Song of the night

Tonight, don’t talk to the night.
Just listen to it.
Closely,
Let her reveal herself to you,
Shade by shade,
Layer by layer
And she’ll sing to you; song of a man sleeping on the street.

Recite the poem of a lover waiting on the train station.

She’ll mourn about the mother who lost her child to cancer.
She’ll chant songs of the occeans and the grass.
She’ll dance to the music played by the mountains and the soil.
Then she’ll tire in your arms and sleep to the morning.
Tonight, don’t talk to the night.
Just follow her
And she’ll take you to the place where you lost yourself.

So whose the prettiest afterall?

Mirrors are so strange. One reflection, and there we go, a rush to excellency. It makes us measure every inch of our bodies through the scale of perfection. From painfull plastic surgeries and hair transplants to our social anxieties and depressions, just to appear beautiful. Nobody wants to be judged but we brtualy judge ourselves. We magnify our own flaws to ourselves. Some pimples on our cheeks or a few calories can steal away our confidence. The worst thing is, it drags our attention to what’s not so important. Something that does not define us. We are defined by our personlity and intellect. We are defined by the sweetness of our tounges and bitterness of our words. We conceal our skins but forget to improve as a person everyday.
Mirrors are so strange. They eliminate the meaning of our existance.

Soul of the Nation

They build not only the buildings but the nation. Schools we study in, factories and industries we are employed in, houses we live in.
They have build us as well as thier own children, their own families.
They build the nation.

Confined

“I love you”.
Zara hopelessly smiled and looked down while her fingers played with the blanket.
“Okay. Talk to you later. Bye”.
And hung up. The call log showed the time of 34:22.
She switched off the lights and laid down on her right. His last words hauntingly whispered in her head for the next fifteen minutes. Out of distress, she turned on her back with her arms crossed behind her head. Stairing at the ceiling, she tried to remain strong and not cry.

Zara very well knew how to lead a happy life. No matter how hard times were, she always made her way out of them. She could excite the atmosphere with her innocent, silly talks and optimistic laugh everyone yearned for. Except for this time. This time she felt defeated. She was lost somewhere between her believe and her reality.

“Isn’t love suppose to set you free?”, She quesioned herself. “How can he love me and demand a change? When he told me that he loved me, I thought he loved ME. My imperfections, careless talks, silly jokes, all these parts of me. They define me as much as my skills, thoughts, likes and dislikes do. He loves me, and then erases the fine details of me. I don’t believe in this love.”

A tear stood in the corner of her eye. “I can’t pretend to like things I don’t like. I can’t pretend to not enjoy every moment of my life. I can’t pretend to show intrest in business talks. I can’t pretend to love his love for materialism. I cant pretend to ignore the pain I feel when I see a struggling human. I can’t pretend. I don’t want to pretend.”

“Two years earlier, while proposing, he promised me to do the best he can to make me happy. I’m not happy. This is not the best. He knows that. He implies his needs upon me. I don’t want to give him what he needs. I want to give him what I have. I want to love him the way love should be. Raw! Why can’t he love me the way I am, or not love me at all? How can I give him someone else in my my skin? I accept him, why can’t he accept me? What kind of selfish love is this?”

Her mind silenced. She couldn’t answer her own quesions. No one could. She digged deep and deeper, but nothing, except silence. Silence was probably the only answer to this. Not quesioning was the only solution. Her thoughts knocked her to sleep, this was the only escape.

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Everything about you defines “YOU”. Let it not change for anyone.
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Loving someone is not to appriciate their beauty and intellect. It is to respect every aspect of them. Even if we don’t understand.

This is my first attempt of story writting. Critics are always welcome 🙂