mellifluous_soul

~The ship of solitude sails in the sea of chaos ~

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  • mellifluous_soul 1w

    Omens

    Granted feels the most happening world,
    The puffed sky, vacant of flights.
    The heartbeats of still air, countdown the storm,
    Deafen as corpses, aftermath remains the same.
    Dozing sea, tons of water begin soaring , chasing its own tail .
    Falling stars grins at me with her toothless smile,
    Most unpromising gesture, i promised to the inevitable.


    I unnoticed the obvious, ignoring them all my way,
    Weeping dogs, smelling vultures, malfunctioned wheelers,
    Braked the roads, but the bare curiosity,
    Took me to the slaughtered goats,
    mourning in pain.
    Abominable clips, where bins are buffets.
    All those wounds i ambush,
    Still, sweeteners can delay decay,
    and not preserve.


    To numb my thoughts,
    I flutter with the yellow butterfly,
    Ripple as dropped stone, sync in dynamic.
    Everything, everyone, has a story to tell,
    To those who hear.
    For those who don't, never wrote their own innate tales,
    Many protagonists became mere travellers.


    I heed the omens, they heed me back, decoded in subtle forms.
    The caravan leader knows of oasis and mirage of sands.
    They turn in lucky charm, an excuse of unfortunate.
    Blindfolded to the hints, falls in pit it warned.
    The world is a language of the common,
    Where uncommon go with pen without paper,
    To ink their poetry,
    Where million fables it treasures.




    ~Vanshika





    ©mellifluous_soul

  • mellifluous_soul 2w

    Backward in era

    Lavishness scattered across miles,
    In green shades, and sky carpets,
    Rugged by the heels and boots,
    Bouquet showcased at the entrance,
    Delicacy of dishes awaited buffets,
    In the banquet hall,where flips of money, were noiser than coins chuckling.


    Forks, knives, spoons, in order,
    trapped and engulfed the taste in them.
    Waiters , sweepers, servers, singers, Bar tender,
    Feverish faces, serviced their optimum,
    Rebuked for late , ignored if they didn't.
    Dance floors tapped aloud, gossips exchanged,
    Showpiece of necklace, and jewelry were polished with brags.


    A huge peal of left off grains hoarded in the corner, resembled Egyptian pyramids,
    When hangovers loaded in their four wheels,
    Who knew! It was death boarding to depart not alone,
    Crushing life on footpaths, that aren't bedrooms,
    Incurred sin of being sinful or impoverished.


    I saw grains, from those pyramids, on few leaflet,
    Carpets as beds, fallen flowers beaded together, to sell or sail.
    Few fused bulb, dimming eyesight, that telescoped dreams and visions in old fashioned books.
    They send their letters through pigeons,
    That are always a shot play by hunters midway.


    People with bell bottoms, write articles on ripped bottoms,
    With silver spoon dipped in vanilla ice cream.
    People in caves, still live on art,
    People in buildings, live on medicines.
    Both shelters cook their food,
    One In microwave other in clay pots .
    Natural clock wake them,
    Where alarms isn't needed, just a hope.
    Both die , mingle to one they began,
    one use sandalwood, other just fire their own sufferings in pyre.


    The ones are really backward in era?
    Yes, because, they lead chipko movement,
    Came forth to preserve flora and fauna,
    Died in slavery, untied promises,
    They indeed are blocked up,
    If they vanish!
    Only then we can reboot the virtual screens. .




    ~ Vanshika Pandey




    ©mellifluous_soul

  • mellifluous_soul 3w

    #paradox #wod

    Whatever.

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    Evident paradoxes

    I binge on lies,
    so to not starve the truths,
    Lit candles in zephyr,
    Blown over sands, unlit in dusk.
    A glass of water, pure, unmixed,
    Crystallized as pearls in dead shells,
    refuges salt or sugar, as the jews,
    makeshift of the concentration camps.


    Nights stood as an oasis for those who devour masculinity in devotion,
    Days were meant for the sweats, who derived chaos in mess.
    Like a lense, i see distance,
    like the eyes i see eternity, that are closest of mirage.
    Like the pacific, i dug mountains,
    like the graveyard, i satiate the land,
    Like the amazon, i wrap the diversity,
    Like the nile, i devastated all the adversities.


    Every morning,
    whisked coffee beans, fuel the rest,
    Impalpable it rise out of fumes, to retard the motion.
    To behold rainbow, in the sky,
    I feel love heaping in my heart..
    To see patterns , the letter "V"
    Parade of patriotic birds,
    I feel the heart dripping blood, love enslaved in cage .
    Contradictions are gleams of nature,
    to exemplify the well knitted robes, were made out of a single yearn.
    Leaves swinging , fall off by summer,
    Blooming flowers, shred petals,
    Fruits aren't grown without ploughing
    Do they?



    Irony smirks when,
    candle shows are hosted by accused,
    to dress garlands, same hands used to undress necropolis,
    So with pen, you draw a circle,
    To complete the void, invite death,
    Or instead use a pencil,
    to erase the centre, form poetry,
    who loves death, but never kisses her .
    Cigars if smoked on windows, blurs the streetlights,
    If smoked in sky, clouds disperse in towns to rain ashes.



    Mother, a living paradox,
    Emblem of purity,
    Becomes fighter , shielded in her intricacy,
    For she is the only one,
    Who stands for, when all others against,
    For she can be a needle sewing butterflies on your pillow,
    To Get you sleeping,
    And get her on the chariot,
    None dares to ride.




    ~ Vanshika





    ©mellifluous_soul

  • mellifluous_soul 3w

    #hyperboles #wod
    it is a rant .

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    Curve the arcs..

    ..
    The clothes wet with water,
    Crinkled in squeeze, dripping off tears,
    like the mourning bird perched on birches!
    drowned in deadly sea, so to wizen in sun's lust.
    Tinier the atom, more hydration,
    the martyred beings that aided in liberation,
    Are being evaporated, in oblivious silhouette,
    The clothes ironed to get them adorned,
    just as how it feels,
    To put burn in coal.


    Life is a hyperbolic curve,
    Ice and water lies on the same axis,
    The dimension unravelled to us,
    to use the time machine in us, illusion are fantasies,
    Enlivens the elephants you see in book,
    But when seen in real,
    You bow down to its majestic creator.
    When my teacher taught me about various stones, that aren't rocks but solidified lava,
    I could feel the stones sublime as the heatwaves entering through the windows,
    But i never imagined there are emeralds,
    Dug deep inside the ocean beds by someone,
    But now it leaks as petroleum, fuels the life,
    Not bejewel it, ruined in race of Kohinoor.


    I wander hitherto, the fuel tank on reserve,
    I retard, crawl , but never stop going ahead,
    trained like the ants, known for trading same path again and again,
    Ignored are their blindness, that help them sense,
    The direction lay right where you start,
    Searching in mountains, you will reach on peak,
    Or maybe will get lost in echoes the valleys produce,
    That are no ones but merely yours.


    Doesn't the life a hyperbole,.
    It makes you hear cries opposite to your streets,
    But dares you in rain, that stills the sounding feet,
    You get into right bus with wrong routes,
    midway you stop when you were closest to the roof,
    You dare to dream, makes you cross dunes, ravines, plateaus, strange land with strange people, to empty your fuel tank,
    To make you get the treasure on your doorsteps,
    It exaggerates lies, and failure,
    Diminishes valour, pleasure and success,
    Wait, and wait, but it makes my legs pain,
    I stop looking, it starts appearing.



    The sun reaches Arunanchal first,
    lately to you, but comes for sure,
    Your breath choose to exhale,
    To take in oxygen and fill their space,
    Turn the arcs, stroke them darker,
    Into curves,
    The graph of life,
    Is a hyperbole,
    Adorned as bride,
    Exits as both ice and water,
    Ice floating on water,
    Water sinking in ice,
    What would you choose?



    ~ Vanshika




    ©mellifluous_soul

  • mellifluous_soul 3w

    I delete to come up with new :)

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    Can all drops escape?

    ..
    The painting that drew itself, years ago,
    Surrendered to appeals, outgrown interpretations, bottomless to possibilities.
    My hands allowed to intervene,
    could draw skies, once meant only to be heeded and observed.
    Herald vision to gasp my own theory,
    not descendant with re(visions).
    A stroke deepens the eternity,
    A spill unleash its truthfulness, drizzling tears added faith and shades gave it my belief.
    Stillness in chaos, hung at enervated walls,
    Forgot to fit in them, unlike me.


    Well groomed walls sick in their beloveds departure,
    Seemed faded in their outer layers,
    colours refused to seep in them, or maybe they did.
    I leafed through encyclopedia, arrived on the door of letters, regretfully dumped instead of fire.
    Rustling the cupboard, few pins, unsafe, pinched my finger, that laid numb, unaware of pain,
    Reminded me to cry when it hurts.


    Failed efforts to regain my identity,
    i strolled to the storeroom,
    treasure house of abandoned, crushed papers still bear ink.
    Amidst rackets that shot goals than revenge,
    With forsaken diary spiraled in spider web,
    grated crayons , swings, watch that ticks anticlockwise,
    Sent me back in time,
    When sharpeners sharpened, unafraid of diminishing length.
    In that barren land, i found liberation.
    Sneezing off coatings that insulated from cold, but barred sunshine.


    I took back with me, those grated crayons,
    they drew themselves on one of those crushed papers,
    as they were small, it digged my finger points,
    Blocked up by the tea fumes, left boiling till overflowed brim.


    The art fitted in each brick of walls,
    vulnerable to adapt, unaltered, untouched.
    It has an essence of abundance in scarcity,
    to devour all my mess.
    Here, i could sit under the limitless sky,
    There, i was the sky.
    Same crayons, drew two distinct lanes.


    Then,
    I lived in my permeable painting.
    Now,
    A part of it is enlivened by me.


    It rains,
    You take an umbrella,
    To move.
    But you can never escape all the rain.




    ~ Vanshika




    ©mellifluous_soul

  • mellifluous_soul 3w

    sucked here.

    #beauty #wod

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    (BE)A(U)TY
    ..


    She stood before a mirror,
    the reflector not the emitter.
    Played with her dangling curls, grinned on her blush,
    stroked the curves, shrugged the shreds.
    But no longer did she,
    Strained those spots, smeared her heels,
    ripped off the straps that pressed her lungs,
    held her breath merely in guts.


    Admired, flattered in transit,
    As the gale of winds and the pour of rains,
    rendered exhausted but yet expired.
    Ever seen an ocean without waves,
    Bird without wings, fire without flame, rain without thunderstorm?
    Adding a purpose to the inanimate forms,
    She seemed blinded and lost in animate beings.


    Inflicted by structures, we fit inside the world as a "sufferer ",
    Knowing your strength,
    That belongs to your imperfections and flaws,
    Make you ,the one you are - the " Survivor ".

    A little wild, crazy, somewhat wavy,
    Slaves puppets , raise appraisals for fools,
    Reins the throne.
    The secret of sunshine, the real charm.


    " Beautiful " They tag, a showpiece so to say,
    Beauty isn't about layers,
    What is it then,
    Smile on the face of a cancer patient, left with countable days,
    It is in lightning wrinkled faces,
    Abandoned roadside in hands of destiny.
    Don't boil your blood in rage, hatred to summon,
    But soil it in slow beating hearts.


    Appearance can reap comments,
    But a mellifluous soul wins heart,
    Soul that dims to kindle flickering lamps,
    Whose diaphragm makes space for the unloved to reside in inhales,
    Who sees truth, the nature offers,
    The real self.
    Myself.


    I am unfiltered,
    I am shameless,
    For them,
    I am unwanted, rejected, critiqued.
    Proudly,
    I flourish in this world,
    Of fakes and influencers.
    Being insane, being me,
    Inside out,
    Forming poetry into living art,
    Redefining my boundaries,
    Breaking limitations, pushing horizons,
    Sewing the torn wings, never taping them again,
    Above everything,
    Seeking (BE) a(U) ty where it comes from


    Within me...




    ~ Vanshika





    ©mellifluous_soul