Rianna Shaikh's Blog, page 5

His dark

      

Speak to me.

Tell me that all this darkness is not for nothing.

Tell me.

Speak to me.

Don’t act like my words are not
spoken and my heart is not broken.

Speak.

“Speak.” I screamed.

Yet he stood there in

Silence boldy looking at me, his  eyes like glass. Except glass cracks.
It breaks.

It shatters.

His words stolen from his mouth.

Silence as I screamed yet here and again.

“Speak  to me.”

I wailed from the bottom of my voice.

A man, the man that took my heart and promised to love me ‘till ever, such inquiéter.

He stood there with empty nothing eyes and voice of no words.

Placed his ring firmly on the palm of my hands and walked away.

Walked away like I was a zero.

But I fought with me and I screamed at me.

And I shook at me.

And I fell to the floor- just with me.

No one heard me.

No one. So tell me world – who do I speak to?       I loathe love, for she has tossed me nothing but bitter insolent silence,Everly forgotten

Unchained melody: righteous brothers 

 

 

 

Keep walking.

Paris, France – JUL 2011: The sculpture “La Convention Nationale” by Sicard and in the apse the mosaic “Christ Showing the Angel of France the Destiny of Her People” by Hébert inside the Panthéon.

 

 

  Dearest,This am I am sitting in my writing room contemplating my destiny.

And I remember  once when I was terribly young and naive a Wall Street Boss saying to another.

“When in hell don’t stop, keep walking.”

Now that boss may have been many things,  One thing my husband has always been was optimistic et sensible. Very few men in life today understands the meaning of being a good human.

I am not a saint, but I will tell you, read that sentence again. And again if you need a reminder that life my dearest is truly what you allow God to do within you and around you.
I was thinking today of my lack of writing and like everyone else, we are ever so faced with many trials and tribulations. Many that you can loose yourself to.Or give up as they say. But giving up my dearest friends means you have failed.

From one person to the other, never give up, and give in to the things that God has sent. Or else  like most of the human race you will fail and when a man fails, he looses that which he was send to be or do.

And if you are with children, then how are you suppose to give faith to the little ones of this world?

I have seen many people fail, I think I am more destined to be the very kindest version of myself as I have been deceived by so many. And
truth be told, thank you all that are on that page, as I am me because of you.

My husband has this saying, ready?

 

”Your excuses are tiredly your own.”I never thought I would listen
to all of his sayings as I have today,
I just realized often in life,
whatever we are searching for is
often infront of us. 
Et so is the ugly.

So,

my friends when in hell keep walking.I know I am brilliant as I am silly. 

  Stay smiling  and remember that God loves you. Actually a kind woman said that to me yesterday, she actually reminded me of the beauty Delfina Blaquir, gosh her legs are all the way up to the sky.
Must be scary to be so beautiful!  sending you love,   Kate

Barbara Streisand: the way we were

ps. Chin up and keep walking.

Midnight fou

 

 

        Dearest,I had to remind myself that I am  still a bloody writer, though I feel lost in my jardin of grief.
Well that’s all I got. I cannot write sentences of sense.
I am still in such despaired grief, yet still I feel the absence of my dearest best friend. I feel as though I shall write the book on grief but I’m not in the mood.see?

Well let’s hope this phase soon ends, I am short 7 books thus far.

This is clearly a vacation I did not care to have;

but hey remind yourselves that life happens. Et hence so shall we.
My next book shall be;“ Lost writer in the forest as   hunters abound, holding spares to her head.”
I silently fall of my velvet settee with this beauty to my drums;Total eclipse of the heart:
bonnie Tyler

The life of a hard working writer y’all. 

It’s beautiful madness really.
All the way
to my Mont Blanc et papier.

 

yours,Rianna Kate Shaikhps. I already wrote the book on lady pain

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The nights of nothing

“ I think I miss you more than the world of stories miss me.”

 

    My dearest readers,I have received many sentiments
on my writings , diary whatever
little presence I have made here
nor there.
I am simply doing nothing. 

For some reason it feels like
something.

But nothing. Absolute nothing. I have manuscripts stacked up and books making its way to the canals of Venice, yet I sit and wander millions of miles away, hopelessly thinking of heart feelings and wanting to not put it on papier.

Which is news to moi. 
    un silence.
I have always written when
visited by my greatest grief.Even if my bitter essence for tolerance or my need to live in a state of loathe for however long it last.
Yet i cannot write.
I cannot socialize with words.
Nor can I finick with my lady pretension to delve into Wall Street again or write upon sadness.
Think not of it as writers block- I’m just not in the mood to write stories lately.
I like being of the map and call it what you may-

 I think stories has had it with me. 

I hope you have stories to tell as I merely sit and wait et for nothing.

For my nothing seems like something.

Forever your writer,

  Rianna kate Shaikh  Kiss of life: sade

My forever

 

      Dearest,     When I feel lost I look at the night skies and I wonder from

Here to everlasting. I think of things you would of said et though we are one billion miles away from reality, I miss you.

I miss your sullen ways of saying that everything isn’t okay but one day it will be better. I use to think grief was ending at some point in time,  but now here et now, it’s like a storm, there are different points.

Yet I sit here watching the waves roar and sand fade in and I cannot weep for you, all

I can do is say to myself, you are my heaven.

You always will be.
Wherever in the next world you are.

Your once forever,             Kate  your Snow 

 

   Sailing: christopher cross

Love, Emile

“I yearn to be held in the valley of your thoughts. Never let me go.”                    Emile forgotten
Dearest,        I have given you up world. For I exist only to bare pain to others. I am just a mere existence of an aftermath.I have lost at everything and all I do with gods time is write letters of miserable pain and that’s not even the bad part. The super bad thing is that It shall never be read by the man I once loved. Because like every love story,

The good lover is dead.

  Gone. Lost. Forgotten. And the miserable one lives. She lives to bare her pained starved soul to the world unheard off.      To heck with this fou.

 

Lost at mer, 

        Emile forgotten

(A new book)

  Einaudi: experience

The silliest story

 

When  I was little maman read me a tale,Romeo and Juliet.I wondered for days why my parents  were not like those two. Then mama said,
”ces imbéciles sont morts.”        Love isn’t at all what the books speak of. No sur it’s mightier et heavier and Not happier and well I think it’s like a sky. Bigger and higher than you can reach.

Why I conclude,

It’s depth from cloud 100 to the floor, it’s a sure thing. So keep up your love studies,
i Would rather be a famer. Say have you ever, 
ever like ever hear of the
broken hearted farmer did you?

     Okay. That’s all I got.         Forever never

 

chambre 12: louane

I stand Lost as my pen

      A day of a year ago..

   

      I heard the noises – relentless whispers and I feel the urge to run. Or jump, yet I feel it like the cold waves  washing my toes in st A. I fight my frayed bitten thoughts. It leads me so deep into a rabbits hole that leads me to a cliff. You cant see it unless you jump it.

Its Melodic thrills tells me it’s over for me and my tauntless thoughts beckons me .

Non Isn’t it scary till it’s real?The feeling of knowing no matter
how hard it gets you can stop
your own pain and relinquish
nothing.

I sit watching her beside me
in her best threads, yet her
face is painted in melancholy.

“This world is to full of too much snow and no sun, can you see it?” She whispers to me. “Don’t you wanna be near the sun?”I stood vague in my express, for I was holding a candle at the very end of a cliff. “Don’t you?”She screamed.“No I can see it from from here, Though I know you only see clouds.”A minute of my eyes lost in her eyes how I felt like a lost eternity of pain. I mean what’s a sec to such a long languished time in emotional standstill?
“Such shit. And you call yourself a writer?” She wept.

 

I couldn’t rebuttal that, I was
scheduled
a very untalented human since
I became me. If it was anyone
jumping should be me et my
books of woes.
“Critics say I am more shit
than a dwarf in the woods of some
stupid tale that’s more famous
than all of us.”
She laughed as a mouse stealing all the cheese at the dinners table, without you knowing. Though her years fell before her eyes. “I can’t heal you but I will tell you one thing, jumping will be worst that this life and one thousand more.”Her silence and her homeless heart locked away, holding back her tears. And I reached out to her small dull  shaken hands and teary eyed self. She reached to my hands and my heart knew that if I could save her, I have done it all. Her hands brushed mine and she gave me smile so full of sun, yet why was she so full of night.

 

“Goodbye my friend.”

And she was as swift as Mr Fox fetching himself a rabbit. My eyes filled to its brim of hope
leaving-

And my Heart so warned of with some feeling of empty, then I screamed , you cannot. You cannot do it, you must not, how can you, you cannot, but you are filled with sun. I saw it. I felt it,” I then whispered.     And my dearest you, I was a sorry of a  writer for not saving her.      “Some of us were born to love, live, loose et find love again, but others just cannot find themselves a life vest to carry them through their own tears.”My dear readers, I wish for those sad hearts and wandering minds as such to be saved, as I couldn’t save her.          Your writer,     R Kate Shaikh     (#suicideprevention)The national suicidal prevention hotline:

1.800.273.8255

 

Iris; Goo goo dolls

   “ And I don’t want the world to see me because I don’t think they’ll understand, when  everything’s meant to be broken I just want you to know who I am.”

Fear your feelings

     

“ I have loved you everyday and I have sought you in my heart every minute. Though I know you have not nearly done the same. I will think of you like Van Gone.”             Forever N

Father. If you can hear me, a little whisper I throw in the universe, I hope you have mercy on my broken point of a pen.

I never wrote before because I was sad, angered and even mad as a man I had not met. His name however makes me feel like I could be related to him.

He’s into hats the queer ones and his colorful exist i say, I adore. He’s often mad and eccentric as
my mother
said your heart was, she said,“Your father is a man of noble things yet he’s stupid, coward and a crook, yes he’s like a mad hattterrrr.”

Father, let’s talk chop.

I know your life is fleeting and lady time wants to throw you out like garbage, expensive garbage actually, I am your forever and I am so sorry your parents never loved you.

Well the trouble with adults is that they carry all their hurt in a toy chest, till they have their own children to pass that chest to.
I don’t want yours, I want

nothing from you. I just want this letter to reach you. I want to tell you that I’m not mad 99.9 percent of the times, but that one percent can ruin the 99.9 percent good that I believe you are. Mother said I was deli- riots.I bet she’s wrong. She’s 89.9 percent wrong about you.

The thing is, I try to loathe you, hate you, erase you,

I even tried to forget you and that’s impossible.

It is because I feel like my feet belongs to you, and my hands look like yours, my nose even, my eyes I look into the mirror and I see you.

Though I have been told 99,9 percent of the time, you never loved me and I well,

I was your error. If I was I’ll pray for you, because you are clearly a man that cannot be saved. I’m soory for that because I do believe that somewhere in your cold tainted ruined heart-I believe you are a good man. Henceforth, I am mad like a hatter.

I swear to the next world,
you I still love.

I hope someone, anyone saves you. Because I, I love you. Forever. And I never lie. Ever.

      

          For my sailor,            Forever never

 

    Wild child : Enya

Believe or drown

“We are so civil yet doltish to
believe that people need
water to drown.”           Kate

 

 

    The days are long and cloudy. The skies are weary and the sea breeze has exhausted her feeling of newly blown.Life is a careless walk on the
green grieved path where all the
unexpected turns throw you ever
so off your mental focus. But you carry on.You get back walking on the road and you keep force believing that all the good shall find you and life will keep you folded in her everlasting arms. Happy. Happy. Happy.

But yet we fear the chase.

We ignore the good.

And we keep cradling our dense dark thoughts that are just as bad  as a daily intoxication.

How long will she stay standing in front of us, whispering things that you heard a million times, do you ignore her, that she isn’t real and you my dear friend, has only you to blame when your life vest is thrown  in the water easing it’s way- away from arms length.

 

Don’t give up, don’t give in et don’t let go.           Keep believing.

 

     Your good writer,    Rianna Kate ShaikhPeople help the people : Birdy