I can travel on the paper to feel the pain of the s k y - c o l o u r e d letters which blot the paper bridging the gap between cursive and the block with a pencil-thin stroke of slender brush sprinkled with some fragile elements of trust,love,hope in a shade H20~
Time would not co-exist as the four directions of the compass lay untouched-unmoved.Sunsets will happen once when the W h i t e of the pages would transform into a rusted shade of the SUN.Till then I will keep stitching fabrics of rainbows from my tattered clothes and form boundaries of continents with tits and bits of my dark hair~
I will travel to the corners to discover the shape of this o n e dimensional world.The dearth of water would be the only ray of survival.Once those soft edges of priceless pearls kiss the barren lands of the white the tectonic plates of my hair like continents would dissociate,the V I B G Y O R will individualise into 7 and my world ripped apart into tiny pieces of many unfragmented,untold stories~
You know you are one of the sweetest souls I have met on this platform!You are a combination of the sweetest soul+cutest bunny+amazing writer+dearest friend.
I wish someday you will take me to the white barren lands of moon where I heard the bunnies prepare rice and the same sweet rice will melt in my mouth to remind me of a person as understanding as you.
When I first came across your profile I never knew who exists behind that charming dp of cute bunny but I knew that it will be the most caring, understanding and kindest creature because bunnies are love uk! hehe:))
I hope this beautiful bond of friendship continues to exist between two of us forever!Till then let my sour verses collide with your sweet poems to discover a new flavour of this life!
Wishing you a very very warm and happy birthday my bunny! I lub uuuuuuuuuuuu!❤
I remember the days when we striked restricted patterns on the floor and someone stepping out of the box would be eliminated.Our asymmetric lines and circles paved the road paths for more than a week.Looking at things closely we realise each one of us holds a chalk some bisecting the paths temporarily into two while some permanently etching them in MANKIND~
I remember the days when endless rainbows were used to describe the different aspects of life. The most important ones had a velvet touch while the rest were virgin pure hues of white.Now it seems as though the monochromatic black marker has absorbed all these shades and we only breath through the void in between the black alphabets~
I remember the days when we stole the broken pieces of them just to make our collection worth remembering.Change is the only constant which is baked in.With time the short heightened pieces of non fragrant sticks became more shorter but no new ones came.Today I sit beside the oceans filled with rains shattering them further into micro particles and setting them free into the air hoping the surrogate flowers to accept them budding more new rejuvenating colours in the future~
History Recreated~ A new star joined the family of 200 trillions more after the demise of Kritak,a farmer who was closely attached to Lord Krishna through his love and the yellow sun basked marigold fields.This star was ten times larger the size of any other universal body and was shining brightly and tenderly.Krishna with the help of his fingers painted one half of Kritak's soul with a shade blue and the other half was dipped in lemons.Humans kept lingering for a reason while Krishna opened new dimensions of life for one and all.
Moon Shaped Yet Again~ It is since its formation that God has noticed melancholy emitted by the moon in faint traces of light.It was not happy with its circular body and wanted to change its form.It was then God gifted her with a gorgeous knife using which she carved herself out into semicircles, crescents and quarters.The moon today stands tall in the sky guiding people with its tender strokes of light in the direction of absolute bliss and peacefulness on mind.
Sky-An Element Of Melancholy~ Clouds are no mere pieces of floating candy bars but are tiny pieces of broken heart which when collide, the hopes condense, the melancholy grows out in length and the ultimate water droplets mixes with the earth to share the pain.Today God gave the clarification that when the humans say they too love the rain is to say that they love deforming them under their feet.
Dear Zoya Di, I could hear the love birds weaving the most beautiful of melodies,the lemon sun slowly tearing apart the blue camouflaged clouds in the morning sky of purple and pink hues, the soft zephyr twirling the sunflowers side by side when the most beautiful angel was born.
Nothing can describe the covalent bond we share.The day my METAPHORS collided with your ONOMATOPOEIA(S) I knew a new poetry was born.You were the verses and I the void in between.Her hands are the fountains of ink and her eyes,the jars in which she captures the fireflies of rejuvenating poetries.
She loves the sky of grey shades and wants to gently carasse its scars by a bandaid of love as she is a doctor.Ishhh❤ is what she says when happiness is at its peak.Assam is her state indeed but I believe she belongs to the barren lands millions of kilometres away trying to plant the seeds of love, hope and positivity nurturing the trees of untold stories and spreading more and more light with every passing day.So as she crosses one rainbow and steps onto another,I wish her all the very best for her upcoming year which will be the most vibrant of all.Remember Di, you are one of the most beautiful constellations out there.
(If I could only gift you something,it will be a boutique of skies)
The sky is crystal clear with the pale blue sun tearing apart the blue camouflaged clouds.Autumn leaves bleeding shades of red knowing no one can ever restore its viridian green skin pigment.The spine of hope bisecting the leaf into two has wilted.The polka dots on their bodies remind them of the many creatures they have nurtured by filling their abdomen with the greeness of a lifetime.The mother (tree) clutches them all together.She can uproot herself if the hurricanes invite her to but will not allow her babies to end up below someone's foot.But today they knew was the day of sorrow, detachment.They left the hands of their mother (branches)and went away with the softest zephyr.They could see the others sobbing through transpiration at the base of leaflets.They knew that even the strongest wailing of the sky could not wash away their red stains and so they started running with the boldest of winds until they are found resting their head on someone's beloved grave.They could not explain the living ones that we all are same under this layer of skin whether chlorophyll or melanin.Doesn't matter whether we bleed roses or jasmines.
Sky is blur Leaves seems dull Sun isn't energetic and bright Green grass turned pale yellow, pale are pampas, Faded farm,across it trees aligned wrapped in fog Looking unclear River isn't showing any inkling casting charm of calm That calm filled with chaos making me fright, People are passing swiftly besides me And so are the serene sights, Alas! I have no time No time to observe them keenly, Unlike Frost neither I have promises to keep Nor heart has dreams to fulfill: On a bleaky lane, a moving car Reminding me of my life, Directionless,dull and dark, Light showing path is in some other hands I have no choice but to follow that light The light guiding me to destination Sometimes flashes, sometime gets disappear And I have to continue my journey, With that flickering flame.
What Ik journal means to write your heart out agar life k kachara maslay journal m likhrhy to bhai tm p Allah hi hafiz hai better h apnay journal ko more like a kch bh bkwas jaga banao ta k overthinking s nijaat milay
Wn bhai muaazratkhwan hyn aap s but apunko ese hi likhnay ka sooj rha aajkl. Aap lagay rhye , bahut achay s apna kaam krrhy aajkl . (Zara pod ka matlab miraquill chacha ko explain krdynga lgta h wo bhool gy hyn)
I'm watching the painted skies, Creasing at uneven edges The blues from the skies Seep into my soul A poem buried into the woods The sunset rhymes with shades It is the 18th winter Yet again Spent by the bonfire Do not ask me, What I burn Or about the fuel It is the season Where they ask you The coldness of your words Or why do you write But tell me, What is poetry, If not another call from the blues.