I am watching the painted sky depicting tranquil beauty in the shades of golden and lilac. The saffron sun is submerged deeply into the running ocean behind the skyline. Melancholy residing in my eyes, flows out as stars, that decorate the dusk, wrapping it beneath the thick scent of casa blanca lilies, blooming under the moonlight.
I stand against the wind caressing my crimson cheeks with gentle metaphors embodied in the high palm trees. Your name I wrote on the sand washes away as the waves hit my frail feet, again and again, reminding me of all the hollow promises of always that you made. It leaves me empty with nothing but tears in my eyes and pain in my heart.
Two things are eating my soul, this full moon night and your absence. I write nightime poems, describing your beauty and how the moon sang rhymes for it. Broken stars do not fulfill my wishes anymore because if they did, you'd be lying here, next to me, curled up in my yearning arms. Darkness of the midnight blue, runs in my veins, robbing me of all the happy moments we shared.
I am the midnight of forgotten memories hidden in your heart, behind the veil of your love for her. And you are my most beautiful daydream, with those pastel clouds and candy pink skies. And we, are my only fragmented forever and its pieces still lie in my incomplete proses, longing to be concluded.
Remember that song we wrote and sang? And then you combined all the audios? Yes I still listen to it when I feel alone because I don't/can't talk to people. I listen to it to know that you're near me when you're practically 500 kms far. I love you. With all the love in my heart, I love you.
~ A rdent poetry falls from her mouth as, N avy blue sky glitters with pearly stars A nd her hands caress curled pages of old N ovel, making her the muse of a poet's Y earning heart and passionate eyes who rests A mong the scents of her beautiful neat presence. ~
MAY ALL THE JOY IN THE WORLD FALL INTO YOUR LAP. YOU'RE THE BEST.
Remember the study sessions we did together? Yes that's the last time I studied properly and I'm trying again. I'm trying to be the better person like you always wanted me to. I told you about every inch of every scar my heart ever suffered. And you have tucked yours very carefully, somewhere away, because you're really wise. There's no harm in concealing it.
~ /People call me a poet, An artist in love But I was just in love An artist was painted by him On my skin/
Her hands bleed poetries, covered in love and warmth of silver moon. She walks on the grass, barefoot, decorating nights with her starry aura, wearing a blush gown and a tiara, festooned with gardenias and fireflies.
/Maybe next time you'll borrow my art and smudge it off your skin, because if writers are artists, let lovers be./
The canvas of her eyes reflect the irises painted by van gogh on a drunk, lonely night. She flies with courage even though the world tries her to all limits. She never lets anyone hold her down.
/Let it fall in love with him Let it live Let it be a heart./
Her heart bleeds golden on days when the hope is lost, too far, behind the horizon. She stares at the sunsets, with a calmness ruling over her face. She recites sonnets of joy, restoring faith inside forlorn souls.
/Because it's the dustiest things that are the most beautiful, On which we refuse to give up/
The locks of her hair, cascade like the river of optimism running perennially. She dances with the demons and defeats them with a tender kiss on their cheek. She is the silver lining in those dense clouds of delirious times. ~
@sighsandskies HAPPY BIRTHDAY❤ Thank you so much for being a part of my existence.
How many things have we missed last year and the year before that and the one before that. But if we keep counting all of them you know what will slip away from our hands? Now. Now is all we have. Your presence here is all that matters. You can make this place the best. You can carve your personality into a wonderful shape, only if you focus on this right moment.
I have lost many people during the past because sometimes people don't care about you as much as you do for them and I know that many of you are going to leave too. Eventually best friends become just friends and then acquaintances and then just a memory. But if we keep reminiscing about it, we will live the worst life ever. Don't think about what's gone. Think about what must be waiting for you.
Make the right choices, also make the wrong ones. Because right ones may lead you to your destination but the wrong ones will teach you life lessons. I know this sounds more like a lecture and less like a wish, but this is what I wanted to say, since so long. It's okay to make mistakes. It's okay to cry. It's okay to not be okay. Because trust me on this, pain is the best teacher. A whole life filled with joy will be monotonous. Be sad but never give up hope.
I have been growing hope in your backyard, in secret, lining it silently behind the white petals of petunias and lilies you smell everyday before the sunrays kiss the feet of your grass filled garden. There is so much beauty and serenity dripping down your hazel brown eyes, which cry every night for all the untold myriad losses your bones have braved. You smile like those abandoned flowers, your mother left to wither, after your father's cremation, for they reminded her of his gentle words and kind heart. And the courage in your crimson cheeks expands as you see the sun, rise every morning, tirelessly, blazing all alike. You carry those petals to decorate your hair and your heart, scenting your presence with the golden hope, my hands weaved for you.
When sunflowers fall off my eyes and the sky gets covered in obscurity of the greyish pastel clouds, hiding the silver flaking stars who once guided me on my way home, I knock the door of a library, filled with the scent of muses of various poets and writers, who once got lost just like me. My heart gets filled with serenity, decorated with the presence of enormous lifetimes written inside those worn pages, longing to be read. There is so much feeling and pain hidden behind the black fonts, embedded in the wilted walls of these books, which I can relate to, for I am left alone, in the dark streets of unhinged emotions, where only these books keep me sane.
I am sorry for punishing you Oh wait, actually I am not, Dare you stare into my eyes And ask why! Because you are a monster who took away my self esteem, that night, when you crept in my bedroom, with a faint tread of your evil feet You tore apart my tunic Digging your dirty fingernails into my bare scarless skin, You shoved a cloth in my mouth, to stop my screams from being heard by the careless humans residing behind the walls of my room. You robbed me of my innocence, my dignity, my sanity, leaving me bereft of emotions and joy, which I once thought were mine.
Am I sorry for punishing you Oh wait! I am actually not Because your abusive hands dried out all my hopes and positivity and made me Silent casualty as You assaulted me, Again and again, Ruthlessly, Cruelly, with a sluttish drunkenness, ruling above your head. My muffled cries broke me into pieces creating deep incurable voids inside my mind and the bruises you gave me on my cheeks throbbed as my salt filled tears hit them. With your every touch I felt the life inside me twist and turn, And at last it was butchered when you left me alone bleeding to death. You robbed me of my innocence, my dignity, my sanity, leaving me with a flaming fire of vengeance, burning my insides.
I am sorry for punishing you, Oh wait, actually I am not, for you deserved your head to be separated from your torso, with the axe and the anger my father gave me, As a family heirloom, Because you tore apart my soul from my body. You! You robbed me of my innocence, my dignity, my sanity, leaving me emptily lying on cold floor And air choking my breaths with the scents of your filthy feet.
I am sorry for killing you Oh no! I'm terribly not Neither for being victim of your vicious deed, Nor for making your inhuman heart bleed. I am sorry for killing you Oh no! I'm terribly not Neither for taking justice into my own hands, Nor for being a woman who'll be forever damned.
My hands are blazing red, is it your blood or my agony.
A throbbing thought pricks your heart, while you swallow all your guilt of procrastination down your throat. The pending work lying over your desk, glares at you, horribly, projecting the failure you approach. Your undone hair frustrate your eyes, dried from the absence of poetical pastel clouds in the sky above your head. The mornings are chilly and the afternoon are like the childhood summer days where you clenched your fists to your father's shirt, while he drove you to the ice cream parlour, but now you're grown up and you miss everything. The city lights blur the vision of night sky and the gardenias can't be smelled anywhere near your crowded industrial street. You run a mile, or sometimes two, for it seems to lessen the crowd around and the burden you carry on your chest, a responsibility of being something/someone in your mortal existence. You drink loneliness, and it quenches your thirst for solace. You suddenly feel alive, more like a recovered human and less like a lost poet.
I'd like to take a moment to wish a very happy birthday to a member who is not only an exceptional and inspiring writer, but also a very generous, supportive, and genuine reader. Her literary contributions and dedication to her fellow writers are incomparable, and on this Thanksgiving holiday, I count her among my reasons for being grateful. A very happy birthday to you Sanam. I'm blessed to know you. Enjoy your special day. Much love and many blessings to you always. ❤
Overcast. Light slides through the blinds, easing around the shadows.
Weak, unable to do more than expose shapes.
You reading by the lamp. Your book -- a white glare, your features cast in high relief, I come up behind your chair. This dark haired man reaches out and traces the line of your jaw, follows the whorl of your ear.
My large hand cups the side of your face as you rest against it.
Closing your book, turning off your lamp -- you rise-- stirring the shadows as you come to stand next to me.
We watch the moon rise in this evening twilight. Silver, large, sitting on the horizon, this pocked marked orb sits just below the clouds, resting, before its leap into the sky.
This softness in my arms curls her arms around me. Hair against my face, lips on my neck, I feel the transfer -- electric -- of magic.
The love in my heart awakens joyously joining with you, my lady, in this room where shadows fold like origami into shadows. This room is disguised with our dreams.
I am sorry, I wanted to say this to you earlier but I was scared about your response. I have seen you sobbing in the dark, I heard your cries and I did not want to add on them. I know dad loves me but at the same time, he is conscious about his prestige. All these thoughts pulled me back from sharing anything.
But now, I am tired of hiding it. I want to say what I went through and what I feel. I feel suffocated here mom. I often feel as if I am caged. I can sense those eyes touching me without touching me. I feel that hot breath even when I metres away. Why it is like this? If a meter of dupatta can save me why not the jeans. Will it be over if I start wearing a saree? If it is so why did I bleed in my uniforms even when I wore a full dress? Why do I deserve that touch which makes me uncomfortable? Going through puberty and body changes made me even uncomfortable. Why did they call me melons? I feel shame for being a girl. Isn't it natural mom? You said it, right? But why society doesn't understand.
Yesterday I met a kid here. She is just two. What kind of dupatta she should have worn? Does it matter mom? I know girls are bound to some rules, but I wonder, who made them? Does it even help? Instead, why don't they teach them how to defend? Why didn't they stand for me when I was teased? Why I was left alone? Why I was treated so bad? It hurts mom. My freedom to shout was ripped. My eyes were forced with fear, my fully covered body was shared as a treat. I was crushed till death. I faced it, mom, I am brave but proof of the truth should never exist. So they sent me here. But still, I didn't find my answer.
What was my fault? My dress? My makeup? My job? My fate? Or being a girl? Will be waiting for your answer.