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Everyday, we are given the opportunity to bloom with every gifted breath that we take. We get to change ourselves. We get to change the things that we do not like and that is within our control.

Our bodies become as sacred as a plant. Our limbs, the leaves often get snagged off in the process. Sometimes being ripped apart from bites delivered by those close. But, when our old decays, and transformation begins, we wither like the petals, wilting with such drooping grace to allow something new to bait the world.

Everyday, we are gifted with the opportunity to turn our lives around. Do not waste each breath on trivialities and do not let each tatter and tear to render you lifeless.

Our bloom is the sun for our cries.

Written by: Soshinie Singh

Author of The Phoenix Letters and The Mist Calling

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My Mother Syria

My mother
she has been crying for
a long time now
weeping for her children
her children burning in flames

My mother is now shrieking
and screaming with pain
her skin being ripped off
her bones breaking
she’s crumbling, disintegrating.

My mother’s crying
her body tore apart,
she’s being raped openly
bombed, she’s in flames.

She;s being torn apart
The whole world is seeing her being
torn apart
and they’re all pretending to be blind
And she’s being torn apart
But yet the world pretends to be blind.

My mother’s tears have created their own ocean
And I the child, have found shelter
We’re safe in my mother’s tears
The world is too cruel
The world is deaf to our screams
The world is blind to our wounds
The world is dumb

My mother, my mother’s name is

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Early Coronation Mentality

I wanted to set my thoughts free

By loading my past mistakes

And one by one hoping it will

Crown my temple royal

Memorialize my pain gold

For others to recognize my demons

That plagued me silent

Missed so many opportunities

That’s what haunts me

Being silenced by the majority

Just to be politically correct

Everyday people are faced with an early coronation

Will you be that person they can confine in?


Will you push them to the edge with your actions?



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Here I am
Staring at the man I used to be
Here I am
Staring at the man I have become
Remembering all the things I’ve done
All the battles I have won
And all the ones I have lost
I have fallen
And I have stood tall
I’ve had everything
And I’ve had nothing at all
Here I am
Staring at the man I used to be
Here I am
Staring at the man I have become
All these things that I have done make me complete
These memories in my mind that will never recede
I have been blinded by optimism
And I have seen reality
I have hidden my pain deep inside
So no one would see
I have watched myself fall apart
And I have put myself back together
I have won and I have lost
The respect of many
I have seen and I have heard
The words that burn my being
Here I am
Staring at the man I used to be
Here I am
Staring at the man I have become
I have crashed and I have burned
I have lived and I have learned
I have drowned in the abyss
And I have flown to the stars above
I have hated and I have loved
I have killed and I have died
I have laughed
And I have cried
Here I am
Staring at the man I used to be
Here I am
Staring at the man I have become
All these things that I’ve done
All these things that made me
Who I am today

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Love at Death’s Pace


Trauma had already
taken her life
many times

but this love called,
& she finally
wanted to bury

laying the unworthiness
that rung in her
ears to

more life seemed
like a threat
to the plans that
death arranged
in her

Life froze,
while death learned
to pace around
her chest.

She always made room
for it,
at her worst &
at her best,

tucking it in at night
with a kiss,
giving it her
comforter to borrow,

hoping that she
would embrace it
while waking

she wanted to stare
it in the eyes,
to break away from
her flesh.

clocks didn’t exist

because day and
nightfall were one
in the same,

the sun wasn’t
her friend because
light was flames,
trees were matches

and the birds?


There was no sky.

she learned to pray
for death because
he taught her to,

stopping to see it
up close right
around the block,

as he sped, racing,
not caring if he
killed them,

saying this
with madness in his

death ran through
his veins,

that’s why she died
with her eyes open,
in love,


he used his grip
to flirt with
her death,

flashing memories
of trauma before
her eyes.

Death had no
just different
phases & forms,

he sketched one on
his arm with
a knife
while staring
her in the face,

saying he cared
only about
being lifeless.

he killed spirits
of the living
& the dead,

becoming the death
wish that her pain

learning to be
a reckless monster
that threw words
at everyone,

hoping to high-five
the devil, while
making fire of

she was cold.

he taught her
how to worship
her death,

turning lifelessness
into her purpose,
something like
his own,

she was no longer
a person,

just misery and
bones with skin
that cowered at
the bat of any eye.

she wanted no one
to see how her

choked her,
spat her out,
& left her

crying in corners,

when she came back
to herself,

all she could do
was try to dig the
life out of her,

hoping that it
was still breathing.

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Morning Rituals

Every morning
Between bites
Of a buttery paratha
And gharam chai
I was reminded
By Ammi

Be nice to everyone
Say thank you and sorry
Remember your manners
Make sure you’re clean
Respect your teachers
Don’t give them a chance
To think
We’re bad
Only say how good religion is
We’re civilized
So they get this
Terrorist image out of their head

And I thought to myself
How funny that I have to convince
Others to treat me
See me like them

Like a human.

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Harmony is often associated with music, I decided to switch it up a little. This piece was part of a Global Wordsmith writing challenge on Instagram. The challenge was to use the word body in 8 words. It’s funny how this poem came about actually. I was in the shower and! And thoughts were running through my head, usually when poems start forming in my mind, if I don’t get them down straight away they’re gone forever. However, this time I was lucky. I repeated the words in my head and made sure to remember what order they were in and if I had the correct amount of words. I was not prepared to lose this piece. As soon as I came out of the shower, I found my phone and wrote it down. As long as it was on my phone, it was safe.

I don’t want this piece to be perceived as sexual. There are two types of intimacy, physical and emotional. Our bodies were in harmony emotionally. Whenever we would spend time together, no matter how short the time was, our bodies would just gravitate towards each other. Hands would reach and fingers would intertwine… Okay i feel another poem coming from these words so I’m going to stop right here and see if it amounts to anything. If it does, you’ll know very soon!

Thank you for reading my words guys. I really, really appreciate it.