There's a transparent ocean inside your eyes, blocked by a dam of the world. An ocean that's a Pirate's nightmare Waters so dangerous that , They swallow ships whole, leaving out emptiness in their wake. It's in those euphoric eyes, that I, a sauntering sailor is lost. Save Me?
Moons Passed, With it. Time I lay there: Invisible There. Yet Not There. And One day I was summoned, I rose, Like high tide. That day, I saved a life But lost mine The bullet I took reminded Me of my destiny: To Be noticed. Life- Mattered No more Finally. People Saw My existence shown like the Sun light When the last wisp of air, Left my body I was absolved.
Words I chose are : Poets Sentence:Stars shall gulp up your Misery
'I Love you' I lived an anfractuous life. Pain. It followed me since the word "love" It has been my constant companion since then It follows me around. Soon , I became Society's Gadfly. An Irritating fly. People swatted me away With irritation and disgust. I continued to fly Lived to Love. And Loved even more. Until a dream, Where rainbows Greeted me with Pride. Said Stars shall gulp up your Misery. And Poets. Your Pain.
Strangers, Who slowly saunter in our lives; But stop dancing when they see us in trouble Strangers, Meet us like stars on a rainy night, Rare and remarkable Strangers, Give us a set of memories to always remember by Strangers, Become so intertwined with our life that they are strangers no more.
I borrowed a handful of blue sky from my last lover and, Created a Sun Halo. Beautiful and rare. It was intoxicating, Left me breathless, And High On the most unlikely things Myself. I remembered his word As clear as day, "Choice" He said While giving me the Sky. I made one. "I'd die high than Heartbroken!" And You?
I was an Old house down the alley Empty. With only the wind keeping me company They say I am haunted My whispers go unnoticed. As a siren for travelers My windows lackluster Doors slamming against wind No wonder haunted they thought! Paint peeling off the walls Each bit as menacing as the other. Revealing grotesqueness The floor cracked in dangerous place One slip, You'd get sucked into an ethereal black hole . An artist passed by, Stopped by the old house, Dark dilapidated den. He smiled ,Walked inside. Bravely. He held a paintbrush in one hand, And Magic in the Other. Looked into my windows , Peeked into my soul! Started to paint walls In hues of Hope! Filled my floors with Barrels of faith Spelled my house with peace! Stayed there and made it a Home. I was haunted no more Untethered
An apparition in the pink skies Wandering like a Greek Goddess, Wooed by the seven suns, Breathing gentle storms, She smiles of terracotta mornings, Her hazelnut eyes, A temple of tangerine dreams.
She walks in like a Royal, Bathed in golden showers And blonde afternoons, Leaves twirl like Russian ballerinas And fall to the ground When she's around, Sunlight warms up her toes And the earth blush in coral hues, Isn't she a wonder, The little muse of October fever Mysterious like midnight, Soft as a lavender kiss, She's a wildfire, A lament from the heavens, Falling, fading beneath The wrinkles of orange skin, Tranquil pages sigh under her spell, Romancing the skies Like a daydream, She looks like a mirage Dancing with the light in the leaves of time, The earth spreads sheets Of Auburn sunsets Shifting between joy and death, Giving birth to Maple Leaf poetry In memory of her scars and smiles.
very woman carries a bleeding sky when the kites cut in the turbulent sky of rented air that are stuck to the avian dreams as they are perforated from deep inside. Where as her mind is beyond her body inside the darker tissues of brain and spinal cord that you think of.
he kites floating in the perfumed streets of the sky are like open birds. But liberation is still in the hands of another, as long as the perspective of the civilized society, which adorns freedom and bargains for the skies within the iron bars, does not change.
part from that, may I borrow an ocean of unconditional love left in your endless sky bearing the broken thread of your wounded kite from the sharp coral snares of rejection?
he migratory evenings have already shed the feathers of your dreams but why should you be afraid of a fall as long as my wings are designed just to lift you above infinities?
know you want to fly more than a wounded kite and I see the golden termites flutter from the breadth of june's heart from the monsoon kiss, perhaps because they value desires to touch the sky more than life.
n the peripheries of the city I can see the headlights of the vehicles passing by in the drizzle through your flying hairs holding the umbrellas of the night. But seeing days when even the word is still in a lifeless atmosphere and reluctant to breathe is heartbreaking.
t is now a common sight among us when a day waddle in the middle of the night like an infant, breaks the hour glass to enter the youth holding a rose, and then slowly loving the shadows of adulthood and again bleeding black in our vision like changing clothes. Does ageing smells uncomfortable in these brittle bones?
ere i'm throwing away the animosity of summer from your last rigorous winter kiss like an ankle bell into the gorges of silence when the waves of oblivion ripple in the muffled echoes charred in soliloquy.
he intricate language of my footwork fails on the linoleum floors and the symphony of the heart echoes through the medium of the words like rain drenched red spots of traffic lights.
oes these memories subjugate again in your ethereal sunset hues like the last blaze of a lone candle? But there is a face that does not hesitate to smile without changing the veil, even for the multi-colored tears that soaked in this psychological makeup of the day.
erhaps moving forward in those shadows of immovable memories can cause tears to swell up in the eyelids. However the poems woven in the rainbow carved into the base of the frozen heart to spread the springs of stoicism are still alive.
hen you look at the forgotten places and festivals as if the autumn is quarantining from your translucent skin like russet oak leaves in lockdown, i want to open up all the gasping impassable doors to take a deep breath from this morbid chaos.
he tenacious verses drown in the charcoal eyes resembling a lost titanic floating in the strong currents searching for a gradual escape from the resonating storm and massive icebergs of melancholy.
evertheless the irrefutable fate scraping the tranquility stumbling down the stairs of ribcages prickling the suppressed sobs of trembled lips. Maybe the thoracic cavity is transformed into a condolence garden of rare blue orchids.
he maroon sky succumb the fervor of involuntary nights permeating inside substantial sentiments and thrust that clenches your heavenly hours. The aloofness in the perforated skin seeping in the chasms of blackened eyes gnashing against the present that let the past to watch you burn.
he flawless audibilty of life dissipates in the tarnished silver paintings of framed memories whilst the gaping voids of oiled parchment piercing the darkness.
he lifeless bodies of unknown, who lost the world due to the lack of emotions shown by the air, lead sanctity to the shore in the spirit of ganges. But It's the smell of laughter that begins to rot on the shores today.
nts and worms that taste the flesh of the sights leave your bleeding mind in the agonizing winter to freeze alone when those who have once lived with you are so drifting away like wooden logs.
osses are secret chambers that only provide some water to quench the thirst of the wounded. Many people fall flat when they look at the losses classified by building walls between them when they lack the protection of an ideal pericardium.
mild attack and we are enslaved to this invincible culture until human life is whole consumed by the fire. What if death is a state of another world in which everyone lives so equally?
f there is a place to go back to, it should be full of childhood where old memories are still colored in our lost sights and cinnamon promises. Blooming inside, looking for it and seasoning it in the insights of a lifetime are just undying hopes.
s it love that keeps us from falling prey to fantasies? Survival is this realisation that even moments are no longer in the cracks of time when they are beginning to be valued. But is life choking without introductions?
he metaphors rest inside the street poems like a stranger and his unsold art releasing endorphins of sweetful pain. And if wrecked soul has a price tag what would it be? What is life taste like if your salivary amylase never reacted with gooseberries? What place do expectations have in life today?
I was born when I tried to scrape my existence amidst the blank spaces of oxymorons before resting on the bed of coffin, where my burning heart blew life from coax ashes to my breathing soul before drowning in the death of sins.
I was born when my mother's face was enamoured by the hues of prettiest smiles, at the time I crumpled suicidal notes and rubbed my bones in quench of living, where I piled life on life to hoard cities of men whose margin fades while rugged in yearning.
I was born when triumphs sailed to the gloomy and darker shores of my frolic sea as I welcomed them to seek a newer world of discerning lands, where I digged furrows of tenderness before my purpose and strength flew beyond sunsets to varnish sinking stars.
I was born when autumn left me far away on the dying plains of fading joy to give me an eternal end, where I fought in between earth and heaven, tried to bloom amidst time and fate but it was the end of battle which gave rise to my own self, until I die, until I die again. ~heartsease
Now that's really the nicest and most unexpected thing for someone who's new to this family. @writersnetwork thank you, thank you so very much:")❤️ And to everyone who has appreciated this, thank you so much, thanks a ton❤️ Could I be any happier?:')
//Clothes mean nothing until someone lives in them.// - Marc Jacobs
As a mere piece of fabric I identify as neutrois before they assign me a comprehensible gender to ensure that gender dysphoria can stay well hidden behind a plush facade.
To cock a snook at our quaint oftentimes baseless, traditions is an opportunity I never miss out on and so I have been charged with sedition quite a few times.
My nubile female counterparts from the west, are the reason why the gender based crime rate has now skyrocketed, as told by the machismo and a group of pseudo feminists in an exclusive interview.
For the rich I am an ostentatious piece of garment, the veblen effect being my own brainchild and for the slum-dwellers a necessity, an integral part of the four basic human needs and so I am not a mere piece of fabric but so much more and I must propagate by all means, the idea of equality and dignity.