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Quote by Ezinne Orjiako, Nkem.

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Ezinne Orjiako, Nkem.

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“Most mornings all I can think is I am the reason for one person's boulder. A rock to another. Both a joy and a woe in one life cycle. Both the abused and the abuser. The tortured and the torturer. It is not long till I realize that I am always thinking of what I can be to another and never to myself. You see, us humans, we make hundreds and hundreds of bad little Decisions hoping that one of them leads us to the answer. Not knowing that we are in the end, the only answer. The chosen ones. The ones to ourselves.”

LossGriefDepression
Author:Ezinne Orjiako, Nkem.
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“Depression severs all attachments. Mourning differs from depression above all through its strong libidinal attachment to an object. In contrast, depression is objectless and therefore undirected. It is important to distinguish depression from melancholy. Melancholy is preceded by the experience of loss. Therefore it still stands in a relation - namely, negative relation - to the absent thing or party. In contrast, depression is cut off from all relation and attachment. It utterly lacks gravity.”

LossDepressionMourningMelancholy
Book:Müdigkeitsgesellschaft
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“Life stings. It can bite and claw and kick you when you’re down. It can lift you up in celebration and clutch your heart until you think it’ll rip from your chest. It’s glorious and wonderful and oh so devastating. We sing and we laugh and we dance until we can move no more, and it’s all worth it. Every single piece. Every single part. Because life isn’t made up of the breaths we take, but the moments that take our breath away.”

LifeLife LessonsHardship
Book:How to Be a Movie Star
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“The Poetry that Searches Poetry that paints a portrait in words, Poetry that spills the bottled emotions, Gives life to the feelings deep inside, Breaks through all the times wept, To sweep you in a whirling ecstatic delight. The chiseled marble of language, The paint spattered canvas, Where colors flow through words, Where emotions roll on a canvas, And it all begins with you. The canvas that portrays the trembling you, Through the feelings that splash, Through the words that spatter, All over the awaiting canvas. Such is the painting sketched with passion, Colored with the heart's unleashed emotions. The poetry that reads your trembling heart, The poetry that feeds the seed of your dreams, That poetry that reveals light within rain, Takes you to a place where beauty lies in stain. The poetry that whispers- "May you find the stars, in a night so dark, May you find the moon, so rich with silver, May you sip the madness and delight In a night berserk with a wailing agony". Such words that arise from spilling emotions, So recklessly you fall, in love with life again. So, you rise shedding your fears, To chase after your dreams, As you hear thunder in the rain, That carries your pain, Through the painting of words, colored with courage, Splashed with ferocity, amidst the lost battles. Such is the richest color splash in words, Laid down on papers, that stayed so empty, For ages and ages. At times, you may feel lost, Wandering homeless in the woods, But poetry that you write, To drink the moonlight and madness, Poetry that you spill on a canvas with words, Calls you to fall, for life again. The words that evoke the intense emotions, The painting that gives the richest revelation, The insight that deepens in a light so streaming, Is the poetry that reveals the truth and beauty, In a form so elemental, in a way so searching, For a beauty so emotive, Which trembles, With the poetry's deepest digging. The words that take your eyes to sleep, The poetry that stills your raging feelings, Is the portrait of words that carries you, In emotions bottled within, held so deep, For an era so long. Forgotten they seemed, yet they arose, With the word's deepest calling, To the soul sleeping inside. The poetry that traces your emotions with words, Is a poetry that traces your soul with its lips, To speak a language that your heart understands. The Ecstatic Dance of Soul Copyright 2020 Jayita Bhattacharjee”

LoveLifeLossPoemDepthIntrospection
Author:Jayita Bhattacharjee
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“The woman hangs from the 13th floor window crying for the lost beauty of her own life. She sees the sun falling west over the grey plane of Chicago. She thinks she remembers listening to her own life break loose, as she falls from the 13th floor window on the east side of Chicago, or as she climbs back up to claim herself again.”

LossAmbiguityShe Had Some HorsesJoy HarjoFinding OneselfPoetry Claiming Identity
Book:She Had Some Horses
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