“A rookery of pomp and vanity, paris, I believe “

Paris-capital of France.

Population- 2,241,346.

Paris is one of the most popular cities in the whole world with respect of beauty and art. It is known as the “city of lights” or most commonly as the “city of love”.

But why do people call it the city of love?

Every road, Boulevard, and bistro is probably made up of the same stones, bricks, and cement as any other in the whole of France. People breath the same air, meet the same sun, the moon and the stars as in the rest of the whole world. On this account,one may call it just a city like many others.

But here comes the question of vanity; self-love.

As I see it, Paris is not just a city, but a living thing. A living city with a heart and soul.

A victim of vanity.

Every element in the great city feels to be profoundly absorbed into one another as if they emitt romance.

No being can give off love unless it loves itself, the city is indeed in love with itself.

Paris seems to be the consequence of a very passionate, intense and a fierce love affair between an eighteen year old young woman and a twenty year old man.

When a girl is eighteen and a guy twenty, that’s the time of their lives when they’re the most vehement and fervent about everything.

And what’s better to be passionate about than love?

When love captivates them, their love is not just passionate, but intense and fierce.

That kind of love affair radiates something. A spark that starts a fire to give warmth, or a ray of sunshine to enlighten the whole world.

Paris is made up of that radiation.

Made up of something that was emanate from intense and pure love. So it won’t be unjust to call it a whole being of love.

This is why the world calls the magnificent city “the city of love”. A poor being of love who fell victim to vanity to reproduce love.

 

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Secrets that lie within Love.

Love?

People always seem to be falling for this word. One word, four letters.

But what does it really carry within itself? What secrets does it behold?

I never could have known until one day, when I met love. Face to face. I felt its presence. Love is not just a made up word by an old English man with grey wriggly hair and a half lit cigar in his mouth. It’s a being, made up of particles from our own soul that lives within us.

People say everything comes with its own consequences and so does love. Some say it’s a wee feeling young bloods entertain themselves with. Others call it a hammer blow. A kiss of death.

I thought about it one day as I was sitting in front of the fireplace. I saw the ash rising up from the burning flames, flying and getting lost in its own little world.

“What would it feel like to fly?” I thought to myself. Having wings and the freedom to be able to fly has always had a great charisma for me. Everyone is scared of heights and once you let yourself go, there is no turning back. You’re in the middle of the deep blue sky when the fear of death kicks in.

Death is a mean selfish thing. It sets free a weak, vulnerable and helpless child in you. But once you open your eyes purple and azure, gold and white glistens in front of you. Colors captivate your heart. You stare and stare at the mesmerizing portrait painted on the endless sky. Sinking so deep into its trance that it kicks the fear of death out of your mind and you crown your heart the king. Making you feel immortal.

That’s when you open up your wings and fly.

Love is like that.

Gazing into his deep dark eyes that act like a mirror. You explore yourself and reveal it to him. So vulnerable, so weak yet so strong. Buried so profoundly into his trance that you shine out like Selena on the darkest of skies.

An immortal. Then and only then love reveals its secrets.

Kulsoom Murad.

9th November, 2015.