Scribble

Her smile lights up my carved wounds.  A defiant radiance piercing the sullen sky of existence, daring the world to be less bleak. It startles like a memory of summer in a city bound by frost.  Her heart is the capricious monsoon,  Shifting from tender drizzle to relentless storm A restless sky, mostly cloudy, Heavy with unspoken storms. Her hair descends like a celestial accident,  It cascades down her shoulders like  A forgotten poem unraveling in the wind.  Her hair falls like something torn from the heavens, A rift in the sky where midnight escapes. It tumbles in dark waves, untamed and fierce, Her eyes are cosmic abysses—twin infinities where the stars drown willingly,   Where no astronomer could fathom.  Constellations shimmer, fragile and fleeting,  In their depths where light surrenders. Her face is an unfinished masterpiece,  Each line drawn with tender precision. The canvas seems alive, as each brushstroke of sorrow and gl...

Harun lit another cigarette. The smoke spiraled upward, a fragile thread connecting him to the sky—only to dissipate into nothingness. He watched it vanish, as though it were a metaphor he'd grown too weary to decipher. Beside him, the fish lay in cold resignation on their trays, their eyes wide and unblinking, reflecting a world they no longer inhabited. Jamal sat on the wooden stool, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his mustard-yellow shirt. His eyes were hollow but defiant. They stared  past the thinning crowds of the market.  "Another day gone," Jamal muttered. His voice was barely audible, lost amidst the life moving indifferently around them. Harun exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "Time does that, doesn’t it? Slips away, like fish through torn nets." The words were hollow and tasteless. He leaned against the cold corrugated metal, feeling its rust press into his back a quiet, gnawing decay. It was fitting, he thought. Everything corroded in time: metal...

Her eyes were not merely eyes—they were abysses They pierced my aching soul , Into which I fell.  They looked at me, yet did not see me;  They consumed me, yet offered nothing in return but the echo of my own desperation. To love her eyes was to grasp at shadows, to reach for the unattainable.  Their beauty was a torment, An accusation I could neither refute nor accept. In their depths, I found my longing, my love, My suffering, my own reflection distorted . And yet, I could not look away. They held me captive . I love her eyes as a moth loves the flame, knowing it would perish, yet drawn toward its own destruction. Her eyes are the kind of beauty that mocked the observer. They were not warm, nor welcoming; they were distant, like a landscape glimpsed afar.  I stared into them not because I wanted to,  because I had to.  Every glance was a trial, every flicker handed down without explanation.  There was no love in them, not really, only a cruel illusio...

It was early morning. The sun was rising gently. Still hid behind the clouds,as if it just woke up from sleep and unwilling to get up. I walked to the bus station as fast as I could. I  saw the bus just as it started to pull away. Without thinking, I took off running. I reached the bus just in time, grabbing the handrail as I jumped on, almost stumbling inside. The interior of the bus shimmered with a grimy light. The seats were  sagging slightly as if resigned to the weight of countless passengers who came and went, always seeking for a seat, seldom finding.The air inside was filled from despair left behind by people who barely spoke of their troubles. Outside, the passing world appeared distorted through glass tinted in hues of dying amber and sickly green. I sat in the middle row, my spine curved like a question mark.I didn’t notice my posture until I felt an uncomfortable ache in my back.I adjusted myself a few times  and then glanced around. The same trees, buildings...

I didn't love you because I was lonely. I was content in my own company and solitude. My life wasn't always very peaceful, But then you came, like a blazing comet in the night sky. I didn't love you out of despair. I had made peace with the absurdity of existence. My solitude was not a prison, but a landscape,  Silent, vast, and indifferent,  A desert I had learned to walk without fear. I loved you not to escape my loneliness, but your presence made the silence echo differently. In your presence, the absurd was no longer cold, And life, though still clueless, seemed fiercely beautiful. I tried to resist you, to flee from the terrible beauty of your presence. For what is love but fear? I feared that your light would burn me completely, Leave me bare, vulnerable, deprived of solitude. But despite my terror, I found myself drawn to you. And in this endless universe of mountains and sea, I am like the moon at night, completely alone, Hoping that you'd call me by my name. I ...

The hands tremble when the heart  dares not to say anything. The eyes confess what the lips can't say. The voice struggles, remains silent. Heart races to unrest the soul. And yet, within this trembling, there is no escape, only the endless repetition  of what cannot be spoken. The eyes ,the unwelcomed witnesses, testify a crime they cannot understand. The voice wrestles itself into submission, its struggle to a futile revolt. Heart races as though it might outrun itself, dragging the weary soul through corridors that lead nowhere, Endlessly turning back to the same locked door. The heart dares not to say anything, Aware of the absurdity in their gesture, A futile attempt to express what the world has already refused to hear. But why does it matter? This confession falls into the void, unanswered, unacknowledged, like a whisper lost in the indifferent wind. Heart races to unrest the soul, but to what end? This unrest is its own prison, and yet, I run towards it, because to sto...

Oh, her smile! A bliss to the eyes for a moment. What’s in them that melts my heart? A silent whisper from the heavens, perhaps, Or the cruel jest of fate, weaving its threads. I, a wanderer, am drawn to their light. And I am helpless, am consumed. I cannot grasp it. It hovers just beyond,  Like a fragment of a dream that flees at dawn. It should be nothing—just a smile, But it grasps me, constricts me . A riddle I dare not to solve, For to know is to lose, and to lose is despair. Her eyes seem to judge me without effort, Not cruelly, but indifferently, As if they’ve seen this all before, My trembling, my helpless awe. And yet, I am drawn to her. Drawn not by hope, but by the inevitability of it. Her presence is not an absurdity, A reminder that meaning is not mine to grasp. But her smile is like the essence of coffee,  Bittersweet and addictive, A warmth that lingers long after it's gone, Leaving me, craving for more. Her smile is like being bathed in sunlight, A warmth that ...