I long to be wrapped in the white shrouds of Death,
To be pushed into the comforts of Earth.
To seek refugee in its warmth, in its solitude.
Yet i seek no such comfort in the torment of the Grave.
Laying in hope, that my deeds illuminate the darkness as i ascent up, in to the sky.
– By Ali Ilyas
My heart hurts like hell.
But it feels like i’m stuck in a well.
Walls all around caving in.
Water gushing up rising.
Soaking my body.
Choking my throat.
Such a strong grip unable to get loose.
Unable to choose, which way should one leave this world full of abuse.
Which method to use.
One destined by God All Mighty, or a diversion from a servant of a cheating Soul. Only God can make you whole.
In this world his grip seems to be diminishing, reminiscing on the times when everything was so innocent.
Peoples words may stain the soul, leave wounds so deep, that every tear shed on Earth, every word spilled, can not fill, these wounds so deep.
Every good deed, every child birth, every miracle, every answered prayer does not make it fair, to bare these wounds so deep.
As we weep, walking around like misguided sheep, can we really conceive happiness with our following feet, puppets of this savagery trying to live lavishly compromising our humanity.
By Ali Ilyas