Slowly, She makes her way on those forlorn paths, With those illustrious figures. On the paths, Where her emotions coalesced with Transcendent cosmos. And bounded her affection with shackles And now exclamates adios!
But it became a land of tranquilty, Hidden from imitative felicity. Elated with peace, She rests her head Amidst some unfamiliar particles. And closes her eyes To rest in asphyxiation.
Now, She imagines to drift blissfully In the emerald sees, But she wakes up with an inaudible scream When she is made to drown jubilantly In her nightmares away from tranquility.
// This may seem a page to you With just mere words, But they ornate the thoughts Sometimes in stanzas and sometimes in verse.
When heart is full with euphoric felicity, It drops some ambiguous words. That is rare to this putrescent soul That poisons the world with emotions everyday.
The words drop the ink of reminiscence, And stains a part of memories, And lays down the cobblestones For the emotions to create a history.
Poems are resplendent family of words, That personify the beauty within a soul. Poems are lauded with paradoxes, That sometimes contradicts the soul. The anaphoras repeat Some inexplicit emotions of the soul, And sometimes even creates Utopian world that becomes a home for the soul.//
. I hope I will write something new soon when the flowers of my imagination will bloom
Note: I am a bit addicted to mirakee now and sometimes I am in pressure due to not able to write. So I will be on break from today for two weeks. I will miss everyone but it's a bit important for me to concentrate on studies as well.
When my breathless corpse will shed the last tear to live, bury it with the perpetual memories that I embedded on someone else's sky. The monochrome of my life that faded infront of the melancholic curtains will soon end. Bury the letters that is wrapped and kept in a corner where the darkness of new moon has not reached yet. The letters are still white and my soul will embrace it's letters one day when it will start to live in solitude with the warmth of the soil. Bury the pages that I picked up from the storm in my heart. The pages are yet to be inked with emotions when my soul will ink some treasures with the invisible tears of death. Bury the eternal pure love that was used to paint someone else's canvas leaving that of mine blank. The love that still opens some dilapidated windows of the heart that keeps changing its colour. Bury some thorns from my bed that I felt as the blessing of God while being half dead in my nightmares. The thorns that I dropped down intentionally on the deplorable albums of sorrow. Bury my ancient innocence which is trapped in the edifice of my sorrow. The serenity that flies in the skies full of fantasies aimless, homeless just flying and going away from the dreams that were once mine. Bury the emollient touch of my mom which will keep collecting my tears from the bloodless soul and will help my soul to cease one day.
Back with a long and boring writeup. You may skip. ______________________________
When heart plunges the blood capsules towards the optical nerves, The nerves crystallize them into me, And gently, I roll down the cheeks, In the form of atoms, Carrying the emotions in Avogadro's number, To intensify the surrounding air With the Grandeur of fountains, Squirting the feelings inside my owner, After which their heart feels feather - like free, Ready to spread their wings Until they need me again.
From bagging a top position to bearing a heartbreak, From bragging the best to handling the worst, From the magma of heart's crust to the iceberg for mind 's thrust, From slipping the mat of life to saving the one's from that slip; I carry the weight of everything To serve my master faithfully.
Even after that, I energize myself to not show Up infront of the ones whom I don't know. Yet they forget me, As if I am a piece of hackneyed cloth, That needs to be thrown, after it fulfilles their own need.
Will they every realize my selfless love, Of accompanying them in their black and blue? Will they ever felicitate me for bringing out their inner Shakespeare? Will they adorn me like stars in the sky or let my drops die in oblivion?
THIS IS POV OF TEARS WHO FEEL SAD FOR NOT BEING LOVED.
Flowers languish in autumn to master the art of audacity as gallant as a gull in flight
Time embalm memories to swig that abysmal epoch as thirsty as sand of desert
Poets darn souls of poems to cocoon their heartache sightly as fierce as doleful as graceful. _________________________________ •••"as gallant as a gull in flight" from the poem Flannan Isle by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson.•••
Thoughts that win a marathon of reminiscence, Starts dripping honey from the honeycomb of me(n)tallic wires on paper, After Arranging the flowery lexicon in a bouquet, By adding a euphony of rhymes, Alongwith the seasoning of rhetorical devices, Containing the emotions like the copious petals of chrysanthemum Is what composes a poetry Who inhales her breath only through her 'chosen poet' As no other celestial body could let a life reside except for the 'choosen earth' After shimmering a theme through a diamond containing various windows, That makes a reader Come out of chasm and enter the picturesque village of hope And wash their hearts in the seraphic pool of emotions, Thereby soothes them with a touch of optimistic Zephyr.
Afterall poetry is a warbler that sings a hymn of life's myriad phases!!