Toriq Bachmid

“Come back to me.
Where have you gone?
And why so long?
I miss the star below your lip,
the constellation on your
chest.
I miss your ways,
how you net butter-flying words
and release them
for others to enjoy.
I miss your tenderness,
the sweetness of your breath
and the song of your voice.
I miss how
you worship me.
Come back to me once more.
Why did you go?
And whatever for?
The heavens plotted against us.
The clouds came and
pissed on our lives.
The smell of charged particles
still lingers in the air.
What will become of you and I?
Come back to us.”
― Kamand Kojouri

“If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. If they don't, they never were.”
― Kahlil Gibran

“The awareness in the moment serves you the most when you are about to create your imagination into a reality.”
― Roshan Sharma

“The Day is Done

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Belfry of Bruges and Other Poems