"Poetry is my last hope" Let me take you to the days When i was wandering In the streets of unknown To find the one who might Understand my emotions Nobody close to me could. The one with intense eyes, beautiful smile put just A pen and a paper in my hand And said no one would make you Feel lighter than Scribbling Your heavy heart on this
In God's grey reign Where perfection Is a lie, I stand 17 summers later Nurturing a sunflower in my palms And grey promises on my forehead Growing up Feels like painting a sunset On wooden fences, You never get the colours right Or planting a skyline On both sides Of an uneven smile Growing up is a story Whose end is a two-way street, But your feet are heavy From carrying the weight, Of faint memories While your name Is baptised by the clouds Growth knocks on your foggy windows An apocalypse disguised as home Growing up is a poetry Metamorphosing to a song A Vangogh's sky in the making, A dried paintbrush, A dull panorama And it's okay, If your painting, Is not an art Remember, In God's grey reign All artists Have a story But growth, Is an abstract poem
~M e g h a / Growing up is like painting a sky picture
My breaths weighed heavy on last Thursday, as if the sun crowned my exhausted chest with few rotten daisies of somnolence and anxiety, it was Jane Austen's novel in my hands but my eyes were more evident to the last kiss of two departing sparrows which I couldn't fathom till eternity.
And as I hoarded the first whip of air rushing towards my cheeks, the roses in my hands pressed over the embroidered covering and the air smelled of sweat more than smog from chimneys, for a moment it felt like clouds are walking beside me and skies are heaped with greys, rainbows are trespassers and humans are too fragile on diverged lanes.
My ribs sighed in less suffo- cation as each gaze was led out of my eyes, and emptiness chose to curl up my hairs within, narrow roads and long-brakes has taken me aback to few lost memories and withered wounds which bloomed on my skin last spring.
Uncertainties swallowed the day and the bruises hidden under the petals of my skin transpired like the bounty of nature, sailing from one bus to another I was headed up by my dreams in this journey because some days you are more vulnerable. ~Purva
@miraquill Thank you so much for improvising me on each step and blooming this heartsease, without your support I've been nothing. Tenth Pod and I'm extremely happy ❤️
@writersnetwork I've been always grateful to the wonderful support you gave me ❤️
Hugging my dear toys During a night full of fog I rendered a soliloquy Describing my day The jubilant moments And the gloomy ones With utmost zest Envisaging a utopian world Amidst the affable company Of my beloved toys
Filled with memories of childhood Childhood which was the best time Time that'll never come back again Again encompassing me with memories Memories that besotted me optimally
And thus I found solace Inebriated by the days of childhood When none insinuated But only befriended Best era of mankind Innocence showered abundantly And bereft is one of it When age climbs the ladder And pragmatism ruins everything