I am the sea in whose wombs the pearls lie hidden.. Did they ask the diver about my shell?
Oh, woe to me, I am afflicted and my virtues are wearing out.., even if the medicine is powerful, I suffer worse not feeling well.
So do not trust me for the time being, for I fear for you that my death will come.
I see the men of the West as powerful . Powerful peoples with powerful languages are welcome.
My country, the youth, will never tire of worrying about independence . We will draw from the destruction.
Don't wanna be slave to the enemy. Don' want our eternal humiliation and miserable education.
About the Creator
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More stories from el hariti adil and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
This is beautiful writing. Very empowering.