Himzy World

A small dedication to  all the mothers out there! “The Sun at Home” She hums while making tea, like her joy bubbles with the steam. The kind of music that makes a house feel like more than walls. Her eyes catch everything— the missing sock, the extra spoon, the sadness behind my “I’m fine.” But she never panics. She just knows. There’s something in the way she walks— confident, soft, like even the floor listens when she moves. She smells like soap and sunlight, and when she laughs, you feel it right in the middle of your chest— like warmth you didn’t know you needed. She’s both the celebration and the reason for it. Proof that love doesn’t need to be loud to be unforgettable. If home had a face, it would be hers. If joy had a name, it would echo her smile. -Himzy Hopefully you enjoyed reading! Thank you for your precious time:)

"A Bird That  Forgot To Sing" Exactly 445 words to describe a 'nationalist'.  Very simple words for the ones who actually wish to understand. There was once a land, not just a place on a map— but a heartbeat stitched in golden threads. A country that breathed in poetry , spoke in spice-laced winds, and danced with the rhythm of monsoons . It was whole . It was warm . It was enough . Trade routes bloomed like jasmine vines, hands met hands not to harm, but to build, to bond , to be. But something dark watched too long— an eye that never blinked, that crept in with smiles that curdled , and fists too quick to fall. They came not to share, but to rule . Not to learn, but to erase . They pressed their weight onto the soil, until blood replaced the rivers, and hope became a ghost, hollow-eyed and unheard. People bowed, not in prayer, but in chains . Begging not for grace, but for breath . Yet sparks survived. In whispers.  In fists. In songs passed secretly betwe...