Little girl and her father

she looks at the window,
there’s a little girl and
a father, walking amid
the giant emarald trees,
looking fresh and lively,
after the kissing of soft rain.

so much joy in the pace
of little girl, and the father
must be singing the song
of miraculous love of –
Green world and God,
and hiding sparkling angels.

all of a sudden, the vision
of tender love on the window
is superseded with –
an old pale photo of her album,
of her excited tiny limbs
and her father’s plastered smile.

what’s so worse than
having a living-drained-father ?
what’s so worse than
having a life with dearth of love?
(what’s so worse than
troubled parent-child relation ?)

© Sanna Wren

Angry man

when a man is angry,
keep a good –
distance from him.

when a man is angry,
keep some –
objects in between.

and if there’s no such
barricade, choose not
to throw your words.

if you choose to throw,
his anger will fuel into
wildfire, and scald you.

(if there’s a sword beside
him, there’s a chance
for you to get stabbed to hell.)

dear, life is a blessing.
choose wisely –
when it comes to man.

make sure as hell
that he doesn’t turn into –
hungry zombie when angry.

© Sanna Wren

( image is taken from Pinterest)

woman in the mirror

i look at the mirror,
where am i ?
how could mirror
supersede a 22 year old
girl with an old woman?

this is not me.
this face is old.
this face is dark.
this face is coated,
with too much pain.

this is not me.
this body is empty.
this body is bony.
this body is scalding,
with too much tears.

i look at the mirror,
where am i ?
how could mirror
supersede a 22 year old
girl with an old woman?

© Sanna Wren

Image credit goes to the respective artist. Image is taken from Pinterest.

the Homo sapiens

for me, i am right, and you’re wrong. for you, you’re right, and i am wrong. and there’s hatred in my heart for people like you who resist me. and there’s hatred in your heart for people like me who resist you. for me, the west is biased. and for you, the east is biased. and for the world, the one who stays neutral is dumb as hell.

and there are victims, there are wailings, there are smotherings and there are mournings. and there’s hatred in my heart for people like you who resist me. and there’s hatred in your heart for people like me who resist you.

and there’s a longing, a sweet longing, but an empty longing, a longing for unreal, a longing for peace….

© Sanna Wren

Image is taken from pinterest, Fabian Perez art.

A fragile house

there’s a bleeding teen,
crawling like a snail
with period cramps.
what the fuck!
looking at the blood spot,
and cursing the god.

‘Reka, take this…
take that…’
her mother screams
amid the steam,
with burning spine,
bleeding like a pig.

and the grandma looks
at them with dozing eyes,
amid the darkness of
her wrinkles and freckles,
trying to stretch her
draining legs and hands.

and the father rushes in,
dinner… dinner…
he shakes the house –
what’s this?
no salt. and stale ?
he barks and growls.

© Sanna Wren

( picture is taken from Pinterest. ” A woman peeling vegetables ” by William Kay Blacklock )

Aunties

aunties are teachers.
don’t forget to bow down
before them, my dear friend.

aunties are scholars.
yes, they know the art
of gossiping.

they’ll teach you
how to inflate a baloon.
they’ll teach you
how to turn a word into novel.

they’ll teach you
how to fire a home.
they’ll teach you
how to fuel a wildfire.

aunties are scholars.
yes, they know the art
of backstabbing.

when they fill your plate
with rice and a lot of smiles,
smile back, a plastered
smile, my dear friend.

and when you’re about
to leave, and when the
door is shut, be cool
and just eavesdrop.

you’ll know what you
lack, my dear friend.
and next time you can judge
me behind my back.

© Sanna Wren

(the picture is taken from Pinterest. Credit goes to the respective artist.)

The saddest era (of technology)


rivalry between birds, sky fluffed with clouds, clouds wooled with blues. of course, the sun is 150.2 million kilometres away, but these clouds of blues are not. i am choking, and i can only see the spirals of plumes of blues and epiphanies. nobody knows me, or i have never been whole to anyone. a filtered piece of my life in south, another filtered piece of my life in north, another one in west, and east.

everyone is playing the same game, battling over the same illness, dying a hundred deaths a day, and frantically hoping for the god to toss a miracle card. we are islands and lagoons. we choose strangers. we feel more comfortable with strangers, with a partial or fully eclipsed person on the other side of globe than the ones who sit beside us. we stream down our blues onto their bowls. and the time is precious, it should not be wasted upon thoughts, bout the colours and patterns of these bowls.

and a thousand dozens of people, expert stalkers, wistful stalkers, love-starved stalkers. some are not just stalkers, but stalk-ards like drunkards. and sadly some love-starved stalk-ards leave this world like an unpublished author (without confessing). some don’t give a damn about shame, when the bowl of love is full, let it spill. some are cursed to be alone, rejected. some are destined to cling to illusions, the illusion that she is also being cared, or noticed, or followed, or loved. this is a kind of serious malady.

and there’s a sad song of racism, not of blacks and whites, not of Christians and Jews, but – of the idea of perfection and imperfect-thoughts. it exists only in the minds of those who choose to degrade themselves. no, they don’t choose to, but they’re preyed, by something, they say. this thought is poisonous. this thought is infectious. this thought is hell…

” she is more beautiful, more angelic but i am… he is hot, amazingly witty but i am… her collection of clothes and his table of food… their pictures of swirling around the globe…free and wild birds…happy faces…fairytale love… fictional life… and some striking artists with a lot of followers, love and applauses but i am... “

there are no pockets of gratitude, but only beads to count the curses. this feeling of nothingness is attached with the fear of rejection. “give it a try” they say, but it is impossible when the fear of rejection is so deep. fear is disquietude, crammed with sorrows, annoyance, remorse and many more bitter bitter thoughts. this fear of rejection leads to the thoughts of doom. and a pathetic death with empty hands. the end.

and a bunch of people, short tempered, and with the speed of jet planes. always swaying with the world’s madness, not giving it a second thought. if a person is vaguely labelled as a culprit, he is a culprit, not giving a Google search or time to unravel the case. it leads to the inflation of world of ignorance. if a thought is born inside his head, it is a full-born to post, not giving more time to be more specific. and it leads the heart to the suffocating room of regrets.

and the most popular game of this era is nothing but busying oneself with gadgets, busying oneself with the art of scrolling up and down (the screen). time is precious, it should not be wasted upon thoughts, about productivity. this art of scrolling up and down (the screen) leads to the art of laziness and unorganisation. and some fall into the darkest part of ocean or abyssdepression.

this is a generation of caged birds and sad songs. this is a generation of self doubts and fears. this is a century of maladies. this is a century of slippery paths. this is a cursed century. this is a colonised century. too many victims, but not even a single victory. – we are trapped. we are troubled. there is no exit, to the old green- fresh-big world.

© Sanna Wren

( pictures are taken from pinterest )

Who knows the ultimate truth?

to all those people who get confused between gods and the science and existence of hell and heaven.

i ain’t here to tell you there’s God.
i ain’t here to tell you Jesus is God / Allah is great.
i ain’t here to tell you there’s no afterlife.
i ain’t here to tell you science is true.

sadly most of us get confused ’cause our questions remain unanswered or we are lazy sloths to seek for answers after answer.

i must tell you that this world is full of answers, floating here and there, meadows, bowers, waves, tempest, wildfire, drizzle, hurricane, breeze…

i must tell you that this world is full of answers, floating here and there. and our task is to find, to seek for answers after answer.

why does it rain?
– to nourish the earth
why do they nourish the earth?
– for the seeds to germinate….

a man who seeks for answers after answer will continue his journey till his last breath, but he is always a thousand times better than those who choose to stay still at confusions or ignorance or one who blindly chooses to think he’s all right.

science may be true, but it has not yet unravelled many mysteries. religion may be false, but it is not a virgin (as it has been abused by impure and filthy interpretations for centuries, and it has even been colonised by earthly powers)

God is a poet, and his words are written in verses. you know i am a poet, but do you know how often i get disappointed when my readers misinterpret my rhymes.

or maybe one day the sky will be clear, and the god and science will meet, like a father and daughter who meet after decades.

who knows the ultimate truth?

a man who seeks for answers after answer will continue his journey till his last breath, but he is always a thousand times better than those who choose to stay still at confusions or ignorance or one who blindly chooses to think he’s all right.

© Sanna Wren

( image credit goes to the respective owner. according to google image, it is from science and religion | Wall Street International Magazine )