Not
Page through that book
To get to the nooks
That inspires that hooks
Book that ticket
To fly to the skies
In that little skit
Nurture the child
That comes as a joke
In a sea of scary faces
Reminisce not the past
Just to wallow in the plug
That doesn't help your soul
Aid your growth
With nothing but seeds
To get your harvest
Dance not in pressure
For you are not them
You are you.
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More stories from Muhammad Iqbal and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Fish Song
The room didn’t smell like disinfectants. Its fragrance seemed light and not overbearing. A soft mixture of lavender and mint permeated the space. No beeping machines or any tubes hooked up to four-year-old Kaleeka. Her cacao skin seemed to glow from the light over her head. The family, save for one and the doctors and nurses exited the room like a trail of saints showing their last vestiges of regard.
By Skyler Saunders4 days ago in Fiction
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