

Yet seconds slip through our fingers not unlike quicksand,

it seems in this paradoxical trend,

that abounds as we turn every bend,

in this maze with a conflict of interests,

at the core, making timing irrelevant,

the moment is always present,

so make time to cultivate these skills,

time being a construct we decide how to fill

or else someone else will,

and that is the only promise,

in a place where they are meaningless and un profound,

where words create circles for us to go round and round,

without taking the steps,

needed to progress.

Faatima

 

 

Discovery

Image result for stars

Some things are fated,

undebated,

the trick is,

not to think,

and before you have the chance to blink,

red softens into pink,

we make a link,

and take a drink,

from the fountain of what it means to exist,

what it means to not sink,

under the pressure,

of the waves that cover,

each and every endeavour,

because reason is stronger..

and there is still more to discover.

Faatima

Reflect

Image result for mirror beautiful

The steps were laden,

right up ahead, the guide leads us out of this safe haven,

that had us on lock down, initiation was not a sound that we recognised in our imaginary towns.

…unable to make steps to progress, till the price of what we would lose was less,

we took a deep breath, digest their stories, their unspoken stress and all that they compress

just about ready to undress the layers of mess that drew colour from our own selves,

at last they had completed the relentless spin of these webs,

ensuring that bugs would infest, a gathering of supplies in an attempt to be the best.

In these pests we lost interest,

as the tides of time eroded our nests and slowly the charcoal crumbled we were blessed, with these mirrors that reflect…

… right back to us what we confess, into this spinning globe and all that remains locked tightly away in our chest,

Faatima