Thanks a lot @fromwitchpen for your constant support. It's huge coming from someone who excels in the craft of weaving emotions and life so beautifully. Thanks @writersnetwork for your encouragement. Means a lot. Thanks fellow writers for your time and support. It really feels great to be appreciated by you all. Keep inking fellas !
This monsoon season has been the wettest for the national capital in the past 46 years. And we are loving it (those stuck in traffic, in areas which are inundated by rains may not agree) ! @miraquill@writersnetwork
Heavens and earth
Sound At the gentle command of the magnificently calm azure The orchestra of the westerlies begins all over again The oft repeated symphony enraptures the earthly souls Rhythmically crooning of the melancholy hearts Dies under the dramatic crescendo of the enraged clouds The dynamic gale caresses the aggrieved ones, floating them away
Taste The howling clouds burst open their hearts Releasing the suppressed pain Falling torrentially like rain The outbursts of heavens above Quenches the thirst of the parched landscape Heaven's pain is elixir of life to the benevolent earth
Touch As the lovelorn drops touch the countryside The rainkissed nature blushes Shedding the grime over its resilient skin All rejuvenated And highly elated Adorning itself in myriad hues For love has come calling therein
Smell The magic of love unfolds Manifolds The shrivelled terra firma now soaked with passion Smells oh so distinctly Earth is a hopeless pluviophile spreading petrichor like poetry
Sight Looking beneath, the heavens now play the decrescendo Gazing lovingly at the serenity of the earth so tender Inspires the conductor who transforms into a painter Who gently strokes the empyrean With a band of pastel hues Embellishing the heavenly blue Thus proclaiming it's eternal love for the earth
Once when I was young and flower-like, nurtured in my mother's garden, which bloomed with sunflowers, and she bequeathed it to me while she breathed her last, because for her I was always the little golden girl whose hair she combed and festooned with lilies. Today, my photo album tumbled down, from my creaky wooden shelf, and the air filled with the scent of dust, I blew from it's face to open it, I stared down at pictures of me and her, with fainting smiles and giggling eyes, but there was one, with my eyes swollen after crying for hours because my mother was consumed by the darkness, she kept hidden under her side of the bed, for she never battled her demons, and went away veritably scarless. Another one was of the blue sky, tainted with crimson clouds formed with blood evaporated from my wounds gifted by my lovely mother, who left me lurking and finding the spring in the fall, where stale flowers, the ones I planted within the crevices of my broken soul, with a wish to be like my mother, smell like light and stay away from darkness, choked my metaphorless breaths. As I looked myself in the mirror, all my eyes could see was myself, painted with shrieking blackness, my hands broke the stars in the night sky, and my miscarriaged soul lied lifeless on the holy ground of my mother's garden, with wilted flowers and dead butterflies around.