The world.

Look at the widow, tell me what you see. You probably see the same things that you have been seeing for years. You see anxiety, stress and people who are terrified from time. I loved time, I have always had it as a way to free myself. Like the times the sunlight endured my heavy…

Third world

We tell our girls to be free, but not from society. We raise them to be ambitious, but not too much. We say we believe in their power in a house made of four walls. We ask them to follow their dreams then call them bad mothers. We tell them your bodies are temples when…

2:00 am

Seeing someone you love suffering is scary. It devitalize your skin, eats your bones and leave you weak like a child crying with no voice, like an ocean too salty to roar, like a city full of homes with no sunsets and roses. Seeing someone you love suffering is scary. It haunts your thoughts, slave…

I wish.

I wish people enjoy poetry as much as hypocrisy. I wish they created art rather than wars. I wish hey discuss atoms, aliens, sex, science, music instead of rating each other by ethnicity, religion and nationality. I wish they had a twisted mind who speak with emotion and kindness, not with hate and blindness.  …

Ocean

I promised myself to never get attracted  to anyone or anything  but the ocean then i met you  and you grow  waves in the  calmest part  of my skin. By Rim Zeiny Read more texts by this author

Nowhere.

I never knew where I belonged. People were saying you belong to the country where you came from. They would say home is the only place that make you feel free. First time I felt free, I was in a house in Malaysia. I wake up surrounded by people that don’t know my name, nor…

Light

Maybe this sky i used to stare up for hours doesn’t even exist anymore and those stars dust within my lungs never touched the moon. Yet sometimes when the memories are heavier than the air coming out of my soul, that light coming across the cracks of my room seems to me real than anything….

Salt

I am a drop

of salt

lost in

the sea …

Ghosts.

Tell me how I am supposed to sleep when your ghosts are haunting my dreams, dancing around the surface of my skin, leaving traces of your cigarette smoke in my head like drunken feathers in clouds of twirls praying to be shot dead. By Rim Zeiny Read more texts by this author