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About Literature / Hobbyist Core Member Shehroze Ameen26/Male/Germany Groups :iconpoeticalcondition: PoeticalCondition
A safe place to express yourself
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Deviant for 6 Years
7 Month Core Membership
Statistics 485 Deviations 30,160 Comments 73,430 Pageviews

Commissions

Short Story Commissions
Short Story Commissions being accepted now.

Payment to be made only after the idea, the way the story should progress, or the twist is finalized.

World limit: Minimum: 800, Maximum: 3000

Time Frame per commission: minimum 1 month, maximum 2 months

I only accept payment through :points:. In case you have a very specific idea you want me to write about, hit me up through notes.

As part of the commission, you'll be submitted drafts showing progress made, with changes, character development, story development, and any additional perks you want incorporated. When works will be published, the commissioning party will bear copyrights to it under a Creative Commons License 3.0, and can do with it as they please.

This commission does not accept works for OCs, fan fiction, erotica, BDSM, or furries.
Poetry Commission
Specifications: none, unless you would like a specific form to be followed.
Themes: epic, slice of life, stream of consciousness, or historic.

Previous commissions: shehrozeameen.deviantart.com/g…

Details need to be provided via note, inclusive of whether they should be based on a drawing of yours, OC belonging to you, or are a dedication.

Deadlines: unless specified, I try finishing my commissions as quickly as possible. They could either take a week (for works which are at least 19 lines) or a month (for works which are greater than 30 lines). Maximum I've ever gone is two months for a commission.

Random from pretty words, read with an empty mind

Literature
Empyrean
Momma said to never marry an astronaut,
they will always prefer the twinkling starlight
to the light in your eyes.
They'll only end up in ships that float
aimlessly in zero gravity and you will not be there.
Momma said to never marry an astronaut.
You will stand firmly on the earth,
clutching the ground and knowing
they will always prefer the twinkling starlight.
Planets will fracture and stars will collapse
long before he recognizes he can travel
to the light in your eyes.
:iconHugQueen:HugQueen
:iconhugqueen:HugQueen 226 110
Literature
august's skeleton.
Sunburnt freedom of July
we come tumbling in the auburn joy of boredom
down the spine of summer.
And spelled in the scabs on your knees
is the innocent insolence
scuffing the corners of your memory:
all hyperbole, grinning toothless bravery
swallowed in your father's coat,
whipping around corners and slipping
out of a chiaroscuro childhood.
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 78 36
Literature
chichester, england // badenweiler, germany
Lately darkness drifts across
our sleeping faces,
slitting eyelids open
filled up with stardust
our hearts hulled,
scattered carelessly
among the leaf-litter
and we left empty, ghosting
ruler-straight
so the sleepy village never woke
and the 3.a.m mists
rolled it flat.
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 15 10
Literature
odyssey.
I left messages for you
trickled along your parting
the last bars of signal
I saved, in the distant hope
that the storm wouldn't tear
our phonelines down
and yet here we stand
and the calm has ripped us
into shreds,
long hair cut to the quick
and holding our breath
as long as we can.
Dear mum, can I
apologise? If I hold my hands
over my ears,
will the blood beat
within my body once again?
Because my organs have been
dislocated from my arteries
and I can only try
throw my crutches aside - no, I will walk alone this time
dear mum,
I have loved you
and dad
and myself
like a broken lullaby
sung in a foreign language,
hummed into the gaps
between your ribs
I will reverberate like the wind
trapped in ships' sails
until my brain lies
buried in the clouds
and they cut my body down
from the mast.
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 16 9
Literature
I should have written more poetry about you.
Lost in your embrace
into your chest she collapsed,
caved
against your collar-bones
weighed down by stones
in her pockets.
And her hair filled your eyes
tickled your neck
with her lips,
shuffled the deck
while she unbuckles your favourite trousers
the darkness swallowing
the discarded clothes
to the sound of swallows
congealing in the dawn.
And you, a frightened fawn
stark naked, captured by her eyes
ribs interlocked and fingers
heaving in the tide of bedsheets,
push and pull -
stand tall
for me, stand tall, for
me, my
peace of mind
tease out the knots
in our heartstrings.
She won't love another
she won't cut your words
from her walls; instead let their meanings
sink into the paint
drain into her lungs, quaint
little breaths of love
as the morning consumes
our worst fears
in the gentle blush of snow
under the combination of
the sickly aurora,
the golden lamplight
oh, what a sight
for blind lovers.
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 29 23
Literature
midnight aches and inside strangers
every night
I wake up to strangers
in bed-
the oaths
kept in the
depths of my
stomach,
live metaphors
of the fears
tucked underneath
these sheets
the dearest dreams
dead.    
 
these are the cups
of warmth
searching for
a heaven
in my sorrows
a chest
cradled
in the riverbed
of a throat
choking in
tears.
fingers
plucking thorns
from the vine garden
that is
my neck.
They are the ones
stirring
waking
quaking
in my blood
at night
the magnitude
shuddering my bones
without rest
There's no fright.
only a contortionist
folding and unfolding
in my chest
while the moon
hangs,
my sky's pendant,
and just listens.
:iconbrokengod--veins:brokengod--veins
:iconbrokengod--veins:brokengod--veins 25 18
Literature
Haku from Chihiro
The grass fields were as delicate as the spring wind that kept me close to these flightless wings in this wide, open space. Dusts of you lay bare on this mountain, in the air breathing out rain and sun, in dirt and rivers running through this cup of earth you once called home. Every wildflower popping out of this brown shell bent toward the bank where you used to swim, your hands reaching out to some fish or some lost pebble smooth as your skin.
It was a cry for birds, your laughter. How it rolls and tumbles like their nests when the air kisses every dancing tree with a passion. You rarely did laugh, much less smile, and I look for it in every second. I look for you the moment I wake up at dawn when the world is still half-asleep--in the gentle aching sky hoping you were just some lost cloud out of touch. In every sip of tea, in every bite of breakfast. I always keep the window open.
You were in every flower petal, every moon drum beating against the fever of the night. So graceful yet
:iconbrokengod--veins:brokengod--veins
:iconbrokengod--veins:brokengod--veins 9 11
Literature
Monna Lisa
Among all the things
you don't know
I especially like
how you drink my smile,
as if it were real.
----------------------
Di tutte le cose 
che non sai
mi piace soprattutto
il modo in cui bevi il mio sorriso,
come se fosse reale.
:iconAlwaysRainCheck:AlwaysRainCheck
:iconalwaysraincheck:AlwaysRainCheck 11 24
Literature
Summer solstice
Venetian blinds slightly open,
sun stirs my coffee and your dreams;
again I'm reckless with sugar and meaning -
             a door gets shut
             someone's leaving
:iconAlwaysRainCheck:AlwaysRainCheck
:iconalwaysraincheck:AlwaysRainCheck 21 40
Literature
Theory of Chaos
There is
a quantum of cruelty
in the way your feet
touch the ground,
not wanting to be heard
even though I asked
to please wake me up,
to please let me know
if you are leaving.
There is
a quantum of cruelty
in the way your lips
pronounce a new name
where mine once belonged
even though I'd hoped
a broken heart
would not break
another.
I feel
a quantum of anger
when I try to believe
you never intended
to cut so deep
even though I knew
if you were a butterfly
I could only be waiting
for the hurricane.
You will see
a quantum of sorrow
in the fire pit of my iris,
when you’ll dare to look closer
at your wonderful disaster
even though I’m watching you
walking away with my smile,
I cannot bring myself to say
goodbye.
:iconAlwaysRainCheck:AlwaysRainCheck
:iconalwaysraincheck:AlwaysRainCheck 37 52
Literature
Ta voix
(English version below)
Au loin, ta silhouette s'efface de plus en plus sur l'ardoise de ma mémoire. Comme soufflée par le vent assassin, dans un nuage de craie. 
Des années passent et le temps, ce bourreau, fait gentiment son office. De quelle couleur étaient tes yeux, tes cheveux, tes joues ? Je m'en vais présenter mes respects à toi, mon ami que j'ai oublié et dont seule la voix reste encore.
Perdue sur cette allée que je redoute, j'ébrèche chaque chêne comme pour partager ma souffrance. Tremblante de chagrin, chutant à chaque pas ; j'appréhende comme toujours ce funeste face-à-face. Ma poitrine se déchire sous les coups de l'Angoisse, impériale et immuable. Et parmi les corbeaux hauts perchés, je rampe péniblement jusqu'à toi, là où ta voix me guidera. 
...Le silence sourd émanant de ta tombe est le seul son qui parvient
:iconWhitePlumFragrance:WhitePlumFragrance
:iconwhiteplumfragrance:WhitePlumFragrance 51 76
Literature
Nothing else mattered
(French version below)

It is said that the most beautiful stories are born and die into dreams -
Ours could have been born in the shade of a moonset, lighted by a firefly sky, 
On a sea so calm that you could hear it beat and feel its warmth;
And I would have braved storms to hoist the sail of our history,
Braved the streams 
bruised by our grieves, wrecked every reefs scented
Of the sweet aroma of temptation.
We got lost forever in the forest of oblivion
Where the leftover of our promises rot on the ground littered with corpses,
Where the roots of our world still strive to belt out,
Where desperate 
leaves attempt to overcome Autumn's scythe -
The only oxygen these trees breathe out is the fragrance of our wandering souls.

Rien d'autre ne comptait 

On dit que les plus belles histoires naissent et meurent dans les rêves -
La nôtre aurait pu naître à l
:iconWhitePlumFragrance:WhitePlumFragrance
:iconwhiteplumfragrance:WhitePlumFragrance 53 78
Over the course of time that I have been here on dA, I've noticed that there is a trend either to write words which are fanciful as fuck with as little meaning as a dump in the loo, or the work itself tends to be so juvenile that I find it pointless to even bother.

This collection, though, is different. The words are pretty, but if you gloss through them then their meaning is lost. In a way, they're not the most exceptional or phenomenal works you can find here on dA, but they are well written because of how they are structured or how they carry themselves. There is a semblance of personal involvement in them, which may resonate with other readers.

With me... they're works I revert to, when I wish to read a work which is not insightful, but just fluidly presented. These poems, are fluidly presented.

Random from NotenSMSK

Literature
Promise off a million stars
"A million..."

"Yes a million stars... perhaps there are more. You know what they remind me of?"


"What...?"


"Your birthday..."


"What of it...?"


"You know, I shall give you a million present-"


"Oh stop it!" She giggled "There is no way-"


"What if... I do?"


"Hmm... well I won't like that"


"Huh? Why not?"


"You see, if you give me a million presents together, there won't be anything to give on my next birthday. So give them slowly..."


"Like...?"


"Hmm... just one big present every birthday?"


She giggled again and traced the ground with her little fingers while
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 16 34
Literature
Dear Teen me
17th November 2012
Dear Teen SMSK,
How are you… ah, but I know the answer already. "Fine, I guess" wasn't it? You never strayed from those three words as a retort and you taught me so as well. I know you don't have time to read a letter. You have important ventures to take care of and while I don't deny them being important, just take a moment to read through, since I know that later on, you shall have all the time and though, being who we are, you shall say "I don't regret it", I can guarantee this letter shall nudge your curiosity till eternity. You are young, you will have far more important ventures.
You probably weren't expecting me to write to you, but now that you have received this letter and realized who it is from, you must be brimming with anticipation over the eloquence you might witness. Old habits still force me into verbose literature but time forced it to settle on a borderline so don't expect much from me. You probably are still in that effusive stage.
You know, your t
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 8 34
Literature
Rotting Within
My hand reaches my lips as they part, salivating at the rotting taste that is to meet my taste buds. My scarred and chipped teeth dig into the soggy surface, the swollen gums straining under the light pressure as I take a desperate bite out of the revolting flesh.
As I pull my hand away and chew away at the poisonous fruit, I see blood marking the indentation made by my teeth. Alas my gums had started rotting alongside my whole being.
I licked the blood, tasting a familiar tang as I turned the rotting apple sideways to clean it of the crimson marking.
It was a strange satiation; it was addiction that forced me to go after this rancid and disgusting thing. Knowing well enough the sickness that was slowly strengthening its roots within my veins and the origin of this condition, I was unable to pull away from it.
What a funny dilemma? Who knows, there might be crawling worms exploring the decaying fruit and fungus would be a necessary part as well. But I am not one to care. All that matte
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 11 27
Literature
The lily in the lake
There was grief in the air. The old mansion resonated with whimpers and cries. The staircase shook while the railing rattled. Floorboards groaned while the doorways moaned in agony. But alas it was the fate of those who lived in the house. And this fate had been determined years ago…
In the main living room, a young couple collapsed on the marble floor, tears flooding their eyes, as they grasped tightly onto a picture of a little blonde girl wearing thick glasses and smiling widely, showing off her braces. People around them tried to lighten their whimpers but it was in vain.
The sky cried that day. It too was sorrowful.
It was due to the shock of a tragedy like this occurring. No one knew what had happened. Perhaps, had anyone noticed a small Diary lying near the lake that was situated behind the old construction, they might have known.
It just lay there. The rain had bled the ink that recorded the small scribbles of an eight year old girl.
Yet if one could read what was last w
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 23 85
Literature
True Silence
Nature is a name enshrouded in mystery. Some say it possesses a unique mind of its own and devises plans humans would be incapable of doing. It has secrets that are beyond comprehension of mortals. Yet at times, nature allows such secrets to be unveiled by a select few humans. One of such secrets is True Silence.
Silence
It was a still night – too still in fact. The overgrown pine trees lining the driveway rustled not the slightest, looming over, resembling silent guardians. The eerie northern winds along with its wailing notes had settled as dust in perforated holes behind door frames remained untouched. The wilderness too hushed as bats fled the area and grasshoppers and crickets bounded off, reclining from the aura that surrounded that house. If preciseness be employed then; that house on that very night.
While nature prepared its festivities for the next few moments, a girl lay under covers of a comfortable double bed, slowly noticing all familiar sounds around her dimi
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 16 40
Literature
I wanted to make friends
The psychiatrist held the door as a hesitant child of age eight walked in and sat on the small stool. The psychiatrist sat opposite to him.
"Hello George, I am Dr. Majid. How are you doing?"
"I am sad Doctor No one plays with me and I am always alone at school."
"I am sure it will be fine after some days. So George, do you know why I have called you here?"
"No… I don't know"
"Well then George you know about Shelly? You know what happened to her?"
"Yes Doctor I know. Why?"
"I want to know what happened when you last saw Shelly. Everything okay George? This is very important"
"Okay Dr…"
"Can you please tell me what happened?"
"Well… Shelly never talked to me Doctor No boy or girl talked to me."
"I am sorry to hear that George. It is very tough to go to school like that. Now what happened at school?"
"A few days after school started again, I took some thing from Shelly. I took Shelly's Barbie pencil case."
"Did you ask her first?"
"No I didn't"
"That is stealing George; whe
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 27 94
Literature
The dot on the cliff top
He walked through the soft mushy sand that clung to his feet not wanting to let go. Life was unfair. No, life was unfair to him. Why was he the only one in the hospital that day that was born without an arm? Why was he the only one with this curse?
His toe bumped into a stone lying idle on the beach and he winced, grinding his teeth, wanting to hit the stone back but knowing it was to give him little satisfaction. He stared to his right where the tall rough edged crests of the Tojinbo Cliffs stuck from the ground up, casting a shadow over the small stretch of a partially sandy beach that was available to him.
As he approached the cliff, wanting to divert his anger from the lone stone to the rising mount, he saw an ant. Having a poor interest in zoology, he was unable to recognize it. Whether it was a field ant or army ant; all he noticed was that the insect was big. It climbed the vertical cliff side and he scoffed; what is an ant to do at a beach? He swatted at the ant with his availa
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 12 30
Literature
Padlock tower: the letter
He sat in a position that few would call comfortable. The chains confining him gave him restricted access to the battered table – woodlice scuttling hurriedly through the crevices – while the chair itself was pitiful. With one leg missing and the remaining three squeaking under his frail being, one could hardly call his sitting as comfortable.
Yet it was the least of bothers for him; he gazed outside, admiring the silhouette the line of trees at the mountain pinnacle formed with the sun behind them. The sky was cloudy with many a pretty clump noticeable at frequent places. He smiled at the lightest flicker of gold as the leaves swayed with the wind and each shape a cloud would acquire. He had written about these exhibitions of nature frequently but at the moment he was busy with another work.
He looked down and again picked up his quill, scratching out the last word:
"…know it has been years. Too many to scratch out on the walls that surround me. I recall yet the days
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 8 30
Literature
Nothing you could do
"There is nothing you could do about it". That was something that always made me cry when I recalled it for the last few years.
I had heard it since I was a little boy wearing shorts running around in school. One day during our dodge ball practice my friends accidentally hit a girl sitting alone on a bench. It bruised her arm.While the other boys continued playing with no concern, I approached her, sitting nervously at the other end of the bench.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She rubbed her arm a few times where the ball had hit her and then withholding tears she gave a weak smile "Its ok, the pain cannot be lessened. There is nothing you can do about it"
I handed her my lunch.
Since then we sat together and ate our lunch. She was a sweet girl, always optimistic and had a keen interest in the philosophy of reasoning. Being a small child I noticed this, years later.
Years later when it was raining and we both ran, covering our heads with the heavy medical books our college had
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 15 49
Literature
Immortality
He sat in his tower that overlooked both his castle and the plains far ahead. He had seen them drenched with blood many a time for years had passed since he had taken the seat as Baron; he had lost count after a century or so had passed. Yet he sat there, fresh in youth and sound in health as if time had yet to bare its fangs against him. He looked around. There were objects surrounding him that were as old as he was. Staring at them he felt a shard pierce his heart for the first time in years and he gazed outside the window.
His servant Biliuth entered the dark chambers where he saw his master seated in his usual seat next to the great blade that descended through generations. Then again for his master a couple of centuries meant little. What made the sword to be savored by an immortal was the man who last wielded it, the only worthy adversary to the baron in his entire existence, Sir Guordon Fort.
Biliuth approached, placing the tray on the small table that was situated under the lef
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 21 44
Literature
The Rejected Orange
He picked up the fruit basket from the table with a lot more force than required. That was due to the third rejection he had had in the last week in a particular department. After each rejection they had picked a person inferior to him in skills.
He placed the basket down on the mattress as the fruits shuffled a little. He scanned through the oranges that the basket contained and picked up a plump one, with a smooth texture and a satiating aroma. Yet as he turned it over for further inspection he saw a hole which a stem from another orange probably made. From that area, it was slightly rotten. He instantly put it down searching for another orange.
He wondered what his flaw was; he was intelligent, kind when talking to people, had an enormous amount of patience, determined, hardworking; there was little he felt he was prominently lacking. True he had a problem dealing with new people but that was it... well other than him being obese.
He picked up another orange finding it comparatively
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 13 34
Literature
Toffees and Juices
It was a sunny day. The traffic comprised of a usual composition; a man with statistics on his mind might further support this observation. Though the traffic ran smooth and undisturbed, there was one particular junction where it condensed. Here the heat and blaze from the cars seemed atypical as the engines hummed silently for the traffic signal to open.
For many at the busy junction it was a lucky day for examination results were due. For others it was rather unlucky for very different reasons. Indeed some could blame their bad luck on a fairly dusty batch of stale toffees and expired juices.
Just as typical as it was for a certain number of blue colored vehicles to standby the signal, it was typical for beggars – children and elderly alike – to rush upon the waiting cars. Some exposed their disfigured hunches and burns to gain sympathy while other carried some cheap merchandise they would either steal or win over in a gamble. Among such beggars were two brothers around the
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 6 14
Literature
Romanticizing
She approached him as he sat on the bed. Her knee pushed into the plush foam, sagged due to the abuse of over use. Her digits entwined as her elbows rested on his shoulders. The pressure sunk him into the doughy mattress.
“Romanticizing are we?”
His lips were parted; his eyes stared blankly at the cold wall. It was a cold blank wall, no paint ever applied to peel away, no picture ever hung to be taken off. It took a moment for his lips to connect, for him to clear his throat and mind, and reply.
“Not really… just wondering about the possibilities of where we could be…”
Her arms slid forward as her hands pressed gently into his chest, feeling each heave, each tingle that his body had to offer. However there wasn’t much to offer. He was calm, composed; his breaths left her hands to satisfy themselves with the bare minimum. But bare minimum was what they had always had.
“Isn’t that what we call romanticizing?” She chuckled as now
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 15 66
Literature
Another hot day
Stirring from within, he felt the calloused arm sizzle further in the rays that crisped up the ground besides him. It was as if among the roars of the passing wind, and the distant, indistinguishable screeches and screams the ground too was blistering, was churning up and disintegrating, calling out for someone to shade it.
“Not today you don’t…” the man replied through gasping breaths, replying to the sand that shifted with the wind, letting fresher layers unearth. He chuckled at the irony and looked around for any sort of shade. The trench he was huddled in was of no use in the matter – or at least at that specific time. The sun was right on top, over head, setting its fiery gaze upon the scene. It was a witness to what was to happen and it was also a beacon to allow the events to occur.
However the man was in no mood to appreciate the sun’s intentions or even to judge them. If he were to judge them, he would deem the sun a cruel creation of God, b
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 10 21
Literature
Tears of a Happy Ending
It was a happy ending,
yet happy it was not.
Inscribed through heartless and decayed
processions of horrid crusades,
like tales of love and truth betrayed;
it holds no happy thought.
What of the happy ending
the poet himself despised?
With saccharine expressions brewed -
such vivid tales of love accrued,
what breathless literature construed,
riddled in mocking lies.
What mournful happy ending
though cherished it may seem
that serves a purpose solely vile;
constructs by one all through defiled,
such deeds that led him to exile
conjuring wicked schemes.
It was a happy ending
one written oh so well.
Yet dreams it has that still remain
like uncorked bottles of champagne
ensnared by manacles and chains
imprisoned and impelled.
What dreams oh happy ending
what fantasies you hold?
What myriad blossoms of yours
what wishes that so wish to soar
what roses that you so adore
are withering in the cold?
Your wish oh happy ending
as it appears to me
is of a grasp that grasps at him
that cracks that
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 26 66
NotenSMSK is someone who has been around on dA for as long as I have, and his poems and prose are interesting to read - enlightening, have a clearly defined narrative, and are always able to provide new streams of thought in terms of stories or narratives.

An invaluable addition to my collection and to my fascination with writing.

Note: dA is incomplete if you have never read NotenSMSK. Everyone else around on this site is merely a snowflake :P *bring forth the trolls*

Random from Are good in the first read at least

Literature
Chapter I (Poem I)
From: Question (whether the Devil can tempt the lust of another by appearing in the shape of a beautiful woman)
Chapter 1 (the method by which a sorceress initiates the act of sorcery)
She read from a book
with fingered edges.
Each word peeled from her soul,
unwound in my ears like rope,
tightened around my heart
and pulled it up towards my throat.
It was a darkness I wanted to share,
so I said
‘show me’,
and she lit the candle.

:iconKellzWrites:KellzWrites
:iconkellzwrites:KellzWrites 12 6
Literature
One fine Samosa
One should definitely try a samosa. Its crunchy outer shell breaking against your teeth to let the flavors strike… however don’t buy just anything that is sold off the curb in the middle of the busy market for the people sitting around in semicircular (certainly unstable) benches, sipping tea and enjoying the samosa while watching the news are not sitting there because of the savory appetizer. It is because they don’t have much else to do. So unless those are the ranks one would like to join, I would recommend avoiding the temptation of eating just any samosa and beg it be treated more like Sushi – in the image that eating poorly made Sushi might make one cringe forever from a delicacy that – despite it being a delicacy – might have been appreciated more.
However not much to do while still sipping tea and enjoying a samosa has a certain appeal as well. It is then the conflict of these two distinctly tempting possibilities that has to be resolved befo
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 5 21
Literature
A Perfect Gentleman
It wasn't anything I thought would be
The first time that we met
When Spring caressed the blooms & budding tree,
When I felt so alive, and yet
The way it was as he came down the street,
I held my beating breath,
The jacaranda petals 'neath my feet
Foretold a distant time, of death.
'Twas when he stepped before me, it was plain.
He took me by surprise,
But not just with a waist coat, gloves & cane;
Was that a smile behind those eyes?
A subtle manner equal to its bliss
That took my hand in flight.
His lips, to bow, to meet it with a kiss
And sudden brought the callous night.
Who's whispers of his voice became a roar
Within my startled head,
That dominated ev'rywhere it tore;
'Twas like the devil, from the dead.
And deepest depths he took me 'low my will,
To breach my ev'ry ban
That woke me where I endless slept, and still
He was a perfect gentleman.
:iconJade-Pandora:Jade-Pandora
:iconjade-pandora:Jade-Pandora 7 8
Literature
But We Can Brighten Tomorrow
A candleflame flickers in the darkness,
so small, and dim, and warmthless.
Today’s faint glimmer is lost and dying out;
There’s only darkness tomorrow.
 
    I still believe in yesterday’s values,
    I still believe in heroes of old,
    but those are passed, their power is all gone;
    Their light can’t brighten tomorrow.
 
A wounded heart lies broken in the darkness,
alone, afraid, unheeded.
The cruel, cold shadows are pressing all around
a dark, forsaken tomorrow.
 
    I still believe in yesterday’s values,
    I still believe in heroes of old,
    but they can’t change the heartbreaks of today;
    Their light can’t brighten tomorrow.
     
A lonely child is weeping in the darkness,
feebly moaning in grief and loss.
No one knows about the te
:iconFeanor-the-Dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon
:iconfeanor-the-dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon 1 1
Literature
Das Wolfstier
Der starke Wolf
denkt an seine Wölfin,
die fort ist, in weiter Ferne
Ach, was ist er traurig!
Wäre bei ihr, so gerne..
Und weiterhin wird sie warten,
und blickt sehnsüchtig in den Garten
In dem einst das Wolfstier stand,
mit dem sie sich im Innersten
auf Ewigkeit verband.
Und sie trägt ihr Sehnen hinaus in die Welt
bis der Wolf sich wieder zu ihr gesellt.
Doch bald hat das Warten ein Ende
Sein Leben nimmt nun eine Wende,
wenn er dem Ruf seiner Partnerin folgt
Und er mit Stolz an ihrer Seite steht
Sodass sein Sehnen, sein Leid, vergeht
Doch mein lieber Wolf
Sei darauf bedacht:
Gib auf deine Wölfin stetig Acht!
Sonst wird sie dir entflieh'n!
Denn bevor du ihr nicht beweist,
dass du nicht bellst, sondern beißt,
Wird sie sich dir vielleicht entziehen.
Und trotz allem Leid,
welches er ihr angetan',
begibt er sich auf seine letzte Reise.
Und seine Wiederkehr
Wird zur Neugeburt.
:iconcyriademonia:cyriademonia
:iconcyriademonia:cyriademonia 43 2
Literature
osmosis
osmosis
October 17, 2016
i'm     f
              a
                    l
                          l
                                i
                                       n
                                               g
                                                     d
                             
:iconcholie:cholie
:iconcholie:cholie 9 15
Literature
Dreams of Clay
Oh, would that my dreams were made of clay,
I'd sculpt them to suit my waking hours.
With Pygmalion's hands, I'd build my Galatea
And watch her come to life.
Let me clutch thee...I hold thee not!
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade 51 51
Literature
Stardust: Gone and Forgotten
I am but a child of light, lost in nebulous skies.
where all elders float graciously
and cold stars are but a memory.
We implode, explode, ripple outwards…
Leaving nothing in our wake, except some stardust to remember us by.
Are we forsaken?
Victims of a cruel joke played out by fate…
 
I cannot tell nor fathom the depths of the human heart,
For we are complex beings under constant development.
I cannot hear nor feel the murmurs of your soul.

Do we even have one?
 
We are the cold starry night,
The faithful guide whom would both set and rise.
We are the flaming suns, lonely desolate stars.
:iconPuzzledHeartBox:PuzzledHeartBox
:iconpuzzledheartbox:PuzzledHeartBox 11 11
Literature
grow, growing, growth
it's beautiful to witness dispassion
when the dreams
drift
silently away from the body like a secret.
it's as if the moment meant to give my life surrender
guises as an average day with me
washing the dishes
sipping on coffee
ready for small reflections
how did it ended up like this?
'i'm not the kindred spirit
i once was. but no matter.
i'm late by 30 minutes
& life's moving without
me.'
ten years ago, i dreamed of writing short stories Time might consider having.
now i'm just running out of time and stories altogether.
worrying about how i'll make it
now considers small, grave details like
time management
and skills
and resumes
and
listen to me babble
like my 14-year-old self.
no wonder.
no wonder peter pan
never wanted to grow up.
it was never the matter
of never having fun
it was overthinking
about what was ahead
if i was gonna have fun
following my heart
& wake up with an empty
stomach
is a fear any parent
never wants for a child
but mine is when i take
a look at my
:iconbrokengod--veins:brokengod--veins
:iconbrokengod--veins:brokengod--veins 10 5
Literature
contrary [e]motion
Every once in a while
the mountain winds
taste of salt,
so much that I could
cup my hands
like shells
and picture white waters
marvel at oak roots
for the first time,
hear the seagulls
cry for food
let’s build a castle
you and I,
made of stardust,
down the street
where the last wish
went to die,
let’s make boats
of these empty pages,
and flowers,
and hats
to call our crowns.
Let’s dance alone
you and I,
to the sharp
light melody
of a moon
and let’s stay,
oh let’s stay,
grow old
you and I,
in the place
where the roses lay.
Imagination
keeps the earth still
beneath my feet
but the clouds above
bring your name
on paper wings,
your words
the sweetest thunder,
your memory
the brightest rain.
In my heart
is a web of riverbeds
carved by your absence,
falls growing upwards
into an archway
across the bloodstone sky -
impossible,
and so wrong, so strange
so beautiful, like sea salt
in the mountain air;
it only hurts
when I breathe
Ah forgive these dreamer-lungs,
thi
:iconAlwaysRainCheck:AlwaysRainCheck
:iconalwaysraincheck:AlwaysRainCheck 44 40
Literature
The boy with the devilish grin
The boy with the devilish grin
Never knew what was his sin
His parents forced him to put on a mask
To hide what was in their eyes something grotesque
At school he had no friends to play
Not one ever showed up for his birthday
In people he saw only fear and fright
Whenever he smiled people ran out of sight
His cheeks stretched from one ear to the other
Resembling something like Satan's little brother
And although he always had reason for crying
He never stopped grinning and smiling
A gentle soul that never meant any harm
He just didn't get lucky with the natural charm
Living was apparently his biggest sin
Although he never asked to be born looking like him
The boy with the devilish grin
People never bothered to look within
:iconMatoWayesj:MatoWayesj
:iconmatowayesj:MatoWayesj 8 5
Literature
01 - Binsengericht
Verlangt ein Mörder Blumen, gib ihm keine
Der Strand verliert den Sand vom Land ans Meer
Mitunter wachsen kleinen Steinen Beine
Und irgendwann ist jedes Ufer leer
Der Mond deckt still und leis die dunkle Szene
Ein Tuch aus Samt und Steinchen so wie Tuff
Der alte Mann lehnt an des Stuhles Lehne
Aus seinem Rock und seinem Haus dringt Muff
Von Zeit zu Zeit kocht meine Mutter Klöße
Mit Mehl gemacht und mit Kartoffelbrei
Ein jeder Kloß hat eine and're Größe
Doch nicht ein Kloß hat Hufe und Geweih
Ein kleiner Mann springt nackig von der Kuppe
Der federlos'te Vogel ist die Schnuppe
:iconsUmkIndAmOnstEr:sUmkIndAmOnstEr
:iconsumkindamonster:sUmkIndAmOnstEr 2 1
Literature
Carnival
When I was a senior in college, one day of my Christmas break was not like the others. That day, I sat at the kitchen table with my father and gathered the courage to ask, "What was she like, my mother?"
A spark lit in his gray eyes as he slowly set down his newspaper. "Your mother, huh?" He thought about it for a while, and the spark grew into a flame. "When I looked into her eyes, well ..." He paused, staring off into space. "I saw the sky," he said softly. Then he looked right at me. "She lived like she'd just won the world at a carnival. She held everything by a string and spun the stars on her fingernails, but it never made her happy. No one could ever say no to her, you know?" Taking a sip of coffee, he added, "Every no meant yes and every yes meant now. That's what I loved and hated most about her."
I sat in silence trying to bring such a woman to life in my mind, and he finished his coffee recalling what I could only imagine. "She sounds like quite a free spirit," I finally sai
:iconilluminara:illuminara
:iconilluminara:illuminara 7 12
Literature
fraudian (slips, landslides, baby steps)
prologue.
i meet naked eyes in the mirror.
don't look down, don't look down.
sometimes it feels as if the weight i carry
sits in layers, memories that unravel
as my gaze glances.
slide eyes downward, 
take the plunge.
i. wishful innocence
twelve years old, 5'4", 
60 kilos of never-thought-about-weight
and mother speaks to my bikini-clad body;
"why don't we go on a diet together?
just a couple kilos off, 
and we'll be perfect."
mum's been dieting since forever,
you name it, she's done it. 
she's 56 kilos, 5'3", 
and it's never enough. 
this is the first time 
she's tried to pull me into her world, 
but it will not be the last.
ii. between worlds
at thirteen my face lives blemished 
and i wear my curls in a scraped back bun 
because the uncontrollable frizz
embarrasses me.
i compare myself to my classmates,
straighten my hair and learn
to hold my stomach in;
thinner than one,
but not another.
i don't l
:iconLissomer:Lissomer
:iconlissomer:Lissomer 40 24
These works managed to catch my attention from the first read, although I might revisit them a second time one of these days. :)

Random from best I've read here on dA

Literature
Mark and Jenny
Jenny and I sat down at a table in the corner of a café. We'd only met earlier today, but it seemed as though time had stood still for us as we walked through London. Tonight, all the bright lights of the city blurred together like an oil painting, as did the details of our life. The only thing I could think of now was the person sitting in front of me. Completely, and utterly, lost in the moment.
We both ordered a cup of coffee. Jen stared at me like she was plotting something, and I saw a smile slowly creep out from the side of her mouth. “What?” I asked.
“It's nothing. I just thought of a game we could play” She replied.
“If it's strip poker then I'm not playing” That made her chuckle.
“No you pervert, it’s not strip poker”
“You sure?”
"Of course I'm sure"
“Hmm I don't know. I'm not too convinced. Besides - you had that look in your eye”
“What look?”
“Like somebody who wanted to play
:iconshadowrunguy:shadowrunguy
:iconshadowrunguy:shadowrunguy 2 5
Literature
The Beautiful Dreamer
You will never know how I envy you, Morpheus
For you are the only being that can understand what this beautiful sleeper thinks of
As she lays on that white sea, eyes shut to the world. 
What I wouldn't give to be at peace with her in her realm of dreams
To see her smile oft hidden in her waking life
Under her armour as impenetrable as it is invisible.
Answer me, O beautiful dreamer
Is the world so cruel that you cannot confide in me
The secrets of your timorous heart? 
Perhaps one day, I will be worthy of your consideration
And you will know me for real
Until then, your somnolent smile will suffice.
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade 29 39
Literature
Dirge of the Swan
In a land long forgotten by history books, a lonely nomad roamed mountains and forests, driven away from his home long ago by the cruel hand of fate. He travelled through towns, sleeping under bridges and in barbicans, for he had been driven penniless and was mistreated by the people of his town. The cruelty of those he called his fellows tore away at his generosity and amiable nature until it was as tattered as the rags he wore, his fragile armour against the winds and rain. Before long, he had lost all heart and faith in the towns and cities of men and went along his way.
The forests of the island he wandered were kinder to him. The towering oak and pine trees gave him firewood to burn and fruits to eat. The animals of the forest kept a respectful distance from him and never taunted him for his unshaven face or his tattered clothes. He was never pitied by them and he never had to dance for his food or humiliate himself for a few copper pennies. The warbling of the birds in their bran
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade 16 28
Mature content
The Swan Song :iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade 10 17
Mature content
The Queen of Nightmares :iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade 13 51
Mature content
The Marquise :iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade 23 34
I've been here on dA for about 5 years now (including this year), but these works, definitely deserve to be read at least once. Me? I read them countless times just because they really are that damn good. Worth noticing and worth every minute they come my way.

Friends

Watchers

DDs and DLDs/DLRs

I've been here on dA for 6 years now, and it has been an interesting six years. I admit I used to be more consistent back when I started, but I'm still working my way around that.

So, what have I got to show?

Hozan (Sadness)حزن (Hozàn)
In the name of thee, all-enshrouding fog,
In whose presence a hue of regret pour out their transient accord, as if hoping to awaken to a calling that is known only by your mind's eye. That emotional contrast which is felt - and upon a sudden blink, with no moment given to comprehend it - is in itself a reverie yearning to be heard... of course, with caution exercised diligently. It is difficult to consider one's soul to be free from melancholia - not unless one is a ghost, which is the case with all of us.
Maiden, whose smile is a dream that has been carved by the Almighty... how often, I wonder, have I thought about the closure you provided me whenever I would think about that fine silhouette that was your smile, my dear. It is like snowflakes perched upon winter leaves - tender, gentle, fragile, and a pleasure for the eyes. Melancholia, my dear - all it takes is your smile to start this process, where hues of regret pour out their transient accord
- Awarded DD April 20 2017

I first wrote this piece back in 2014. Most of how it was written is described in the work itself, but the why can best be described as... well... its literature. Lets just say, I was in the moment, and this work transpired.

MSC #6 - PushkinIn the desert grew the flower's decree,
For the Lord had ordained its fate to grow;
Never could I have had dreams come to me,
That the bloom of spring was calming to know;
I have never seen a desert rejoice,
But here I was now left to make a choice:
To be a part of this celebration,
Or step aside in my dedication
To observe nature's ways from a distance.
Be neutral and not take part in wrong ways,
For what had led to coming of dark days
Was Mankind's crime: It sought in repentance
That the desert flower which will blossom,
Shall live long enough to see kind autumn
- :icondailylitrecognition: Daily Lit Recognition for May 7th, 2014Daily Lit Recognition for May 7th, 2014
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Recognition!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.
Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!
Poetry
Suggested by: justayne
Featured by: ladyshadowrage 

Bitter Revenge by justayne
Suggester said- I think that the main reason why 
I want to be featured is that I'm still quite a new poet 
and I want for more people to see my pieces 
and help me grow as a writer.
Featured by: AyeAye12

MSC #6 - Pushkin by shehrozeameen
An exceptionally crafted (underrated form of) 
sonnet. Filled with vibrant language, it carries 
a particularly


MSC (May Sonnet Challenge 2014) #6 - Pushkin. I actually love this work. I didn't think much about sonnets until I took up this challenge. While writing consistently and on a schedule can be very tiring on the mind, you get some moments of pure brilliance at times. This was one of them.

In case you plan on taking up a fixed form of poetry, do give this sonnet form a look. Its actually quite fun. :)

Mature Content

- :icondailylitdeviations: Daily Literature Deviations for January 23rd, 2014Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings
Daily Lit Deviations for January 23rd, 2014
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!
:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
of your


This was amongst my earliest works which I had written here on dA. Yeah, back in the day when Sta.sh was still a fresh new thing, and we had funny symbols before our usernames. It was also before mentions became a fad here.

With that said, I actually recommend reading this work of mine, should you plan on checking out my prose pieces. Its long, granted, but like "Hozán (Sadness)", it was written when in the moment. And unlike my other works, its the only prose piece I have with some recognition.

Gather the Roses, my Love, And Fly AwayGather the Roses, my Love, And Fly Away
I hope to awaken in autumn one day
And find myself alone, like these withered leaves
Gather the roses, my love, and fly away
Fate came, and tore us - thus were we set astray
Too late were we, for this weight that would not leave
I hope to awaken in autumn one day
The waves of the sea, their tides striking the bay
An undefined weight, a hard burden they heave
Gather the roses, my love, and fly away
This soul is lost, its cries led by the wind's sway
A heart taken, its pieces lost from each cleave
I hope to awaken in autumn one day
Markings left show life, as you would always say
The sea which cared for me, a friend who would grieve
Gather the roses, my love, and fly away
I waited by the sea, here is my last stay
I make my last wish, by the end of the eve
I hope to awaken in autumn one day
Gather the roses, my love, and fly away
- Awarded DD 9 October 2013

Interestingly enough, I wrote this after failing at writing a good villanelle. I'd consider this my second attempt at a villanelle, and reading it now... there are some portions which have forced rhymes, and while it may have consistent syllable count, its still not "metric" in a traditional sense.

deviantID

shehrozeameen
Shehroze Ameen
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Germany
Interests
Hey everybody :) and welcome to another feature from yours truly. And this time, we're having something:



Because, as the title suggests, this is going to be a feature for foreign language poems and prose, as well as new stuff I found here on dA, in no particular order. So yeah, lets begin. I'll start off with the foreign language works first.



This is a French work, which I was recommended by :iconbattlefairies: in one of the comments on my journal. I'm not particularly... actually, no, I'm not fluent in French, at all. :shrug: But the reason why I shared it here is because I actually found it engaging, especially the "laisser la Fraaaaance aux François de Francie" part... I just read everything after that point because it just felt so funny. It is an engaging prose piece, though. And I highly recommend giving it a look in case you have an understanding of the language.

Also, on the same note:



A French poem. Its dark, its fascinating, its definitely by someone I know personally, and overall its actually another recommendation from me to people who are native speakers of French, or want variety in their French deviations.

Next up:



An Italian poem. I like this one especially because of how it handles the concept of "being insignificant". Its not emo - instead its considering what we take lightly, or do not pay much heed, and then contextualizes it into what it feels like to be insignificant. I especially like the use of the refrain in this poem. Even if you're not a native speaker of Italian, I recommend it. Its well written.

Also it has a translation included for those who still want to give it a read anyway.



A Spanish poem. And like "Insignificante" it also has an English translation as well. I like it mostly because, like "Insignificant", its straightforward, and it doesn't go all droopy about its themes. Its also a short poem and that works in its favour. Its well written, and its got a fair point about how love actually stands to be honest.

And now, my favourite part... the German section.



Obwohl diese Schriftstellerin nicht so aktiv auf dA ist, aber fand ich es gut zu schrieben. Besonders durch Wolfstier ist es ganz interessant zu kapieren, ein Verständnis über Treue zu haben. So habe ich es hier gelegt.



This one actually has an English translation as well, but honestly you're missing out on a lot of fun if you read it in English first and then go to the German version. I don't know about anyone else, but I found the story far more interesting than the sexual aspects in it (one word: Tentacles). I especially liked the character of the Prince - of the three characters we see in this work, the Prince was in my opinion the most fleshed out. At the same time, some of his mystery actually gave him less of a dominant, abusive tendency (as modern writers, especially that cock sucking shitfaced dick head E L James are wont to do), but instead is actually very poker-faced in his approach. He doesn't play all his cards, rather he gauges the princess before he takes action. He isn't (at least in my reading) even interested in the social status he gains from his interactions with the princess, and shows a significant amount of loyalty to her. Which actually works in this case. In case anybody is interested in a good, well described, and well written work that has a consistent beginning, middle and end, I recommend giving this work a read. Whether in English or German is your choice really. I preferred it in German.



Its from the same writer, but there's a reason why I featured her twice. In case people just want an innocent, but still insightful and well thought out, poem, then I recommend giving this a read. The way it describes the worm, and how it considers its own fortune in the context of the apple, is well thought out and - in my opinion - something which poets in general could actually learn from. Its a well written poem, and for what its worth I'm featuring it here so... give it a look. Its straightforward, and I'm fairly certain that if you have a prior knowledge of Dutch or French or Spanish or Italian... or all of them combined for that matter... you can get the gist of what is being said here. :)

Now... and now for something completely different.



A work in English... and honestly, this deserves more comments and :+fav:s. I mean... its really well written, and the way it handles its theme and the way it describes love in general is quite well written to be honest. Do give it a go, for sure.



Ah man... Gary Morton. Its been a while since I read some of his works, and I swear to God they just get better with time. I had already mentioned "A Love Letter to Nobody", but this one is definitely underrated. I read it back in 2013, and now... I feel it deserves much more exposure. Do yourself a favour, and read this! Seriously, you'll be doing yourself a significant favour.

And now, I'll end this journal by saying: comments, suggestions, and any new deviations you had wound up finding will all be welcome. :hug: So share, spread the word, keep me updated on whatever you found, and lets see what else is there hidden in deviantART. Thanks for reading this far, and ya'll stay well. Cheers.

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:iconsaevuswinds:
saevuswinds Featured By Owner Aug 27, 2017
Thank you so much for the watch!
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:iconwickedproblem:
wickedproblem Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2017  New Deviant Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you kindly for the watch :TipOfTheHat: 
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:iconlizzicess:
lizzicess Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2017  Student Digital Artist
Hey! I just wanted to say I miss you and I'm sorry it's been so long since we have last talked. However, I have been looking at some of your newer submissions and as usual I think that they are just as good as the ones I've seen in the past if not better. I hope we can talk sometime soon! keep writing and always stay positive! :)
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:iconexnihilo-nihil:
Exnihilo-nihil Featured By Owner May 18, 2017  Professional Writer
Thank you my friend! 
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:iconbattlefairies:
BATTLEFAIRIES Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2017
Djinn time! fav.me/d63xe2v

Thank you once again for Favouriting!
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(1 Reply)
:icondanny-mechanist:
danny-mechanist Featured By Owner Apr 20, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Congrats on the DD Chezzy :huggle:
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:iconnightshade-keyblade:
nightshade-keyblade Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
:iconhappybirthdaysignplz:, Shehroze!
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:iconnathanielflyingowl:
NathanielFlyingOwl Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2017   Writer
Happy birthday!
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:iconroundtower:
roundtower Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2017   Traditional Artist
Free Birthday Icon 
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:iconthegalleryofeve:
TheGalleryOfEve Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2017  Professional Digital Artist
Happy Birthday my dear!!! :iconflyingheartsplz::party::iconyaayplz::iconballoonsplz::iconflyingheartsplz:
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:iconbattlefairies:
BATTLEFAIRIES Featured By Owner Oct 18, 2016
Here we are! Thank you for Favouriting, the Djinn will see you now:
'Ask The Djinn' stamp by BATTLEFAIRIES <-- einsteigen, einsteigen, hop hop hop Gay nazi wave 
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:iconneo128:
Neo128 Featured By Owner Edited Sep 15, 2016   General Artist
I eagerly, and publically, invite you to identify any and all works plagiarized by me, and thereby subject me to the well-deseved exposure a fraud like myself richly deserves... Failing this (as you've already realized) I'll be expecting an apology delivered with the same vehemence with which you made your duplicitous accusation... I won't be holding my breath, though... Piss-yellow jellyfish, like you, don't roll like that. :D
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:iconneo128:
Neo128 Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2016   General Artist
You make a request (unsolicited by me) to include my work in your collection then accuse me of plagiarism? You'll have to explain to me how that kind of mind process works... not that I find it of any usefulness, value or relevance, you understand... But just to satisfy my morbid curiosity. :D


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:iconraspil:
raspil Featured By Owner Apr 14, 2016   Writer
happy birthday <3 :hug:
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:icongrafffite:
grafffite Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2016  Student Artist
Happy birthday! I hope you have had a wonderful day! Hug Airborne 
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:iconsuejo:
SueJO Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2016  Professional Writer
This is why I don't have more faves. If you can't enjoy, what's the point?
More power to you.
Be-happy-and-healthy by vafiehya  Roses for BDay by KmyGraphic  Happy Birthday by katewackerle  
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