Oranges bloom in my memories Spawning a stale serenade It greets the sunlit sepia clouds And rains upon me; Draining my ephemeral thoughts It sinks once again To the gliding peachy waves Where the sunset yellows Sails the golden waters far away Would this be the last debt?...
I once held a quadrifoliate clover But then the luck yellowed And once again The penumbra makes love to me The pain, penultimate yet pale Parting day and night Parting life and death The last debt would be to give in...
The worst battle is when you wage it against your own self and your past. Here, 'medusa' is the haunting past.
Medusa slithers around Hissing the scaly past Turning present to stones And smashing them to scintillas Such 'eyeopeners', Their pity crash the ears. They giggle at the blindness And mock the escape plan.
"Know that you are buried in my words Don't believe in hope, Not every third day is meant for resurrections, These words take time to evolve Silence may accompany you till then, I'm still not ready to mother another poem Till then, resurrections can wait. " (Translation) ⒸAiv
Crawling through the bustling chaos, sun-drenched marketplace brimming with heavy heat and packed cacophonous hubbub of haggles over high prices and few strays like me schlepping a handful of heartaches and famine, I am finally home where my mother with a titbit of meat from the trash was waiting for my arrival, her eyes glistening with hope illuminating that
Nostalgia is just a flame in a dome of solid glass, for a year had passed, with splinters of ice pierced inside my spine. I am holding hope between my paws while taking a trip down the memory lane to hear my mother's euphonious voice and her last words, "Love always wins my dear" My mind is a vessel, slaughtered fireflies trapped within and my eyes drizzle despondent tears, hunger permeating from my scrawny stomach to the ribcage, streets filled with waves of laughters but none do fathom and bestow a little care.
Staring at the midnight ocean blues, I tuck my freezing paws beneath my trembling body and curled up to digest the kaleidoscope rainstorm when fortunate ones were under warm roofs and cozy blankets being stroked by their masters. Mother knitted faith that Love always wins, and so do I. Half a year had passed and I am no longer scared to meet the night, with it's serenity tyrannized by turnt up hooligans. And symphonies of hurtling vehicles seldom provokes me since then. When I was stowed in hands of good people, weaving honeysuckle happiness under my safe latibule. They use the sleeves of their sweaters to wipe my tears dry and a rope around my neck to set me free. My paws embraced warmth and solace in creases of past traumas.
Until, June swept in and my belly swelled up causing tremendous pain through each veins They said it was Hemangiosarcoma and I felt vines tethered around my fragile heart, and a strained smile plummet into a frown on my master's face. Mother said love always wins and a sight of my master next to my bed induced my brittle heart to stand up and dance with my somber fears. But, I wished mother could acquaint me with the bitter truth, that love always comes with a price.
* Ailing pet dog these days are abandoned by their owners and it's really heartbreaking to see them on streets searching for food and a shelter. If you can't care for them atleast don't abandon them in the streets, hand them in good hands, in dog shelters, from where people who cares for dogs can adopt them and give them a good life.*