So, this is from a different pov. usually when people change, and lose a lover- in that time period, it's often labeled as 'I changed and he/she wasn't okay with me changing' which is true most of the times (I've been there) but then sometimes, when you are in this phase of changing - you yourself forget the person who loves you because of all the new flowers around you and it's partially you who lost them, and they tried but couldn't keep up with your pace for they are only humans.
Umm, quite senseless but i am trying to get back to writing. XD
Bear with it, please? I wrote this while traveling through the mountains and self-realizations so it might not make sense? Because it's a cluster of thoughts of sorts.
Blues and orange
In my room, the blue light flickers on the ceiling as my head still spins into small spirals of chaos occasionally, the noise in my head is interrupted by that of the river outside the hotel window crashing against rocks and taking with it bits and pieces of people that sit with their feet in the cold rushing water My stomach churns with the thought of the river, taking me away to the other end; the end where the sky begins, and sun goes to sleep, where the sky is not blue, neither grey
Outside my window, there is a man standing by the angry river in the darkness with nothing but a far away street light, shimmering looking at something far away in the woods and every now and then he'd nod to the wild forest that spread throughout, he'd nod as if he's talking to the trees and i wondered what is the man in orange shirt talking to the trees about
My feeble feet carried me with shaken steps towards the man where I stood beside him and followed his eyes into the forest and breathed into the silence
Somehow, in the silent night, and a familiar stranger my heart chose to find it's lost peace/piece
A stranger, who looked at me once and smiled which I didnt reciprocate and he didn't mind
// And we heard the forest sleep //
Until, the first ray of sunshine found it's way to the snowy mountain tops and the orange spread gloriously through the sky
and he left
and I stayed
until the sky was bright, and had forgotten it was ever dark
The wind was now rising so I set off to a new journey and I knew it in my heart nothing will ever be the same again; nothing ever stays the same.
//East, West, South or North makes little difference. No matter what your destination, just be sure to make every journey, a journey within. If you travel within, you’ll travel the whole wide world and beyond.// -Elif Shafak
Before you begin to write, understand- poetry is not about fancy words but rugged souls and raw feelings//
A poem begins with an awkward chuckle as restless hands shift the pen to and fro in their palms while eyes search for a reason in the darkness surrounding them; but once the ears adjust to the roars and throbs of the ocean waves and east winds, those eyes will rest upon a butterfly sitting by the field of peonies and the poem will settle on your skin naked and vulnerable with metaphors engraved within and a few veiled meanings hidden beneath the blues
A poem loses itself halfway down the page into a spiral, just like this one and when it'll be hard to spot it's purpose it will try to merge with the shades of someone else's art trying to disappear like a chameleon for cowardice lies in all of us so hold onto it and paint it with something of your own; a poem is not always clear skies, sometimes it is the myriad of colours in a sunset or all the greys in a storm but most of all, the poem is you
A poem never ends, it is simply left unheard but it is always there, waiting to be written again another evening when the hearts are in pain and art needs a rebirth without a death of it's own.
I am wearing a yellow dress today and he tells me that I look like sunshine and smell of lilacs, with my hair falling on my shoulders he slightly brushes them before tucking them behind my ear and rests his hand on my cheek. I smile, with my pale lips as if I have seen a rainbow but as I try to place my hand on his, I do not find it there. He smiles at me and I stare in his black eyes looking for answers within the stars that live beneath those lashes but slowly it turns into a void and he begins disappearing into thin air until he becomes one with the wind and leaves me there, by the window, alone with an ache in my stomach with the butterflies starting to rot and yet I long for more.
I am wearing a yellow dress today but all I see is blue and all I feel is grey.
#picturec this is how you turn a perfectly soothing picture into something sad.
This letter is not addressed to poets, but to struggling human beings,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I know you have been fighting and falling lately, and some of you have lost the courage to stand up again. Would you believe me if i say, you are not alone? We are in this together, each one of us with our own set of pain, is running and falling and crying and quitting in this cycle we are all trapped in.
Life is not easy on you, for some of us it has never been easy - but what if i tell you, your neighbor is mourning someone's death, your friend is suicidal, your enemy is losing in all aspects of his or her life, will it make you kinder? I hope it does because there is a chance this is true.
Be kind to people around you, you know why? Because you know the pain, the fear and the numbness. You are going through it and you are familiar with ever nook and corner. Human hearts are made weak and there is always love in them, even when we are too cold to feel it.
You can not love yourself if you have hatred in your heart, so it is time to let go. Let go. It will be okay.
It will be okay.
Don't compromise your mental or physical health, remove yourself from situations that trigger anxiety. It will be hard to do so, but you have to do something in order to bring about change. So do something about it, do something for yourself, do this as a favour to your mind and leave. Leave things/people that are not good for you.
You can not sit by the side of the road after it rains and complain later if a passing car splashes water on your new dress. The dress is already ruined.
Let's take care of ourselves, let's make life easier for ourselves and for others. Let's not forget to breath.
Take a deep breath.
It will be okay.
With love, A human being
Credits because i don't want to be accused of stealing.
According to the testimony of ancient historian Hellanicus, the first recorded handwritten letter was written by Persian Queen Atossa, around 500 BC. (hi ma'am, i wrote a letter i hope you won't mind) i copied the information from Google. (thankyou google)
All the words i used belong to Oxford Dictionary and i own no copyright.
Writing something hopeful was inspired from pain. Mr. Pain i give you all credits.
The dark sky above my crimson heart pours down rain of shards of agony over it, where your fragile palm used to rest once, carved in the silhouette of my name. Transient pain transcends over my tears flowing out of the melancholy residing inside my scars that you used to decorate with devouring flowers. My fingernails are festooned with hopelessness festering in my bones, where used to reside the love you gave. Your name still blurs the vision my eyes while my ears are stained with your voice echoing with the promises of always.
~ I thought that love would last for ever : I was wrong.
everytime i told myself i am in love, this is love, who was i fooling more, me or you?
it looks like you have a new butterfly and i can't help but feel more tired every passing minute.
love seems like a distant dream now, my blood pressure is falling just like the season (and your heart?) i wonder what you told her and i wonder if she hates me. i hope she knows how repulsive you are and how sick i am.
so much for the knowledge you think you have and so much for the love you think you feel. do not for a minute think I am bitter, but how do you not get tired of the saying the same words over and over.
i want to laugh at you but my chest hurts. does she flutter around you when you call out to her? i'm sorry i like to stay in bed and lie to myself.
it's almost september and here i am, still wondering if we could sit together on a bench under a tree and if i could sleep in your lap like your own pet cat; i promise my purrs are a perfection.
even after a year (or two?) i look at your face and still feel a pang of pain, i had everybody, everybody, but you. is it because she plays the ukulele and i cannot? i should curse the gods, if they gave me a voice i'd have sung for you.
my friends said i could do better when they saw you, i want to think the same but i'm no better than a child, i saw you and now i want you.
i don't know how to tell you this but, it feels like thorns, thorns pressing into my heart's wall everytime i look at your face or your head, your neck, your hands. you.
i'm picking yellow leaves to save for next fall, another year another poem; it never ends.
Tangerine sun falls upon my tongue with savoury flavour as toffee wrapped clou- ds pop upon my palms and I sip sangria sunsets in wineglass.
Candied poetry sprouts from infertile hearts as soon as stomach grows dandelions. Fingertips are dyed in syrupy layers of syllables. Sky is a plush carpet of cotton candy clouds and caramelized sun rise, as birds return to their homes, to their young ones, like every other day, until the meaning is lost. - Sunshower
Raging tides stutter As shores begin to hum and roar her name, Skies utter moribund curses, As flowers grow thorns and proceed for dance of death Wild earthquake erupts As birds refuse to succumb and cage into bars
It begins with a flutter And vibrant colours, Hues splashed onto empty canvas, a mind, unbeknownst, A heart brimming with feelings, unnamed, waiting for labels, Tipsy toes struggling, juggling, With a wild smile glinting, As a flaunting light allures the naive heart towards cataclysm.
Resurrected emotions, flattened epigraphs, unliving epitaphs pinpoints epicentre of pregnated land of sunflowers and iridescent flaws of human heart.