Presenting some interesting thoughts on married life and the ultimate inevitability of parting. . . . . . Two raindrops falling from the sky together Land in a puddle forming ripples of their own. As each of them begins to move with the weather, They are comforted to know that they are not alone.
They begin to grow, becoming one as they collide, Each wanting (just a little bit) to be alone and free. But as they begin their long journey side by side, They realize together that they were meant to be.
Along the way, each ripple has an experience in life That is of themselves and not known to the other. They start to understand that like a husband and wife, Each wave in the water is best shared with another.
~MEMORIES~ We all carry memories and yes when we loose a friend we loose a treasure, no friend can ever be replaced, but new friends will come our way and tomorrow will be brighter than today.. . . . . . This piece is for one of my very close friend, to whom I don't talk now. But all I can do now is to cherish all the memories that we had spent together. I still miss that person and I am still hoping someday everything is going to be fine.
This is my 200th post and I want to dedicate this one to all the writers and poets of miraquill (formerly mirakee)...☺️ Thank you all for weaving such beautiful pieces and making the readers (many of whom you don't even know) feel that there is someone out there who feels the same or at least understands the situation...Thank you all again...
You all are also welcome to tag all the writers and poets whom I missed...
i I sat under the yew tree holding a cup of cold heartbreak and some glided lies of my beloved. Some tilted dark clouds were there covered with gulping night and murmuring trepidations. My fugacious childhood was there behind the darkness and watching me with silence and a breeze of twenty third monsoon, was imbuing my panoply.
ii I mixed them inside its fleshy berries of that yew tree by its needle-like leaves. The mixed colour was so different. Neither blue nor green. Neither white nor brown. I had never seen that kind of colour anywhere. A harbinger was passing by while my heart was beating too loud and I couldn't listen the whispers of phantoms.
iii Abhorring the cunning fragments of furtive life, I started to write something on the palimpsest of a Laurel without a beam of sunlight, without a room lamp. A firefly helped me to see my quill in the blackness. I wanted to write about truth but they buried it inside its abdomen.
iv Again I wrote about the lies of love and euphoria. My galaxy was crying because of stolen love. And I, an ungrateful human, was portraying love with lies. My couch was mourning for lost euphoria. And I, an unthankful menace, was painting the sky with azure euphoria.
v A poet, I'm , who was portraying lies on woebegone boulevard and some humming sighs were there to listen to the melodramatic exhales of my freakish despair and intractable ennui.
//I told you darling not to break my heart. I'm very good at poetrying//