the veins on the leaves stretching from the midribs, the tree rings dating back to the days of our good times, you remember each one of them engraved deep within you, the weather, the words I said.
you swim in the river, ripples follow you everywhere, the waves crashing on to the shore of the sea you love the most, your fingers grazing the lines running across the seashells, you want to take back home.
the crescent moon shines along with the countless stars, your eyes wandering around to know how it feels to be so far yet so close and familiar that your heart aches for her, shining brightly but alone out there, in the dark cold Universe.
your warm amber eyes are the pool of the honey as the sun kisses your face through your huge glass windows, you soak in the warmth, as the silhouette of dancing trees cast a spell on your lonely figure.
you play with the sunspots, the shadow of the leaves, falling through those huge trees. dancing along with the song of the breeze. for your softness makes me fall into the deep pits, never to recover. but you will always be something more even with all the hurts you have done to me.
"a gifted scholar." they called her, the truth was another, she worked hard, thoughts about her mother and her concerns, expenses on her education.
she was not gifted, and she knew it well, as lessons took over her sleep, in midnight she would weep over unsolvable questions, didn't let in the temptations. sacrifices were to be made for good marks and high grade.
she hated the word gifted, the burden on her never lifted, expectations grew out of the roof, the reality hitting made her aloof of the unfulfilled wishes of her own, her dreams and hopes she'd disown for the people she loved and cared but for her none was spared.
"you were once so gifted." the words was heard now and then, as she burned out her fuels in sixteen, she was once a legend and a queen but she doesn't care about the taken throne, or the high marks and parents' frowns, the life lived with fulfilled wishes and dreams are what she truly believes in with all her heart.
the torn apart sketch book, the burning pages of her journal, washed away paint bottles she hid, were all discouraged to get rid of.
she was a gifted child, not in one they thought she was, she was a gifted child, but they killed her by telling her to give up on her dreams.
how do you surprise your lover? do you give them gifts or maybe a bouquet of flowers? do they accept it with flushed face, or throw them on the floor instead?
I have heard of some who travelled thousands miles just to lock them in their embrace a surprise but anticipated one, to feel their skin and their face, spend few days on their bed, whispering words of love, for distance between them now is just few mm apart.
some have bought fortunes, for the people they love, a gesture of love they'd say, only to be broken at last, for love can never be exchanged with dimes and cars.
but for some, a flower does works, even a small gesture like a hug. or a few lines poem dedicated and recited, is enough to feel the love.
how do I surprise my lover? ofcourse, I buy them flowers or few, I surprise them with a hug, slow dancing in the kitchen, as I make them twirl and laugh, I surprise them with kiss on the cheeks, a morning tea, and warm toast. my poems all dedicated to them as they read out loud every afternoon with a smile and little blush, for these are enough for us, love is enough for us.
I live inside a bubble, a frail sanctuary with many rules to follow trapped and suffocating, no company by me, alone I came in this world and alone I shall leave. following the footsteps of unknown beings before me, I spend my days in labour and services. no one to ask if I m okay, no one to hold me when I cry.
this fragile bubble I am in, I can burst it open and escape, run, become a fugitive, or a rebel, breathe in the air of freedom. get a tattoo, dance all night long, do whatever I want.
but I can't, held by invisible chains, and fear of unknown or is it disappointments? I can't escape from this flimsy cage I will rot here forever, killing my dreams, and killing myself in the end.
i spend my days counting stars, waiting for their demise, looking farther than the universe, the danger lurking everywhere, nothing is immortal even the largest ball of gases or this huge expanding contraption we all live in.
i haven't felt safe since the time i came into existence, my warm mother's womb wasn't forever, nor was the small house i lived in till three, i was casted, driven out, forced to take in what wasn't mine, the world around me keep on changing, and nothing meant forever.
my mother visited me once in a while, the new house was cold and wet, i tried to be one with the flaking walls, but it was cruel, snapped at my mistakes, my howling cries contained within the cemented walls, my dad visited me twice in a year, his embrace was something to remember, somewhere i felt safe, but he would leave again.
i tried to make home of places that would be later haunted with bitter past, i tried to feel safe in the abode of strangers, but i was foolish to believe their lying lips telling me that they would protect me, i had to move forward again and again, nothing was permanent and forever, for all caused pain and never-ending tears.
mistakes were made, and regrets followed me wherever i went, haunting my dreams. but sun shines through the gaps of enclosure I've built myself, and i feel the cool air, a chance to start once again, and trust again.
i met you, you make me feel safe than ever, you make me feel home, i'd have never thought that home could be a person with sweetest smile. you are my winter sun in the coldest time of the year. i was safe and sound for the first time in my whole life.
I loved to touch everything as I walked from school to back home, the feel of flowers' petals in spring, the coarse bark of the trees, leaves of the spreading crawlers, the fur of cats on the street, the fences, and the pipes and the gently blowing breeze.
one day, as I walked my fingers grazing the fences made from the bamboo, a splinter of the rough edges made its way to my thumb, the hurt made me jump.
the splinter was deep within my skin, making its way to my tissue, the thumb swelled up and it was really a big issue, I couldn't write nor I could hold, for the pain was greater than I thought would be.
as the days went by, so did the wound and the pain, I had to burst the balloon of blood and pus, it was such a horrid sight to see. there wasn't any mark, but it left one on my heart.
I never touched anything since that day of the incident, I was scared of fences, and stopped grazing my fingers on my way back home. my hands were inside my pocket for I will be forever scarred for life, and scared of the splinters hurting me if I ever touch a thing.
it awaken the gossamers of something last decades' and the left ones beneath banyan cultured pyheb.
|| and it often absquatulate heritage ||
today i turned to koe no katachi, yes the same movie we watched and it stretches the marks of my scrapbook i made, when i was seven. palash upright behind the verandah before his mirzai manteau my half-melt moon to maa's forehead red and i know she knows i wore her lipstick on core of lugra while the tangerine on my palms dried when the infancy stitched the same description of dark as haunting. and it says those days. i canoodled amongst the womb of bravery whenever grandma's story dictated dark and you know it no more felt brittle, it felt familiar yet not homely. i saw coquina after you and you know it still stutter sometimes when i burglared to your kitchenette howbeit it shared, today;
|| the summer on my hands dried on grandma's death||
/substitute to rice, sometimes the vermicelli to sweet corn or koda kutki to millet. add 1/4 cup and soak it into skies' safa /and during the skillet to, on the flame, floor it with full-fat milk/ low the tint on brink of love / include sapphire of sareureuk saffron/ then drain the rice, add it to boiling milk/ and let it be the beginning, and yeah no need to cover the entire /add raw saccharine aka sugar when the rice is half-cooked /after an attire it is entirely tired to rest inside your stomach/ tasted cardamon on cup. sliced almonds. chopped cashews. cut pistachios accompanied with dry grape on top & ta-da the kheer potpourri those debris of your spittle / haha. dear xxx, do you remember you taught me this whilst the parijat fallen out of risette-recipe of your name?
|| mirinae hallucinated hallyu while way back home ||
i went behind ashoka tree to trade analyst when flowers bloom at sapphire and summer steadily addressed his name with mine and it felt love and for a moment it was just us. dear xxx, i love skies, sakura & summer cause they never forbid f o r e v e r. fireworks finishes off and you know it felt two nights before the death occurred to my fireflies which i wore on cadaver canvas. doctor said, more illusions and it illustrated - i don't have enough time - verified virtuoso on brink of bardic my breast pressed down on pain and it was heavy. "her pulse rate reached to one thirty-five, how less left ?" they said. i saw dad doing his best but i befriended with death.
|| your silence portrait Van Gogh's vignette ||
i was twelve when i felt it for first, and it was fucking painful you know. i hid it and hoped. i met a stranger while discovery of metaphors deceived, it bloomed in fossils and cobble-sized an exclamation to existence. i know i no longer can write, till the fingertips stop managing maestral each midway to stay. and the tenses upon their tongues started changing and it grammatically wrong on grandma's souvenirs but it farspeak the pokemon cards i kept since september sidewalks. do you often listen, "likhe jo khat tujhe" to "lag jaa gale" until standstead umbrage from sky and recite the emblazoned leaf, i once had interest on.
|| it has been seven-thirty augurs, i am about to fade ||
on august, i dialled gaullifered coquelicot out accordion and i saw everyone saying sayonara. i don't had any idea to awedde the name, i recited. he left and it awaited from seven to fourteen. it has been ensuring uncertainties that felt a less today. seems like time is flying fast or maybe its just me who realised it bit later but it should be fourteen and fine.
This is just my imagination and I don't know if I felt all of it. I just mixed childhood and love just to make it lovely. Thank you so much if you could somehow relate.
I remember our first kiss You said I tasted just like the coffee which I had taken sip earlier, To keep myself warm for the weather was cold and the clouds had suddenly closed in over the hills Seems like we couldn't hide from everyone Our secret pool was overflowing and so were our emotions. We danced and screamed on top of our lungs Splashed around and slipped on the rocks and laughed at each other. Thanks to your picnic basket our clothes we dry enough to be worn and return home like civilised humans. Later we both caught a good cold and I remember my voice broke and we couldn't talk much on the phone. But I remember our first kiss when the pool water was freezing cold and our hearts and lips were flushing hot.