"I really like it,when this wind blows they add some chill into my breath just like a new hope, in a deep dark night they bring a new beam These winds wash each part of my heart I get a new life ! I really like it,when this wind blows.
It's so cold in here, Rattling noises made by the withering leaves I'm one too, hanging onto my last straw So I won't leave before my goodbyes are said There goes another one, another one of my kind embraces the earth Breeze by breeze their balance hinders Gracefully falling to their natural demise The cycle of the great fallings repeat Until I'm the last one hanging Beneath me scattered are the ruins of the accomplices of my growth Turning to the branches of my upbringing I flutter, sending the message of my departure To the great old tree that nourished me Then I do as I'm told, told by the law of nature And let the wind take me apart Down to the place my remains are added to the pile The pile of the autumn leaves that brings nostalgia to some Some to the the hope of a new life with the changing season And just some crinkling noises to the kids with no knowledge of the circle of arisings and ends.
The frame on the wall speaks to me, in a language lost in memories of her. It was as though looking into a mirror, except that there wasn't one. She loathed them for they highlighted her flaws. She felt that the mirrors laughed at her, calling her a chimerical creature. Hence, she loved midnight when everything was dark and pointing out one' flaws was a difficult task.
It was madness though, for the flakes of winter were announcing their arrival. It was the end of November. The chilly weather worked like a seed for our soulful proximity. It wasn't physical, just plain platonic.
Never in my wildest dreams I thought that the most romantic thing in this world would be walking down the road under moonlight with cold winds covering us like a cosy blanket. A subtle yet dignified way of expressing admiration. Although, it is nothing but pure madness that makes one do certain things that seem frivolous at first but start to make sense once a revelatory realisation occurs. Of nothing but a feeling, a deep and pure feeling.
Love is always depicted as a flight of stairs. One goes upwards when a certain chronology is followed. That is how they do it these days, a pre-planned chronological procedure. Gone are those days when one could feel the heat from a distance. When actual fireworks used to take place, bestowing one with the feeling of satisfaction which can be mirrored when November descends into December. Transcending into a world that is astray whilst in the company of tranquility.
//Like a native shelter it protects us with appease of bewitchingly dignified intimacy//
jaya___Oh my gosh WHEN ONE COULD FEEL THE HEAT FROM A DISTANCE.... Beautiful AF and important to think upon....how we have commodified even love...with some steps and to do things...instead of mutual respect and trust
I really admire how the generations prior to us kept love. They never defined love. I mean how these days people are like you didn't do this, didn't do that, then you don't love me. I mean really? Is it that easy to unlove someone? And I agree with you, we have commodified love. It should be based on mutual trust and respect and not material aspects.
Thanks a lot for reading all these old ones, Jaya!
हमने आपकी रचनाएँ पढ़ी, वह सभी अद्वितिय हैं। हम आपको अपनी नई पुस्तक में सहयोग देने के लिए आमंत्रित करना चाहते हैं। पुस्तक आपके नाम के साथ प्रकाशित होगी साथ उसकी प्रतियां भी आपको दी जाएंगी। आपको सम्मानित करते हुए स्वर्ण पदक भी दिया जाएगा।
अधिक जानकारी के लिए संपर्क करें।
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