Give me a scar, and I’ll make love out of it!
The Sermon ~
“Politics had indulged in our blood such intoxicating aligning that it seemed sheer poetry.”
U.S.A (CIA, NASA) had bought so much oil from the Arabs that the Moors could not apostate. Hence, my akik (garnet of Islamic faith) from American cajoling croaked a Veto ! The crocodiles swallowed no more, they wanted our waters.
Nature is kind though, our natural gas won Soviet Union ten fields: – these species had aeronautically maneuvered nuclear power ~ to the fore armoured the sheath and speeched:
You may blow it, but I can grip it. Tanushka, its Russian meaning “white like cotton” is my second nickname. When I bestow, you will not be able to deny ~ correct me if I’m wrong.
Equal or no match, but you are moron if you ever advertise your banal gun, of which ever make. Chevy?
Life reminds you your relationships with you friends in co-incidences, music, memories ~ nostalgia is the best spell for a lonely moment, the hourglass will be turned over again and then new memories will be loomed.
The chatterbox, my greedy spoilt complements contemplate, often submissive machining echoes of reflections embrace criticism. Then, I’m impossible again. The moon disguising summons croquets amidst censures try inflict a pang of stillness, I abide.
Time spent lavishly croak, so I chair the order, it pays to impose a little order even in these wild games of imagination. We date our mistakes, ashamed dirty face learn experiencing to make amends ~ ‘Sorry, I was wrong’ ~ truth. So then, the padding will underline puns in your conscience.
“How could you” – my question in your answer.
“And now, how will you make it up to me again? Mentor, who is thy deciphel, pray tell.”
(P.S An experiential guide to “From the Vault”)
©Mehjabin Shahed
20th August 2012
Mehjabin Shahed 