poetry

poetry side blog. insta @aiman.t.syed Ao3 Aiman_T_Syed

[aimanspoems]

Welcome!

Hello, My name is Aiman (she/her) and this is my poetry side blog. I am relatively new to writing, so here I am, sharing my little pieces as I write them. I am actually pretty introverted so this is kind of hard, but I will be happy to talk about my writing or answers asks about my poems so feel free to come poking in the inbox.

My poetry on Ao3 is in one collection called Fragments, though I tend to write in sets of 20 most of the time.

My insta is aiman.t.syed where the poems are pretty edited pictures that I try to throw at the world (but I hate the app)

Feel free to follow me anywhere. Reblogs, likes, shares and/comments are always appreciated. Feedback is a writers lifeblood afterall <3

[lunamonchtuna]

— Franz Kafka, from Letters to Felice (via lunamonchtuna)

[lunamonchtuna]

— Emily Brontë, from Wuthering Heights (via lunamonchtuna)

[lunamonchtuna]

— Jean-Paul Sarte, from No Exit (via lunamonchtuna)

[coffeeacademia]

i find it so beautiful how we all read the same poetry and miss different people

[killherfreakout]

but i do

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— 6:59 AM by Shane Koyczan

[twoheadedfawnn]

brianna weist

[devine-acension-831]

❤️‍🩹

[lunamonchtuna]

— Phil Kaye, Repetition (via lunamonchtuna)

[ahotknife]

megan lynne

[matineaux-deactivated20260222]

kind of weird how parts of your soul are left in various locations without any warning… like yes i’m always at the top of that hill, sitting at the bus stop, in the cool light of the Japanese restaurant, standing at the pier etc etc

[aimanspoems]

When I think of death,

I think of how the earth will remember me.

Not by words carried by my people,

Or tears and smile unseen.

But probably by the soft whispers of my soul,

Left behind unwittingly.

I will always be in some places;

At the top of a hill,

At my bus stop,

In the crowded market,

And walking the cobbled streets.

The impression of the soul are transcendent,

They will always remember me.

So when I think of death,

I think of all the parts of me that will keep breathing.

[chandra-telescope]

hope is a skill

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

hope is a weapon you are trained to wield

[chandra-telescope]

favourite additions

[chandra-telescope]

[tenaciouswritingdragon]

You cannot hide this in the tags, bestie. This is too lovely to keep a secret.

[wonderwyrm]

[eregyrn-falls]

It may not be apparent to everyone how to easily find out who wrote the poem in the tags, so: @mumblesplash

(an instant-classic example of a Tumblr thread where so many people add value!)

[pawnshopsouls]

So wherever you look, be it near or far,

know Hope can be found wherever you are.

[havingapoemwithyou]

to the young who want to die by Gwendolyn Brooks

[darkearthsuggestions]

One day you will drink in kindness like the soil in a storm. You will take all that you can until you are overflowing with it, waiting, never sated, for those showers to come again. You will breathe gentleness like breaching the ocean for the first time and feel it flooding, pure, into your lungs. You will tilt your head up to heart which fills you like a sprout brimming with the sun– and then you will return it to where it came, as like is to like, and love is to love. 

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner-deactiv]

“Oh Rascal Children of Gaza” by Palestinian poet, Khaled Juma.

He was born and raised in Al-Shaboura Palestinian Refugee Camp, in the Gaza Strip. He lives there to this day. Before Israel’s latest war crimes, he worked as a school teacher and writer.

[wellconstructedsentences]

Through my father, my family, and this experience, I have learned to love this land. This place has taught me how to look and how to live, and so at last, to sing its poetry.

A Sense of Place by Nina Leopold Bradley

[asoftepiloguemylove]

AND I'LL NEVER GO HOME AGAIN // YOUR CHILDHOOD HOME AND THE PAST INSIDE OF IT

Maya Angelou // @filmnoirsbian // BoJack Horseman (2014-2020) from The Old Sugarman Place dir. Anne Walker Farrell // Tennessee Williams The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore // Anne Sexton A Story For Rose On The Midnight Flight To Boston // Noah Kahan Paul Revere // pinterest // The Woman in Black (2012) dir. James Watkins // Ariel Gore We Were Witches // Katherine Fabrizio A Poem From the Good Daughter to the Difficult Mother // Marble Hornets cr. Troy Wagner // AroarA #6

[darkearthsuggestions]

Weaving as self creation. 30.5.24

[darkearthsuggestions]

One voice, in all these songs, whose words you know how to hear– the birdsong flutters by your head, and the root-song, though it shakes you, never speaks. The forest is not a quiet place. Yet for all its whispers, you do not know its words. Only one voice in it all– and that is you, of course, whistling as you go. The echoes are not company, but at least you have their ghosts.