Hey everyone ;)

I'm coming here with some good news!!

Me and a co-writer here @MClarice have published a poetry booklet on Amazon!

Our beautiful joined creation is called "Inhaling Stardust and Drinking Tea""

(yes, the title pretty much gives you an idea I am made out of the universe,

moonlight and countless galaxies - but I think a lot of you already know that)

Below is a link to our star-filled Kindle Booklet

(and the cover that an artist made for us for this project

is absolutely gorgeous if you don't mind me saying ;))

Amazon: https://a.co/d/hHGpCa9

We feel truly blessed to be in this moment of our lives and coming with this heart written bundle of poems to you.

We will be so happy if you check it out, purchase and leave a review under it.

Thank you to everyone that's been a part of this Prose family and enjoyed our work. You have been an inspiration to share our poems further into the world.

Anna and Miesha ;)

I hate summer, with utmost passion. Summer in my city is not your usual romanticized singing of the cicada-esque experience where the thin breathable fabric on your body gently oscillates in the soothing sea breeze as you nimble on freshly shaved ice. Summers here come with a declaration of war, an epidemic of fatigue, blisters heat waves and ORS shopping. There is, however, a soft spot in this city's summer towards its inhabitants, you can see it in action after 11pm, from the peel-your-skin-off gusts to lull whispers of air passing by, such is the contrast in treatment at this hour of night. There is a strange aroma that fills up the space around, maybe it comes from the transpirating rocks cooling down at the riverbank nearby, maybe its a pressure difference bringing in the air from lands I have no clue of or maybe its the prayers of those troubled at day answered for them to be at peace as they slumber. Whichever it is, it is gentle with a discrete presence. At an instant you sense it and at the other your nose is left searching; maybe it is more playful than it is gentle, whichever it is, it is kind; as opposed to the nostril numbing gales that one has to endure in winters, this fluff like aroma, these summer nights are kind on these ever so fragile nostrils.

you.

some kind of figment,

( balanced in purple hands )

in a dream world where

things are hazy and warm

this.

somehow we've ended up here,

in the space of a breath

( how could our faces be this close together )

it's wrong and unreal and a

little bit

lovely

we.

exist in a wide open space

with room to breathe, so far

away

in the right ways

and

you believe in me, i think

that.

a dream is a dream is a dream,

and it doesn't mean a thing

( ? )

our bodies

untouched

dream.

is it so wrong to think

impossibilities

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

On the channel today, we go into the road west, spam, new writers, and brains, art, and all things dear to us. Here's the link. Mentioned authors tagged in the comments below.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5Ep6dFgyjQ&t=56s

And...

As always...

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

maybe I have been here before

walking on wooden ladders,

and climbing the moon

perhaps Jupiter was my other home,

maybe I have been here before

sailing on ice cubes

in the tallest glass of life

perhaps, stardust powdered both my skin

and my heart

invisible tapestry of constellations

in the shapes of fallen suns

reflecting of my eyes

maybe I was made of rain dew

and lemon-drops,

my soul

colored with pastels

and flirtatious butterfly smiles,

perhaps, me and the darkness were good friends

lights like summer braids

woven into my hair,

and mixing with navy-blue ash

maybe I have been here before

and you whispered

my name so well,

you called me love

and climbed the moon

with me

I immerse myself in the sun

swallowing gold

within tattered lungs

gravity no more than a delicate red string

in a child's

soft chubby hands ,

my body lifts and pivots in a boundless spell

swirling somersaults

on the edge of the light

cutting air between oxygen and lost time .

I am something yet unsaid

lifetimes

of dying stars

fireworks waiting to be lit

I immerse myself in the sun

I swallow myself up

starting creation at day one .

reinventing structural walls

the blueprints

to my soul

Today is one of those days

Where I smile

When my insides are tearing up

Where I beg the air to be considerate

Before my tears well up

Where I talk

But actually want someone to listen

Where I try to be jolly

Without having a vision

Where I hope I make it alive

While wishing I don't survive.

×∞ Adin

15 July 2022

And that's the thing about the 'Writing Ghost'

It comes after I'm dead.

×∞ Adin

10 July 2022

How I wish upon every shooting star

That I be turned into naught

Otherwise, be carried to those places

These shooting stars go.

×∞ Adin

8 July 2022