Immature

By Fateme Ostad Abdolhamid

-Dad-

My gaze glides over her bony neck and jaw, rising from the brown curls at the back of her head to the short, loose strands of black hair that hang effortlessly between her broad cheekbones and jawline.

She swallows and her jaw clenches. I lose myself in the outline of her lips. Thin, elongated lips and milk-white teeth, each with a millimeter of space between them. A fleeting smile graces her lips and throws me into the embrace of her sparkling brown eyes, each with a story to tell. No matter how wide her smile is, her melancholy eyes are unaffected.

Medium-sized eyes, accentuated with a layer of eyeliner, behind black rectangular
glasses that stand out menacingly...

She tilts her head...

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Connections

In a whirlwind of everyone and everything
We are connected to the source and children of source
Not knowing this and denying this, we die and we are born, we cry and sing
Not knowing the answer, same as you, just searching for more

The future is shaped by present and history
I look for connections in everything and I find them in everyone
Trying to shape future like we want, almost every time we fail and it wins tragic human misery
For the connections between us, i am honestly writing this song

In the ashes of bright future lies nonchalant past
I tried to change everything good that could be in surely happening
Good is connecting us, bad is separating us, staying always connected, mood is just changing fast
Puzzle i did not solve reminds me i got to think, I think i must, pieces are loudly smiling

The snail and the rail seemed far connected
Until the rail and it's train killed the snail
In the wholeness lies the truth of connections and connected
I decided to not search for proof, instead I should ask who made the rail?