| The_Writer
@KhayaNgomaServant of Thoughts || Collector of words, their shapes, and Oxford commas.
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If all that's worth remembering has been forgotten, forget everything else.
I thought you'd decide to disappoint me with integrity this time.
Heart, I resent your honesty. Of course she is both muscle and mucus, but who gave you permission to plaster this knowledge on the walls of carnage? How dare you reverse nights on their last trip to real astonishment?
Listen to what is said by war: Agony is a beat drummed up to make a man chant to the infamous ode of seeker and taker. You are man enough even when you refuse to dance to this song. This is what is said by war, but the tyrant will not hear. The tyrant will not listen.
Odesa, Ukraine is being bombed right now. At this moment, with war crimes against civilians happening in Sudan, Lebanon, Gaza, Syria, and elsewhere—I write about Odesa because that’s where my family lives. This is happening right now:
Those who have lied about things are now either enjoying the benefits, or enduring the burning fists. Oh, Earth! Rewarder of acts. Who are we to dictate how you raise both hand and voice when you chasten your misfits? Your rod and rotations kill and build nations.
It is only sensible that what welcomes you home be the same as what you call home. This is what light, texture and space do to the soul. This is Zur Architecture. The Red Copper house.
Anything is possible, just as anything can be impossible. Will and choice stand at life's pulpit and—in unison—demand respect from those who despise the message, yet worship the messenger. They love proof and evidence, yet hang the source on a tree. #poetry #thoughts #life
Wow doesn't even part the lips wide enough lately. The world's mouth is exhausted; it's been repeating songs...
Her music is gentle; Her melody fondles the drums in my heartbeat. For this to be today's song, I have reserved my dance for precisely this stage, and this undying moment. Please look at me when I dance for you.
That you even allow me, a mere servant of thoughts, to put words into your beauty— which really is to confine your beauty to the arrangement of letters— is enough sign that your kindness is a thief of limits. 🌹
I want to teach. Not because I know something (though I do), but mainly because I know myself enough to know that my mental body cannot afford to keep things unexplained for long, especially those things that are meant to stretch Earth back to obviousness.
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