Blame games

No one left to blame
It’s a synthesis of colour variations in a prism
That were stripped off of something essential
Dominated by black and white, estranged
Even grey did not look back at its merging schism

Such complexities
And yet
Answers so simple
We cannot possibly conform to
Because we love the depths of all we can’t comprehend

Like the painter who highlighted the mole on Mona Lisa’s cheek
Instead of focusing on her mystery
Sometimes, the way a horse’s mane rearranges its character,
Says more of such struggle, treading uphill.

The stroke of each brush, was the record of your existence,

the authority of your movement.

Each gesture, the quality of your thoughts.

Nobody likes depicting the enigmas of nature
In a jar
Transparent on the outside
Formulated with the energies of, owls staying up all night to protect trees
Delaying the night and its sermon, diverting hunters’ attention,
To its beak, small, tiny. Bending further for your shame, and wise old sayings

Frames could no longer keep pictures intact
They were falling, outlines deforming
Like oranges dismissing their sourness
And thrown away.
Nobody wanted to taste mandarins anyway,
If it’s labelled as sour, than it must be sour
What other description do you need?

All the labels we are given, fit into a box
They just don’t know that it has been vandalized
Opened at midnight
Stolen from
Like opening a sealed letter without tearing it apart
Memorizing all the confidential
And then closing it
Neat and fine
Blowing away the dust too, in case they doubt

Stepping stones, and stamps
Footprints left in a crime scene
What could anyone possibly expect from identity theft?
We have been naked ever since we bartered ourselves for sewing machines that don’t work

They say we should let flowers be
In their shields of friends and fields
So their form is preserved
So we don’t possess them for all they were
But I guess both could win
If we distilled them to perfume
Of the most rare, exquisite kind
This way, their scent could presume to be
Worthy of immortality, fame and honor
Seducing time
To cover up its age
Amidst fresh inventions
And jealousies

Sooner or later
Its elements would fail
To flavour themselves
Their craving no longer a reason
To satisfy need

Why make a pathway and then erase it for a gate?
Security, promises, hope prolonged
What is the purpose
Of flies who do not drink the drunken,
or of the Phoenix burning on synthetic oil?
So much for being a legend
So much for being eachother
Vaguely under microscopes
Hiding cells and transformations
To not hurt your feelings…


Published by


Hi. Now that you're here...let's just get this out of the way. I hadn't introduced myself in the past because when I first started this blog, I wanted it to be purely about my writing. This is not, and was never supposed to be, an anonymous blog. However, after almost a year of inactivity, I realize an 'about' section is...necessary? My name's Sadia. I live in Islamabad, Pakistan. Between uni/work/life in general, I try to take time to write. I own all content on this blog. Although, I do NOT own the images posted here, nor do I take credit for them whatsoever. I wanted to thank my visitors, for still being loyal and genuine after this long. In case you want to know more about me for whatever inexplicable reason, ask ahead and I'll get back to you! This right here, keeps me sane. You will find here, sincere thoughts mixed up with a subconscious trying to fuck it all up. I hope you understand. Love, Sadia.

34 thoughts on “Blame games”

      1. Yeah – untalfunotery, the stairs actually are narrower than the opening. If the rails project down from the posts, they will not only run outside of the steps (creating the kid hazard Julio mentioned, but they will need to terminate at posts next to the steps, which will both look weird and block access to the roof deck.

        Liked by 1 person

    1. I'm not sure that I am ready to so easily confuse dependence and deaosretipn, though I note that it is in the interest some to conjure the former from the latter. I sincerely hope they fail, because it would be a shame if these Several States were without at least one culture in which a spirit of resistance is preserved.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. No, no. I dont know it was showing weird blended colors when I opened before. I have no idea why…
    I am sorry for the confusion. I had been coming across many blurry, incomprehensible text from the last week… I guess my laptop got confused too. :p
    BTW your writing is splendid! :D

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Friend of mine deliver my personal this blog together with suggest: unasterdnd this, 100 % pure effective employees. And have to declare, the guy need ideal! My own job going a great deal of a lot quicker jointly with your examine. Thank You


  2. Thank you for following me, writeitdown! Your poetry shows great promise and you have some lovely imagery in this one. I’ll look forward to reading a few more. If writing is what keeps you sane, I think you’d better keep on doing it. Feeling confused isn’t unusual, at your age, so I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Things will all fall into place in time. :)
    Writing is a good outlet for feelings and emotions, not to mention a good way of exercising the imagination. :)

    Liked by 1 person

  3. nov02Lectora “Nada que ver con la performance de la izquierda engolada y pontificadora que ha hecho grandes contribuciones a su propio ders8tae&#s221;Toda la razón. Por ello casi se pierde por nonagésima vez.La derecha lo sabe y actúa en concordancia. Espero sepan apoyar con propuestas y no con viejas envidias pseudo democráticas y egos que ya a estas alturas están apolillados, igual que sus dueños.


  4. Elaine, I'm praising God with you for the healing that has taken place in your life! I'm so happy to see you turning the page as your story continues to unfold!I haven't been around as much over the summer, but you have remained in my contstant prayers! It's great to see you! Blsgsinse!!!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s