Recipe of murdering a day...

Iman Mershal, reading her is living the pain...
Every single word of her poetry is in reality a knife which goes into your heart slowly but deep...
Her poetry is lungs collapsible...
Va-cum. You just can not feel anything like breathe within you.
exhale- inhale. process will work. in order.
but simply you won't feel b.r.e.a.t.h.e.
---
Amy Winehouse, listening her is living with pain.
I hear her voice. I look into her eyes.
I can not believe this girl who loved life so passionately is no more.
Her words compel you to cry.
I wish I could have said we only said goodbye in words. come back.
But I know she is back to black.
A world where she wanted to be. where she is now.
Happy?
---
Reading Iman with the notes of Amy is like killing an evening. Completely.
Iman writes at doorstep. Amy never crossed that doorstep.
Yet its like both are talking about the same pain.
Hiraeth.
Iman talks about it. Amy craves for it.
And me?
Where do I belong among st such great personalities? Do I?
---
Iman talks about family, friends, home, country, street but above all about pain.
Pain that touches core of a soul.Pain that numbs a soul. Pain that echoes silently.Which don't need any word. It communicates silently...
Amy pours that pain in her words. She give it a voice. Her notes are live shade of Pain.
They have tasted worst form of pain. Perhaps. It seems so...
---
Amy went back to black.
And.
Iman still at doorsteps. writing poems of pain or what?
Is it pain that speaks in just one language.
Smile used to be universal language.
But. Its a plastic world. Now.
You can't dare to trust with smile.
Pain speaks up in her words, in her notes.
Just Pain.
---
Wanna murder a day?
Play Amy on repeat mode
and read Imam.
And Yes! Keep one fresh packet of tissue along.
you will need it.
---