A scream like skies', as deadly and strong as lightening, as sharp as blade, as black as night, as sad as sorrow, as pretty as moon, and as soothing as writing.
The little prince was not able to reach any explanation of the use of a street lamp and a lamplighter, somewhere in the heavens, on a planet which had no people, and not one house. But he said to himself, nevertheless:
"It may well be that this man is absurd. But he is not so absurd as the king, the conceited man, the businessman, and the tippler. For at least his work has some meaning. When he lights his street lamp, it is as if he brought one more star to life, or one flower. When he puts out his lamp, he sends the flower, or the star, to sleep. That is a beautiful occupation. And since it is beautiful, it is truly useful."
"I must endure the presence of two or three caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies. It seems that they are very beautiful."
"The fact is that I did not know how to understand anything! I ought to have judged by deeds and not by words. She cast her fragrance and her radiance over
me. I ought never to have run away from her... I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her..."
But the flowers was not satisfied to complete the preparations for her beauty in the shelter of her green chamber. She chose her colors with the greatest care. She dressed herself slowly. She adjusted her petals one by one. She did not wish to go out into the world all rumpled, like the field poppies. It was only in the full radiance of her beauty that she wished to appear. Oh, yes! She was a coquettish creature! And her mysterious adornment lasted for days and days.
"Before they grow so big, the baobabs start out by being little."
In consequence, there were good seeds from good plants and bad seeds from bad plants. But seeds are invisible. They sleep deep in the heart of the earth's darkness until someone among them is seized with the desire to awaken. Then this little seed will stretch itself and begin-timidly at first-to push a charming little sprig inoffensively upward toward the sun. If it is only a sprout of radish or the sprig of a rose bush, one would let it grow wherever it might wish. But when it is a bad plant, one must destroy it as soon as possible, the very first instant that one recognizes it.
~The Little Prince
When a mystery is too overpowering, one dare not disobey.
تجھے پھول کیسے ملیں بتا، تیرے ہاتھ میں ہے سنگ۔
ٹھیک کہتی ہو تم, تمہاری کوئی کہانی نہیں ہے۔ تمہارے پاس سچ ہے۔ ہم دونوں کے پاس اپنا اپنا سچ ہے جس پر کوئی یقین نہیں کر رہا۔ ہم دونوں کی روحیں زخمی ہیں اور ہم دونوں داغ دار ہیں۔ ہم دونوں کو اپنوں نے ہی داغ دار کیا ہے۔ تم کابل ہو، میں ہلمند۔ دن رات ہماری روحوں پر بد روحوں کی بمباری جاری ہے۔ دن بھی بھاری تھا رات بھی بھاری ہے۔
حاجی مرجان نے میرا گلا پکڑ رکھا ہے اور ڈاکٹر نے تمہارا ہاتھ جکڑ رکھا ہے۔ ڈاکٹر نے تم سے جو باتیں کیں وہ میرے کانوں سے ہوتے ہوئے میرے دماغ تک آئیں۔ اور میرے دماغ نے حساب لگا کر مجھے بتایا ہے کہ اس نے تمہاری کمزوری کا کیا فائدہ اٹھایا ہے۔ ہم دونوں داغ دار ہوئے ہیں۔
ہماری روحیں بھٹکتی بھٹکتی ایک دوسرے سے آ ملی ہیں۔
~سنگ ماہ
🖤
تجھ سے بچھڑ کے ہم بھی مقدر کے ہو گئے
پھر جو بھی در ملا ہے اُسی در کے ہو گئے
پھر یوں ہوا کہ غیر کو دل سے لگا لیا
اندر وہ نفرتیں تھیں کہ باہر کے ہو گئے
کیا لوگ تھے کہ جان سے بڑھ کر عزیز تھے
اب دل سے محو نام بھی اکثر کے ہو گئے
اے یادِ یار تجھ سے کریں کیا شکایتیں
اے دردِ ہجر ہم بھی تو پتھر کے ہو گئے
سمجھا رہے تھے مجھ کو سبھی ناصحانِ شہر
پھر رفتہ رفتہ خود اسی کافر کے ہو گئے
اب کے نہ انتظار کریں چارہ گر کا ہم
اب کے گئے تو کوئے ستم گرکے ہو گئے
روتے ہو اک جزیرۂ جاں کو فراز تم
دیکھو تو کتنے شہر سمندر کے ہو گئے
رَبِّ لَا تَذَرْنِي فَرْدًا وَأَنْتَ خَيْرُ الْوَرِثِينَ
جب راز کھلتے ہیں تو ٹھنڈی دوزخوں کے دورازے بھی ساتھ کھل جاتے ہیں۔ سردی ہڈیوں کے اندر تک گھس جاتی ہے۔
بس دعا کرو کہ جب راز کھلے تو کوئی سنبھالنے والا بھی ہو۔
کانپتے جسم پہ کوئی چادر ڈالنے والا ہو۔
سنگ ماہ~
The Princess of Light is standing on the edge of a very dark valley. A place where no one can swim. A place where you can only drown.
And she's about to jump.
Maybe.
Over the years, I tried to hold on to their faces, to the sound of their voices, and the smell of their hair. But like all things, memories fade. The mind is far too easy to manipulate, even by our own subconscious. Fact becomes fiction, or at the very least, a warped version of the truth. And the past grows distorted and blurred.
I know what a nice girl Wendy is, her pure-hearted innocence bleeds from her pores like oil, shiny and impossible to look away from. Maybe that's why she calls to me the way she does- the pitch-black parts of my soul aching for her light.
-James Barrie 🖤
She looks at me as though she's trying to see the colors of my soul, and the feeling makes me itch, so I break our stare, knowing the only thing she'll find is its absence.
-James
"Do you normally send lackeys to do your dirty work?"
"That depends. Are you planning on getting..dirty?"
She laughs "You don't ever turn it off, huh?"
"Turn what off?"
"The charm. You must have had lots of practice, with as good as you wield it."
"Do you find me enchanting?"
"You don't need me to inflate your ego."
"On the contrary, darling. I believe I need you for a lot of things."
🖤
Like a beacon of light splitting apart the darkened clouds, Wendy Michaelis waltzes into the room- straight into the viper's den, like she's waiting to get bit.
Like she belongs.
Fear has long since marinated in the bottom of my gut like a bubbling cauldron, waiting for me to master the brew so I can use it as poison.
~Hooked
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