“Rosemaries it read aloud ‘fresh from the farm’, saddled upon a Turkish mare the green smirked and lit heavens, lavenders brothels reminiscent of love, love and the other names... Mirrors full of Versailles vanity, thyme and bodily odours benign, the charm of twice a fate, stricken a soul for another, a broken curve on lips the spices fumigate the pests, filthy broken appearances, troubled and fine... there’s a cashmere lying in rubble, dust it wears from the day’s pride. the kefir tastes rather glum, their mouths open in line spoke from netherworld, the taste of flesh and time.”
with blurry sight, you dared to glare deep into the cracks of the erupting mountains, and the white-rabbit waves, and the blinding stars; crossed over at all the possibilities, when death was merely a mistake away.
with hands such small, you encompassed the entirety of the universe, inside your palms.
where does this strength, immense enough, come from? whereof is it born?
this power that compels you to believe in happy tomorrows, flushing with dreams; with blurry sight, you see the future— ten years, ten minutes, ten blinks; you gamble with time, but time steals every round, and whispers in your ears with a wicked smile, "Carpe diem!"
you know what plan works the best? no plan at all, because no blueprint has the bridges that break apart at the edge of forevers.
with blurry sight, discard dreams, behold reality.
You ask how many friends I have? Water and stone, bamboo and pine.
The moon rising over the eastern hill is a joyful comrade.
Besides these five companions, what other pleasure should I ask?
- Yun Seondo
The Sijo is a traditional Korean style of poetry written in just three lines. The first line presents a situation or theme of the poem , the second line either develops the theme or introduces an argument and the third line either gives a conclusion or presents a twist.
Plant some sunflowers on the eaten out part of the edges of your heart and blow some clouds of self -appreciation on the revolting thoughts of your mind.
Stand in front of the mirror. Breathe out on its surface. Let the fog cover it. Make your favourite pattern on it.
Sit in the winter sun and let its warmth hug you. Stop the rush. It isn't necessary to find answers to all the things at one time. Let life unfold itself. Patiently lay in its lap and enjoy what you have now.
Don't always push yourself in the corners of the bed and stuff your face inside the pillow. As much as you let negative thoughts take a hold on you, the more they would control you and your actions. Indulge yourself in things. No, you aren't running away. You just aren't letting the wrong take over you.
Don't try to change yourself all at once. There are certain things and toxicities in us which need acceptance and change. Moulding is a process which takes time. It will not happen in one click of the finger. Tongue and heart will twist. Creases on mind and forehead will line up. So wait. You will get through it.
Skies, sunsets, this nature, they are unpaid therapists. Ready to listen to the unvoiced thoughts without plunging their knowledge on you. Spend time with them instead of finding solace in fake supports (even if someone is giving you support without any mean reasons still don't depend on anyone)
~supriya, a non-implementer of all the above points but wants you to religiously read and follow them.
I want to write a poem. A poem, where these nights aren't so cold, where the lullabies are not overwhelmed by those battle cries inside my head. A poem where my dreams aren't yet dead.
I want to write a poem. A poem, where I won't be loved only when I am a dead leaf, where my mistakes would be forgiven and not frowned upon in disbelief. A poem where my share of love won't smell like grief.
I want to write a poem. A poem, where me and you aren't so unyoked, where despite all the difference, we stand together no matter how steep is the schuss. A poem, where even the mighty time cannot evade us.
I want to write a poem. A poem, where I can fall asleep without being needed to fight, where I am not battered by the voices in head which yell at me and haunt me every single night. I want to write a poem, a poem, where no matter what, I never fail to write.