These cold and restless winter nights snatch the air and life out of my lungs The night sky sheds off the shimmering stars as cold, lifeless and soft snowflakes, to beautifully bury the summer sun, amid past tales and vibrantly pale flowers I try to catch the cold snowflakes in my shivering and pink palms in hope of listening the same lullaby, which reaches the summer rain and breeze For my lashes fail to close on their own when December nights knock on starry skies I'm scared to fall asleep for I don't want these brutal nights to snatch the remaining smiles I just wait sleepless, dreamless and hopeless for another April sky to spread its wings over the tired,dark and fading horizon
I will die on some July afternoon underneath the summer sky with fluffy clouds scattered everywhere The zephyr will be teasing drooping branches of a lofty pine tree and birds will chirp melodies celebrating the best life ever lived and I'll be buried in the brown soil with hue like the tanned dead skin of mine The sky will shine brightest that night and everybody will believe in outer space I will be buried beneath lush green grass and lavenders will surround my eternal home, A place from where I'll forever have The best view of a dying summer sky To tell me that I'm finally free
I wonder if sunflowers feel lonely When they see a gloomy sky Precipitating over the vast fields Of a valley filled with joy and flowers Do they feel like that blue lipped boy Who takes colourful pills To stop the civil war in his lungs He lives in a place of flowers And screams at the creator of sky Trying not to stop blooming like those Melancholic yellow flowers Maybe his heart shimmers Everytime the sky changes colours For he believes the changing hues Of a stagnant sky Will make his withering life bloom again Seeing no hope of a springing life He lowers his head every night Mourning over his less celebrated life And withers away with the dying flowers
I bleed blue For there is ink that flows in my veins It takes unbearable melancholy to transform a random arrangement of words into a poem What seems art to you is actually a history of heartbreaks Poems are mosaics made of broken pieces of a heart Which seem like a perfect blurry art But if you look closer you'd see each verse holds a different hue The metaphors are bathed in crimson blood Which oozes out from an empty part Whose origin is unknown to me My insecurities taught my bones What simile and personification means The changing phases of this cruel universe Exposed my skin to uncertainties And made it write words which are called imageries The never ending pain and suffering Resulted in my addiction to repeat words and letters which sometimes smell like blood drenched petrichor The blurry mosaics hold their own tiny universe within Poems know secrets of the person who writes them For they breathe the pain that erupts from the soul of their creator So the next time you see a blurry poem know that it's a story of an undefeated warrior Who learnt how to grow poetic flowers From tears, heartbreaks and unending suffering • Aleesa Khan
When the trees blossom And the fogs wither away The aura scents the green oranges; Dad, Hand me a balloon And tell me to not pierce it again, For pricked balloons do not fly again, Fasten my belt on my waist, Comb my hair, and Mom, gather a red rose for your dear, And tell me to gift it to my teacher again, Send me to the crowd, But instruct me to not become the crowd again, I’ll be sobbing for being sent away, Caress my head and tell me to open the lunch box while I’ll be out, The fresh cucumber eyes, a four leaf clover nose, And the broken teeth of a carrot smile, Tell me to smile at the school life once again.
Hi, ❤️ I do not know about all the people, but the poets that are reading me out were you all just as insane as I was? Did you people have those imaginary friends that you would talk to for hours, and you needed no one else other than them? 🌚
I loved Elisa And I loved her father Rodger I loved her mother Kylie And her brother Carl I loved her friend Sofie And her tale of a cheerful garden, Her home was joyous And her father would bring her dolls Mother would sing her a lullaby Brother would chase her And the echoes of giggle were in my head; Elisa was my only friend She was my only dear I was her secret, and she was mine My mother would see me smiling at someone Who I would nudge away and bury inside me Elisa never screamed to be seen, She lived in the rusty house between the red and blond tulips, on the ruddy wall of my home, She hid behind the glass of the window And had a life as I had, Maybe we were just like each other Because she might have also assumed me To be living inside a home in a portrait On the wall of her home, The wall broke, the tulips tore; I lost her, she lost me; She’d be telling her mates my tale, And I’ve protected her deep I search for her amongst all my imaginary friends, Must she be searching for me too?
And I still wait for her in silence But deep down I know that She shall never return!