humor
"Humor is what binds humans together and makes difficult times just a little less painful; Sometimes you can't help but laugh. "
The Beauty of Humans
1) There was once a man who sat beneath the banyan tree, where the roots coiled like ancient fingers into the soil and the leaves murmured truths in the language of the wind. He was neither old nor young, neither black nor white nor in between. He was simply a man—human. And he was thinking. About beauty.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Humans
The Mirror of Many Colors
In a forgotten corner of the earth, hidden behind mountains that kissed the heavens and valleys that held ancient whispers, there existed a village known only as Aloria. It was not found on any map, for Aloria was not made of land but of a spirit—an idea that floated beyond borders. The villagers were artists, but not of brush and canvas. They painted with their hearts.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Humans
The Bloomed Years: A Nature of Me
I was once a boy who didn’t know he loved nature—until it whispered to him in silence. I grew up in a small village where the morning came not with alarms, but with the chatter of sparrows and the hush of golden winds. Eighteen years passed in that Eden, and yet I did not count them. They moved through me like rivers: without resistance, without questions. I didn't know I was blooming. I only knew I was alive.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Humans
More Dangerous Than the Winged Bite
In the fever-thick jungles of dusk, she drones, Anopheles—needle-nosed, hunger-boned. She dances on air, a whisper of death, Syringe-laced with venom and stilled breath. Men curse her—the blood thief, the midnight wraith, That hums her hymns of parasitic faith.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Humans
The Song Beneath the Silence
There is a silence in every man that sings a forgotten song. A song he hummed once in the arms of a father, beneath the banyan tree of his childhood, where the wind was wiser than men and the sky, like a canvas, listened. I write this not as a writer, but as a son who once listened—before time began to erase the music.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Humans
Where the Wind Hums Love
In a village not marked on maps, but etched into the memory of winds and rivers, there lived a man named James—kind not merely in manner, but in marrow. He was the kind of man whose voice could quiet storms, whose eyes never spoke lies, and whose hands, weathered by both time and tenderness, held his world gently.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Humans
Juneteenth: The Liberty We Celebrate, The Chains We Keep
I. They say freedom rang on June 19, 1865. Two and a half years late, but freedom—like most things in America—took the scenic route through oppression, confusion, and polite delay. General Granger arrived in Galveston, Texas, with news that the enslaved were—imagine this—already free. The chains had been outlawed. And so the broken were told they were no longer broken, the owned were told they had never truly been owned, and the dying were told to get up and live.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Humans
