I'm painting my nights with happy lies by plucking the stars and fireflies I rolled the tortilla with crescent moon and freed my hair from ribbons and ruined brushes A night fell betwixt the bones of my neck I swallowed Few minutes and twilights dewdrops from red wine nightfalls camouflaging the pitfalls and dust from the shelves of libraries a poem pulchritudinous like the scars on my skin flows hidden from the perfect art on canvas but I know what I seek or hide
'Sway with the wind and leaves, you never were a speck of dust' An old man chanted these pearls infront of a mandir I gazed deep down in his tired but captivatingly peaceful orbs his forehead's color was complimenting the colour of his burned feet due to sun's wraith I curved the side of my hijab and smiled while looking at him A shocked butterfly descried at both of us when some clouds giggled and rain filled the empty cups of coffee and again love bloomed in the hearts of humans
Is there an answer in those blank pages? I snatched away some cotton-curtains from the woolen welkin I knitted a sweater of vocabularies, emotions and beauty the poem I wrote was breathing out lies I loved the smell of charcoal from the quill I used to write I smouldered in ashes a perfect day those muses and metaphors Later to realize I sold my emotions in little time and a rose resides in the mountains which carry my heart
I wrote a poem next eventide with a broken shade of life and feelings which I cooked on tawa of corrigendum. ______________ *Tawa is a flat or concave disc-shaped frying pan .