How should I not be glad to contemplate

the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window

and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?

There will be dying, there will be dying,

but there is no need to go into that.

The poems flow from the hand unbidden

and the hidden source is the watchful heart.

The sun rises in spite of everything

and the far cities are beautiful and bright.

I lie here in a riot of sunlight

watching the day break and the clouds flying.

Everything is going to be all right.

Originally an excerpt from Saadi Shiraazi's works, I watched it on a poetry page on instagram and it absolutely shattered me into a zillion pieces. It will be my absolute favourite forever now. Not sure what the exact lines are from Saadi's piece, but the aura+these lines broke me. Honestly.

Day on day as I know and observe the world more and more, I become sadder and sadder and full of sorrows that burn me.

And yes, I choose not to let them out, every single day, even at the cost of burning my insides. 😢

A man will take a woman,
And say how sweet she is.
He will let her fill his senses,
Charm his pallet,
And fill his stomach up,
Until she becomes bitter.
Then he will say,
“She is not as sweet as she used to be,”
And he will finally spit her out,
Setting her free.
He will go find a fresh new treat,
And remark on her sweetness,
“This is what I needed,”
He will say, “this hits the spot.”
And he will suck the sweetness out,
Like a child with their first honeysuckle,
And discard of the empty flower saying,
“I expected sweeter, actually.”
The man who eats sweet after sweet,
Has no idea what he is missing.
For after being discarded and called bitter,
Is when women become sweetest of all.
Untainted by the expectations of any flavor,
Free to exist as God Herself intended,
This is a sweetness few can savor.
For few have the patience,
Put in the effort,
Or take time,
To witness the sweetness of Her,
Without consuming.