. An innocent soul ensn- ared within a gigantic building Of expectations and peerpressure chained by the centuries old rules of society, choked by the unbending words of criticism waves of guilt and and regret were waiting to wash her away but until when! This needs to come to an end. She planted the seeds of dream within her and nourished them with her blood sweat and tears . The thundersof hatred cut the tiny wings of her dream and the wildfire of treachery burnt her dream into ashes. she tried to find happiness within the small seeds of her hope and watered them meticulously with her tears and fortified them with the strength of her poetries The exotic bloom started blooming with the touch of spring but soon the strong blister ravaged the garth . The flowers wilted leaving their scent behind Her dreams are like the eagles you can cut her wings but she won't crumble.
Story of rain narrated by an umbrella ................................................................
A Dewdrop nurture the world's errotic intriguing nuances in the pulchritude of nubivagant when ambiguous tears of rain pulverize manic days where every zephyr ensnare sun with obstinate window of sky enshrining the Lo- st Tr- an- sp- er- an- fe cy Li- of
The pain I hide behind the curtain of my smile grows fonder every evening when the dusk steals the light from my sky. A white cresent like chandelier hangs lonely in the dark blueish ceiling above. I stare at it, without blinking my eyes, from the high window on the west wall of my candle lit, lavender fragrant room. I see myself written in the dimly shining stars fathoming constellations, which stare at my drought garden, with hopelessness. I hear my name from the fluttering pages of my yellowed journal. Between those pages, I find a church with broken cupola, flowing with a stream of metaphorical verses called poetry, and I enchant them like prayers. The words seem to be crawling closer, ensnaring me in the endless palpitations of my throbbing heart. Melancholic rhymes crawl under my skin, searing, aching, leaving deep wounds, out of which golden blood oozes out, dripping from my fingertips. My eyes close, slowly and involuntarily, I feel some liquid like substance running down my cheeks, but I let it be. I drown into my dreams, diving deep into poetries, who are still calling my name, and I'm running behind their voice. At last I reach them, I touch them with my shining frail fingertips and they assimilate in my chest, behind my breathless heart. I open my eyes and see the whitewashed walls of my room, stained with my tears and a butterfly caresses my cheek, giving me another day to breathe.