Struggle and division

It’s not that complicated really, nerves wrecking the signals sent
to the intellectual, the emotional, the moral or spiritual
What else would we have been capable of?
We already proved everyone wrong.

Killed. Saved. Killed, saved
Killed to save. Saved to kill
Tried both
The weak pretended to be strong,
this threatened their plan B.

“Be realistic, not sorry.”
No one feels your apologies as much as you
Much less the struggle to present some eulogy
Who wasn’t meant for the deceased but the spectators
Who kind of just went along, nodding at the host.

‌‌‌Two kinds of divisions actually multiply us more
Mere numbers, and scattered letters trying to make sense
The latter cannot conform without the former
Like the lazy protagonist who still made it big
Only because he measured the number of his ideal to the detail of his being
Combined and sealed them both together, rather than waiting to find his work’s meaning.


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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.

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