Violence. Is it genocide? Is it homicide?
No; it is the frustration of many unheard cries.
Cries for freedom, for rights, for education.
Virtues that an orthodox world fails to give.
When deprived of these blessings the mind is tortured,
The dormant seed of violence is nurtured.
And with time this torment grows to power,
That one day, will the whole world devour. View Post
A deep thinker.
Outspoken.
Maybe a brave adventurer.
Quite strong; a little broken.
But determined never to fear.
Have an abyss for a heart,
Because I’ve been betrayed and torn apart.
But with an unwavering faith in God,
I know I’ll follow a righteous path.
Grounded because of regrets.
And while I’m no Lady Macbeth,
A little arrogant because of ambitions.
Not prudent, yet patient and peaceful.
For every blessing, I can’t express how much I’m grateful. View Post
The breeze fluttered into the room and softly rustled the flowers around me. Papers on the receptionist’s desk inched closer to her, the chimes on the window hummed a sweet little tune, and the eager wind lifted the edges of my simple black coat, because of which I now felt poorly dressed for my interview.
The room was big enough to seat about nine people at distances, but one would still be able to hear their hushed tones of talk. It was airy and opulent, with an aura of regality that made me feel small. The floors were a magnificent hand-scraped dark wood that ran lengthwise and reached up to the wall two-thirds of the way, as if in impetus from the run. Above the wood, the walls graced a stunning, but simple, taupe-on-taupe damask wallpaper that glistened in the light from the chandelier. Twenty feet above me, the chandelier looked like a glamorous, miniature version of the sun. Little crystal ‘droplets’ projected unnoticed spectra on the walls. I was not expecting my prospective office to be so elegant and sophisticated. View Post
