Chester Bennington no more 


I’m not sure how to process any of this yet, but it’s official. Chester Bennington of Linkin Park, is no more. Linkin Park, is no more. A portion of the wall of the world has crumbled, and fallen on our heads. 
We spent the better part of yesterday dismissing it as a hoax, but it’s been confirmed by most of the outlets and the band members. 

Could we ever stop loving him? Probably not. I don’t know what good could come of this except.. I hope you’re at peace, Chester. 
Never, ever forgotten. The Man who kept me alive so many nights. 
Rest In Peace, Chester. 

Blood Music 

I knew a man with laughing eyes 

Who thought the world could sing 

And in keeping with his philosophy 

He did everything 

He could, to make even the mute cry 

The seeing would go blind, not to see 

The songs people sang to for him 

Scarred their voices permanently

I knew that man with laughing eyes 

Too well, oh 

Too well 

And if only I could sing again 

Oh, the tales I would tell

But I left him, to his bone music 

Not far but far enough behind 

And ran into another man, headlong 

Who’d been waiting for me some time 

And he didn’t mind, my grave like eyes 

And the blood music in my head 

He’d learnt from a girl with laughing eyes 

That it’s better to have ones that are dead 

Now this man with dead eyes holds my hand 

And my lifeless ones sparkle too 

And it doesn’t matter, that we don’t sing out loud 

Because we have hearts that do 

© yusra 

18.06.2017 

Hiraeth 

Hiraeth. A welsh word for a lost home that can never be returned to. 

I’m curious, though, why the feeling is present strongly enough in the welsh, for them to have a word for it. I know precious little about them- maybe one of you could explain why?

Or maybe, they just recognized something so many people ache for, and cannot precisely name. 

A lost home. Homes lost in people. Homes lost on people. Loss. 
Still finding, 

Yusra ❤️

Women Like Me 

Women like me,

Make men realize 

That their dreams don’t belong 

Only in their eyes 

That their shoulders are broad enough

For the weight of the world 

And the reduction of all their principle 

Lies in just their word 

That the sky is theirs 

And all this earth 

We make men keenly aware 

Of every inch of their self worth 

We are not statues, but pillars 

We are not decoration

We are not conquest, but glory 

We require dedication 

And we pay you back in blood 

In all of our love 

Women like me are made from your rib

But we hold your spine up. 
And if you can’t appreciate a woman

Who could wither your universe to bits 

If you insist on looking at greatness 

And lingering on the span of its tits 

Then I have already moved past you 

It’s not worth my time, you won’t see 

That I want you on your knees, and 

I’ll nurture you on mine, simultaneously

if you really deserved

A woman like me 
©Yusra

05.06.2017 

Silent acquiescence? I think not, darling…. ❤️