Broken ones

broken ones

And there she stands with all her fragility.
Eyes sunken,
Collar bones salty,
Shoulders broken,
Skin, silken,
Life unspoken,
Hardly a sight to miss.
Reserved sorrow,
Elegant bones,
Poise, you can’t dismiss.
But the loud painted canvas,
Of neon sign familiarity,
Piques you.
Whilst her tragedy,
Well worn war paths,
Escape you.


20 thoughts on “Broken ones”

      1. I’m well, thanks. You’ve been writing profusely, wonderful poetry. I can’t seem to produce anything at this moment in time…

        Liked by 1 person

      2. That’s what I need, purging and catharsis. I’m curious when you say you’ve been exposed to different things to bring this about, this catalyst. I’ve been exposed to the brutality of life. It takes so much out of me that most times I just feel like I have not much to contribute to my blog anymore.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Likewise…. I’ve had a few disasters confront me, what a perfect medium…. Writing cannot thrive in sanitised environments for me. Alas, the calamities started and the writing flowed.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. You’re fortunate for that. Most artists and writers came from ages of turmoil and tragedy. As you say, it never comes from a safe and static life.

        Liked by 1 person

      5. I do have time, but I guess I feel guilty when I take time to write, like I should be spending more time improving my lot in life. I know that sounds weird, but it’s the truth.

        Liked by 1 person

      6. I feel ya on that one….. I have five munchkins around me, they too need my mind more than I need mine, but the dichotomy is, if I don’t have mine, they get a bad quality me….. So to some degree, you still need a little…. Incorporated perhaps into the dhikr, it also then becomes the dhikr if done intently to serve a purpose. I don’t want to think about the unwritten works in Rumi’s heart, or the shards of paper or leather he threw away in discard. It overwhelms me to fathom. Capture a bit of you if at least to pass on, supplementary to the real world offerings. My teacher, lives on even after passing through her works and her children. It won’t be in vain and there shouldnt be guilt, not when later you see the man you built. When he’s uptight and robust, pillar like, not a stilt.

        Liked by 1 person

      7. What a beautiful way to put it. And I know you’re right. Thank you. And thank you for sharing your writing as it is a comfort. This brings me tears. Beautiful.

        Liked by 1 person

      8. I wouldn’t have it any other way. What do I have to complain about if it was the promise of the Prophet….. ‘expect calamities’, he warned us. ‘prepare for poverty’ he warned others…… And we’re still far and still safe and still wealthy if we want to measure it by the scale of reality. So all we have is the last secret, that is, gratitude. “Thank me, and I will increase unto you”, says our Master. All I can do is say thanks.

        Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s