The world is constantly testing us. Do we deserve what we have? Do we have what it takes to have something? Something like patience, like faith. Do we see every hidden look in the hearts of things and events and people and decide and act on it, or is every action of ours just a reaction we have to the humiliation of the world? Does the fact that I am a lustful and independent man who collects beach stones with my emerald shoes to give them as a souvenir to my lover have anything to do with my femininity? Which conversation? Life or death or love or anger or forgiveness or jealousy? Which way do we choose? Where did I go wrong? Why? My interaction with mystery, music and art and legend, a world that has never been so amazing, and words and images that will never be forgotten. Will I forget?
About the Creator
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The image we have of ourselves
Am I a scumbag? Am I a holy woman? Have I repented anywhere? Am I a lost follower? Am I waiting for a bastard? Am I a tired plain gypsy? Am I a child? Am I a Daughter? Am I a Wife? Am I a doll? Am I a toy of the hidden hands of the time?
By Roya Barati3 years ago in Poets
Doing it for the troops
The others dropped like flies around me. We fought and struggled to get to this point. I'm the only one left now. The objective is right there. A mere two hundred feet away. The last of my team got a bullet to the head right next to me, but I couldn't do anything. I was able to locate and neutralise the sniper as he shot my friend, so his death was at least not in vain.
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