Child of the Wind
Maryam loves writing poetry and all things meaningful. Depth is the language of her heart and poetry the pen she uses to convey it. She is a devout friend of nature, Beauty, and all things led by Truth‘s Hand. Divine Love is her healing.
To Donald
To Donald: I am still left aghast by the fact of your presidency. Born in America, but a resident and citizen of Canada, I never felt immense affinity for the United States, it not being the country I grew up in. I love Canada; love its diversity and the opportunities it presents to a visible minority as myself. I never really considered moving to the U.S. in my adulthood, though I did intend to visit more, my stance towards the country being a neutral one. But after your election, and presidential run, which might I add, gave rise to a curious concoction of absurdity, childishness, fear, and outright display of incompetence in running a country, my stance has veered. All thanks to you.
Child of the WindPublished about a month ago in The SwampThe Crescent Key
“Luna, we’ve been at this for days. Don‘t you think it's a lost cause? Maybe we’re wrong...” Luna could barely hear Ellise. She could only hear the voices. The voices. The voices that made her an outcast by their very mention. She was considered the village witch at six, when the voices first appeared. Back then, they would only appear when something bad was about to happen. The voices, as she called them, whispered to her in a strange language, yet she understood their meaning perfectly. She used to try to warn the villagers, telling them what the voices told her. Things like when the castle guards would ransack their village, or when a blizzard was approaching. But instead of celebrating her gift, they shunned her, telling her she was the one who was bringing these calamities to their town. That she was the cause of it all. So, at six, she fled to Willow Woods. An orphan since infancy, she had no ties to to hold her back. Luna only listened to the voices.
Child of the WindPublished about a month ago in Futurism
We Are The Artists
We are the arists By pen or brush We paint the pains and heights Of humanity And with might, We convey truths others repress
Child of the WindPublished 5 months ago in PoetsWaiting
Will time ever be in my command? Will the distant future send Its greetings of better moments Of realities which hold no dread
Child of the WindPublished 5 months ago in PoetsSystems Speak
Systems convey Messages Did you know? Because I didn't Until I took a step back And listened to the track Of society
Child of the WindPublished 5 months ago in PoetsThe Wooded Way
Fly into the wooded way We'll come to know the beating drum And hear within the breeze a hum Of the living, loving world
Child of the WindPublished 5 months ago in PoetsViolet Skies
Violet skies Majestic trees Sing their blessed songs to me My heart sits in reverent awe Wondering whose name is being called
Child of the WindPublished 5 months ago in PoetsLove was there
Trials of old Wade into my mind Showing me the signs I missed There that one goes I remember it's throes I remember the woes
Child of the WindPublished 5 months ago in Poets
