// There should have been an obituary for the word "goodbye " itself . // It is a picky eater . ' Good ' is the piece of a cake fully enjoyed already. while ' bye ' remains the uneaten bread beneath it's cream spoiling silence in the kitchen.
The schematics of " Goodbyes " live like a birthmark in my brain. Never trusting time due to what it delivers. Clothes have outgrown me many times over , but the sadness of goodbyes never does. One size, fits all.
Goodbye is simply one word, yet I'm so afraid of it. It's no vocal cord villain but evidence suggests a one word ' farewell ' can serve innocent ears unjust death sentences.
Endings are inevitable and sometimes quite necessary . And I'm not suggesting we should never say it . But our parting words need not necessarily be regrettable . They should be like - I'm not ready for this or I can't do this anymore or I'll miss you or that time is not right etc. Goodbye is sweet sorrow - one hollow word that makes your heart hurt .
But I've learned to live with this word so well. I know how to suffer with a smile, dreading the beating of my heart. Its still unfair right? I don't want to take these deep breathes , while I masquerade as the member of the living dead . Never Outgrowing the desire of happy endings, Of endings without goodbyes.
Ever wonder why , The skies weep from above? To, Pour the spirits made by universe to embrace and heal your soul. To, become the pen that blossoms the ink spreading across every page of your life. While the rain fills your heart with love, words escape and adore your scars .
Now all you see is the paradox in happiness. But do you remember your younger self - feeling happy without knowing what happiness really even was , keep a hold on that smile .
The winds which blow on high swirling around you veiled serenity and each hour you grow, you beat death in life. You are marvellous and the whole universe up there is waiting to delight in you.
So do the best you can in life , Even when it equals strife For this world will keep you spinning And till the score card is plain , death is winning.
Pulsate with life, and grow till you touch the end of the sky . Let the rage of now go soon No oxymoron No doubting here , Love your soul.
After all, there's so much art in loving someone ☘ _______________________________________________________
My mind is white , almost like a blank canvas waiting for one to paint such art on it. I wonder if it's you ? When I was young, I used wonder if I'm the only one who See's art in everything.
IT'S All ART : the way the sun sets so that the moon can shine , the sea greeting the shore no matter how many times he is pushed away. Our dreams that show us the way out of our maze. Leaves that blush at the sight of the autumn. Our imagination oscillates between " ART " and "LOVE " and we keep wondering what love really feels like. Tell me , Mr stranger, How will you describe it?
The ART will smile on the trembled voice of love like a earl grey tea and the LOVE will crack a laugh like the spine of a book . And when love speaks to us , the art breathes hope and flower petals into our lungs and our broken hearts doesn't feel like broken anymore.
I don't know if I'd love better if I'm somewhat less of a writer because poets painted love to be more like a painful verse for people to know about it. I don't know if autumn is as beautiful as Keats wrote it , Or that love can happen with a slightest change in the wind as Wordsworth describes it . I don't know a lot of stuff . But dear stranger, Will you take some time off of your daily routine and like to read more about it? Soulfully yours -
Am I crazy to really want a love like this? ________________________________________________________ This world is made just of defining moments scraps and shattered reflections of you and me.
// Precious innocent love skipping rocks on cobblestone roads Vulnerable untarnished pure no residue of earthly hate. //
As the beautiful aurora ruled over time Our love wore silks of scarlet, red and blue linen that painted across the mountains & skies. Drink it up, this sip of life. deeper and deeper , the sip of this ephemeral love.
// Let the sun set for the moon Just like a beautiful flower that lives for only a day. Before disappearing , blown away by the wisps of the wind . Yet let the magic of love remain in the sky forever. //
As the natives tell of legends untold within the midnight of dark and cold . Let our hearts dance around that crackled bonfire , beating in sync on a tranquil symphony suffused with rhapsodic zeniths , For everlasting time .
My soul is a poetic dawn , with falling soliloquies waiting for the first drop of summer rain , to spell the truths that are need to be heard, or else the silence will make them deniable.
May born - I find my home inside of lilies. Did I ever tell you that the scent of the rain , on a street overhauled with dust and hot wind is more beautiful than the rain itself. May have it all.
Dive right into the depths of this poem as you please and send me letters written in ink of hope, tell me you met wizards and angel's tell me you walk past the universe of pink moons.
I'll leave hints of love hidden in the Shakespeare's sonnet. Go on rewrite them , stretched them across the sky. It will feel like dew drops on your skin . Let the metaphors sink in and create new hopes .
"I envy those who don't let their feelings control them. " Cause emotions bring out the 'best' and 'worst' of me. I envy people who feel nothing. They are the most powerful unlike me. Sometimes I'm too much of a believer and sometimes I don't feel like believing on anything .
I sleep with daydreams under my pillow and wake up with nightmares in the morning.
My mouth is a carry bag to paradoxes of slogans on self love , that spray tan on my cinched reflections stuffed into coffin like corsets that nimble on my ribcages , slowly unfurling my heart and lungs from its facade , till - I pump red , but not really. I breathe , but not really . I live , but not really.
We curl ourselves in sugar coated lies , We speak as if we are the one's writing our destiny's . But do we ? I've never known what peace really feels like. So i'll wait for that day when , like a roaring chorus of thunder eventually, the peace will come to me and so will flashes of bliss.
Suppose I'm telling you a celestial story in the poems I write everyday. _breathe in , breathe out_
The oxygen you breathe daily of an old rusted book mixed with half baked sunlight, still boiling with rosemary on a low flamed gas stove. It utters thousand of voices simultaneously. Some sweet memories some dark truths. And you prepare it like a refreshing morning coffee , thinking and pondering about the person you insanely love.
Sunshine taste's like that first coffee you had back in the december morning. Sunshine taste like the hope, the hope which you often see in the whiskey bottles , eagerly drinking to stop the ache you feel with in your hearts .
// Sunshine melts into stardust when moonlight starts to cover the sky. //
I heard moon whispering the words so solemnly deep-toned as happiness . Those frontiers where the sky is the unlimited limit of all our hopes give meaning to all our lives.
That moonlight smells like lavender every time you find yourself surrounded with love . Every time when love fails it is forced to give us the peace and clean up our mess . The moonlight holds the hope that with each new dawn we have a new start . And hope inspired humans for centuries to aspire and dream.
It's funny how foolishly we artists dare to replicate god's celestial art , Isn't it?
So the line is - " I have been used to consider poetry as the food of " - . from ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴊᴜᴅɪᴄᴇ _______________________________________________________
When it seems impossible to visit the sanctuary , I create a little of my own with open doors leading to the rooms of my heart, mind , body and soul. Poetry creates a beautiful shrine for my emotions to be worshipped there and be read in a holy library.
// ' ,
, . //
Remember the love remains in the sky , Not a single cloud, Nor storm can take the sky away from you . That sky is your soul , different and pure. And love is the embodiment of constellations etched beautifully on your soul.
// . //
In the scorching gaze of sunlight , poetry cast shadows large enough strong enough to swallow the heart's whole , giving shelter to the ripped souls . I am a dark poem my verses are a bunch of alliterations - stringing my heartbreaks in the black beads around my neck as a victory sign.
Dear ballerina, dance like it's the first time, for a longer while, stumble on the ground, with uneven steps, hold the air in your arms, ask the trees to swing along with you, do not pressure on anything, add some colours onto the sand, dance. stars will add the glitters at night, nightingales will serve the date, brook will flow with the melody, moonbow will end your dance, the sun might visit to be your audience.
/your own concert, your own life. add all that you want, remove nothing./
kiss your own flaws, try not to repeat, every move should be new, every stare is at you, enjoy the spotlight, shadows will not bother you, nor anyone's applause.
/The one who should applaud is you. For yourself./
A little insignificant gift to all before I log out for another month.
@shrey2310@ayanaa Maybe it is a bit unexpected but as I am a letter freak, the letters on your accounts caught my attention as soon as I checked your feeds and here is a combined REPLY letter. I loved your letters so much! It is a reminder to those who missed their lovely letters.
The letter is sort of a non-fictional fiction! I think it was a mirakee prompt so, many people wrote those, I am kind of sad that I missed a "letter-day" on mirakee. So, here is my compensation to myself.
In the proses stuffed inside my empty pockets And spaces between devastated fingertips Past was present And present just slipped Brooding on the ethereal destinies That my naked feet traced along Over the infant greens
The earth over which I trudged Drank every agony of mine