Peace and tranquility seem like a dream to me. So ironical though, as dreams are the reason for my misery. These dreams, they don't allow me to shut my eyes as they fear their existence would never become a reality. They fear they'll be another forgotten chapter. Hence, they pound on my imagination to carve their place.
I'm tired now! Tired of dreaming. Tired of telling myself that the silver lining is just around the corner. Tired of reminding myself that the gazebo of darkness will lead me to my home, to my sunshine. Tired of pacifying myself that this too shall pass. Tired of consoling myself, for this is just a phase.
My heart wants to take control but my head won't leave the throne. I guess I gave too much power to it as now it possesses more than me. Forcing me to relinquish control over my very own body.
As a kid, dreams fascinated me. For how our imagination could construct a world of itself. Where everything goes according to our desire. Nothing to worry about at all. And in this procedure of faking a world, I lost control on the real one.
I have no idea what I want anymore. Do I want to put a smile and believe everything will be fine, or do I want to stay betwixt the cobwebs of the dark attic where I'm a prisoner currently? For I've lost track of everything. Discombobulated to the core.
She is resilient She possesses power She captures the essence of life She epitomizes emotions She loves beyond boundaries She has a heart full of compassion She cavorts with avidity She expresses herself through exposition She has a rich legacy to offer
She can't be suppressed now She has found a voice She has been through a lot She endured it all She managed to survive She fought back ferociously She is a lead contributor to the world She meticulously promoted Art She cajoled the Devil
She is beauty She is bold She is free She is the future She made scars of the past burn
The frame on the wall speaks to me, in a language lost in memories of her. It was as though looking into a mirror, except that there wasn't one. She loathed them for they highlighted her flaws. She felt that the mirrors laughed at her, calling her a chimerical creature. Hence, she loved midnight when everything was dark and pointing out one' flaws was a difficult task.
It was madness though, for the flakes of winter were announcing their arrival. It was the end of November. The chilly weather worked like a seed for our soulful proximity. It wasn't physical, just plain platonic.
Never in my wildest dreams I thought that the most romantic thing in this world would be walking down the road under moonlight with cold winds covering us like a cosy blanket. A subtle yet dignified way of expressing admiration. Although, it is nothing but pure madness that makes one do certain things that seem frivolous at first but start to make sense once a revelatory realisation occurs. Of nothing but a feeling, a deep and pure feeling.
Love is always depicted as a flight of stairs. One goes upwards when a certain chronology is followed. That is how they do it these days, a pre-planned chronological procedure. Gone are those days when one could feel the heat from a distance. When actual fireworks used to take place, bestowing one with the feeling of satisfaction which can be mirrored when November descends into December. Transcending into a world that is astray whilst in the company of tranquility.
//Like a native shelter it protects us with appease of bewitchingly dignified intimacy//
If I were a tree. A tree that signified promises of perfection. Bearing the fruits of idealism and the buds of purity. What if this universe had thousands of perfect trees with apt arborescent qualities. There'd be no broken bulbs contaminating the sacred environment.
During the days of yore, trees were worshipped as a symbol of virtue. Although, it is a bit subfusc now. As the definition of perfection has taken a drastic change.
For quite a while, not showing one's weakness, being blasphemous, being obnoxious, speaking ill, bullying, indulging in partisanship and chauvinism, formed the core rainbow of discrepant perfection, as poems for the same were proudly recited.
Etching a deep wound on those who were outcasts, like those trees that were unable to bear fruits or flowers, being left forlorn for eternity. Snatching away the strings of their heartbeat.
But the fertilization of trees is different these days. As they don't boast of its fruits possessing the same definition of perfection. The days are different now. It is being comprehended that it isn't necessarily a virtue to be crowned with perfection as it is nothing but an overrated myth.
Hence, a farm or a garden that has imperfect trees or plants is considered vogue. Expressing weaknesses and exposing flaws is considered as audacity. And the same shall prevail.
//Imperfection is the invisible trance with echos of obscured cacophony//
She knew How to spread positivity, Even in severe dilemmas. For she'd seen it all, Struggles, stereotypes, failures But her attitude towards Life, Was one bewitching thing. Perpetually she sent, Love, to those who Were dear to her. When she found a magical land She expressed her desires To speak her mind with elegance Appreciating the beauty that was around. She made soulful relations Sisters, A brother, Two lovers, who fought for her admiration, A Bearie, And a Birdie. But she had a duty to fulfill And to leave the land was the only option Albeit she was nowhere to be seen around Betwixt the lexicons of beauty Still she was omnipresent For the relations she made Remembered her And still do, to this date As that's the kind of person she is A Strong Little Girl!
Here's wishing the first friend that I made here. @sunenasharma Even though you decided to leave this platform. You still are here. Your words, poetries, comments, banter and most importantly your positivity is carved permanently. And it won't fade, ever.
Demarcation isn't an attribute to possess Earning the strength of a Phoenix is his game Encompassing himself with the valiance of a Bear Pristine bliss is showered through his words Each verdant memory shining like epiphany Symphony of poetries is a gift he beholds Humbly becoming a connoisseur of lexicons
Here's wishing you a very Happy Birthday @phoenix_in_ashes Thank you for being an inspiration, and a kind soul. Someone who now I can call a friend. May you get all that you desire!
Goodbye to the past for it showed us what we weren't aware of. This ferocious wave of discrepancies that was going to engulf the entire world.
Some of us learnt new skills, some polished their existing ones. Some stayed at home in the comforts of being amidst family members, some worked day and night to save a plethora of lives. Some got much addicted to the digital medium, some had to learn the basics of the same from scratch. Some were faced with the dilemma of physical pain, some had to bear the burn of mental ones.
Some were draped with the rug of warmth from loved ones, some couldn't even see their near and dear ones. Some broke rules to go out just for the sake of it, some had to walk miles to reach their respective houses. Some were adamant on spreading venom and pessimism, some taught us to stay positive and to hope, for a merrier morning. Some earned huge amounts, some lost everything they ever had.
Some found ways to stay fit, some fell down deep in the abyss of indolence. Some welcomed their little ones into this world, some bid sorrowful goodbyes to their family members or acquaintances. Some got along with the new normal, some were exasperated with their caged life.
But the common thought that each and every individual in this world had, was to see a new year. A year of hope, of a better start. Where all the wrongs will be converted into rights. All sorrows into happiness. All tears into glee. And ironically, all the Positives into the Negatives. And that too, forever.
What good is a day to me, when smitten chapters basking in a sprawling evening within me are covered with multilayered dust, and the blank spaces are filled with grime rather than affection of some indigenous hands and a yellow bookmark at crust.
What good is a day to me when my edges breathe through oxygenated masks of cob webs, and the epilogue on my backyard is succumbed to wrap into thick rust, where rivalries, stories and vulnerability of women are choked in silence losing its forbearance as a shooting star being fallen within the doors of outburst.
What good is a day to me when wisdom within my lining sky isn't showered through meteors of poetic verses and abstracts since the day an author gave me birth, closet being the only companion from exchanging opinions to teaching values and deciphering meanings out of self worth.
What good is a day to me when my existence of being a book was an uncertainty forever of blooming into the hearts of reader, but I won't shred tears of melancholy for I believe in the only certainty of my verses dwelling and resonating within every teenager.
What good is a day to me when an insentient object waits for someone to read it and appraise its unheard tales, where hopes are futile, demeanour is diminishing, black ink is smouldering, yet confidence and belief inside me wants to run on tracks of eternity till next dawn felicitate good days, till next dawn felicitate good days. ~bruisingpen
Prompt: POV of a book which hasn't been read by anyone for a long time and has been kept in a closet almost forever.
A rebellion clamped, grew up like a protuberance blooming out of hydras, and then voices adjourned together as a refuge born of tyranny and outrage, seeking vehemences in adversity, and refusing the umbrella of silence during widespread outbreak of equally waged thunderstorm a well known disparity.
While the minute hand converges to evade the gap between hourglass and time, people still tend to diverge on terrible vengeance of society, lust walks over narcissistic minds smiles get covered by facade of evil chimes, while desirable touches no more mind their own business, that's when seclusion isolate from self esteem.
Reigns of terror are bleak these days, when a woman's skill are labelled by proximity of her body rather than talents, where smitten pioneers feed on her flesh and skin, but time's up when she negotiate pain for someone else's pleasure, time's up when she is harassed and her freedom is disrobed in leisure, but time's up when limits are crossed as her wounds are dug deeper and deeper.
Now it's time to back-stab retaliate fierce over power, emphasize voice over silence bringing out all the hush hush, for wabi sabi exists so does women's rights, time's up not to bear or forgive but to stand for you on yourself, for everything is impertinent in this confined world, till all remains is your decisions and choices. ~bruisingpen
Mournful days and persistent pain Plagiarising our regrets and past mistakes Sapiens embraced equality not long ago Yet morals are murdered in silence Voices are smothered with money and reach Why bother as long as selfish carcass is safe, Denying unity that can resolve all malice Intoxicated with apathy we often go blind these days Times up we must have salvation from wickedness Here's some discerned phrases to pave the way
Disregards for education, we forget the problems Chivalry is dying and so is respect for everyone He was innocent yet Bruised and abused at seven She got butchered by lust driven animals Transgenders hardly left out from these equations Dwelling upon gender while abuse is unbiased Since to own a gender one must be human, While molesters and abusers fail to be one Whereas victims they've become heterogeneous Hence real culprit is malevolent mentality of sapiens The one that fuels this Morbid obsession That devours and disparage every person An ailing disease ingrained within rotten minds, Violence beyond compare Eradicating humanity Times up, we must understand the real devil
As long as awareness is suffocating under apathy, While world squabbles about politics Modernity asking you to embrace money and glory, We'll always shatter hopes of morality They exist as long as humans believe in harmony And it dies when we believe in pure evil Hence the world is what billions will make of it All talks of perspectives are irrelevant Until the tides are turned against the obvious We have improved and created respite indeed Proper knowledge has prevailed in recent times Organisations have worked and solved problems But there's much to vanquish in our journey Times up, we must believe in a world of peace
Some false accusations and disbelief prosper Many real ones dying in ignorance and oblivion Some privileged ones contribute when they want to While many are Oppressed under the same roof We all know its here and where's the solution To deny the Prevailing kryptonite is hazardous Jeopardy is not the amount of abuse going on, Its the fact that most of it can be prevented And yet it has been allowed to happen Together in unity can this demon be conquered If all say times up, there should be no abuse Those eyes must undress their own characters World must be Emancipated from flaws Words must comply with proper Actions The future can be made with more love We are the saviour and we are the destructor One must contemplate which part should be owned And which part should be annihilated from existence Times up, we must build paths for compassion For serene, for rapture and for a better tomorrow
Soul inebriated by heart beats Crimson shades forming pure solace Dormant zephyr from distant place Clouds were Reverberating your name Platonic moments started melting Into the perpetual mould of a promise With your eyes Drowning in mine with peace Soul inebriated by heart beats, Dubious days are surely fading Crimson shades forming pure solace, Longing love no more in seclusion these days Dormant zephyr from distant place, Surely came from her rosey lips of dreams Clouds were Reverberating your name, Cause i beguiled the gods for your presence Slipping moments into blissful frames All my limerence turning into reality Affectionate aromas we'll be flowers of appease Blooming with love we conspired within Soul inebriated by heart beats Will be drunk on it till there's eternity in between, In between our singing souls of unity
Binding broken strings of self Stitching together torn pieces in a labyrinth Lying through hysterical musings Feigning bliss while insides were burning Till cold waves caressed those bruises on me Looked in awe got Beguiled by temptations Felt unprecedented warmth inside this carcass Those eyes were adorning my skin with passion Would've drown in despair without this saviour The one who assuaged all grief with compassion Brewing magical elixirs from her pleasures Suckling on novels like they're inseparable Held these rough hands that were in seclusion All memories are now moving backwards As i fall down into her addictive oblivion With more embrace and room for Emancipation, I am free, gliding every day with more verse Every fragment of air brings serenity to core Binding broken strings has become irrelevant, Cause now there's Advent of better ones Offering the vehemence i used to crave forever.