hiding behind sunday church, little slippers making sound in the dead street, where no butterfly dances in merry. in the evening walking through the shores, fish caught into nets show life stuck in death, as if seeing their own life, young hearts get scared. warm violet hues of sky drift into blank space, as stars don't shine anymore.
sunflowers tucked in tiny fists, whilst, carefully holding onto cupcakes, standing in front of the grave of a familiar old soul, offering the lost shadows a bite. giggles messed up between sobs, as earth shook everywhere. world left in voids of dormancy try not to break through time. yet, some childhoods still stuck in time, don't get to break through and complete that stage of life cycle. real-time blooming souls find tough to believe their homies; scared to open up about anything and everything. scared to be judged and punished. adamant to lie and hide, they find answers from outer world and niches, that do not either accept nor consider tears and hard times. their own dreams ready to pierce those little brains with questions and answers. museums held arts of contemporary outcomes, unknown to their cotton candy souls, hold onto references of petitioner, who requests peace through fight. still, recovering from the wounds and scars of inner child, they run in the same circle/wheel of life.
stamps collected from postcards, flowers secured in books, money or old notes and coins left in the drawer, all are mere memories in the old home. towns rushed into metropolis, cosmopolitan monthly issues of magazines replace 5pm play along the greenery.
moonchild stuck in abyss, adamant to break easter eggs, searching for goodness in the brutal space, finds nothing but daydreams like "timelapse" to enter a stage without proper growth in stages.
while some souls found solace in adulthood, their counterparts dwelling in dreams, portraying parallel universe, still fighting in wars, famines, natural calamities, search for a proper childhood with less of cloudbursts or storms and more of spring and sunshines.
ak_anjali_daydreamzzI can and I do. It's like trance or hallucinations while your gaze swirls with paints and plots, swirls and slopes.... I feel art in a spiritual sense. I can hardly explain but I do it as instinctually and inevitably as breathing.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, sulking with the silk bugs, silky threads sunkissed, planting birth in heaven, the good boy cheers up, irenic nemesism fondles with sciamachy, long lost enemies reflect in the air.
c i e l ~
lavender fields beside orchids and queens, sunflower's dialect's greek while luna latin, euphoric paints and love studded, good old man draws some hills, "listariance" she witnesses while being blind.
v o e u x ~
holding freedom flags, rainbows twitched in the sky, what are those humans upto clouds pass messages, they who seek birds hear seatherny, they who kill lay in blood(y) guilt, insomniac, severing anteric meridians, earth collapses.
I would rather weave poems with your leftover memories than winding my stories with tears. /tonight, she reads the unknown scriptures, thats secretly written in her scars, smootly differentiating arteries and veins, plunged with rose gold "love" and blue "hopelessness". Diving into deep waters that end into another realm, she swims across the universe reading "stories of scars"./
You are like the wind, no where in sight, yet so crucial. I hear about your hope, but never find you around. none of your poems describe you now. you cried to write about hope, instead of pain. inflicting your own opinion didn't matter you now. /you led the lotus bloom in muddy water. lotus matters than the mud, so does goodness and persimissive thoughts. you left the world with hatred in the autumns, leaving an eternal spring of life in love./
I gulped the night and chewed your fragrance. vengeance nourished in my pathetic brain, I stumbled upon your good deeds. determined of finding a reason to let you free, I failed. /every similar sympathy you showed before comes around me, waving, along with the manipulation, I walked. your love was similar to a poison, and here I am fighting death. before the death engulfs me, I gulp the night, holding it in my throat, distracting myself using your fragrance, I erase any records of yours in my mind, the dates you dived into my past, and now I'm allowing the aurora to let me sleep, in its arms./
your name rests between my lips like a prayer, a hundred storms passing by me, skinning my skull to ur memories, I chant repeatedly, my only wish being, you in peace and safe. /tormenting nights, holding the candle light as the only source for my eyes to see you, I scan every air particle to find your traces left behind. Every single trace could lead me to you, any kind of energy being emitted from the fire of your soul, could lead me to you, the burning ashes or smoke left could lead me to you. I follow a star, that lights on only you. A star that left to stay with you, that doesn't die, and watches you./
Mornings bring endless battlefields and nights bring the regretful results of those wars. I find myself amidst my dears trying to defeat me. they're helpless, as I'm alone yet strong. /their only hope is to fool me with love. yet I don't fall enough for the old school tricks. I choose my own path and leave the war in between only to find them screaming with joy of my departure. hatred never won, but when there was no element called love, there is never a win./
HOW DOES IT FEEL, WHEN YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT a feeling really is? ------------- Chained by hatred and insecurities, unstable mind with dreams like a loaded gun kept beside, when someone approaches you. And you like an emotionless psychopath chose to neglect tears.
/As winter approaches dead leaves and summer approaches dead flowers, you don't care what their autumns and springs mean?/
stating empathetically, you assume omneity, but whisper your stories at a dark 3am, seated beside empty railway tracks, covered with snow.
/walk aways are usually the option in every problem, yet you chose it every time, like a routine. tired, yet honestly you speak about wounds with strangers at the omelas, while sipping a cup of fresh honey extracted from the "dew-adored flowers"./
exhausted to put a facade of being justice itself, answering the questions half heartedly, someone who finds the other half of your heart left by the fireplace in omelas, ready to be burnt. You shut their call, denying the fact, "the heart ain't mine."
tears well up in the corners of your eyes, as only you knew, how it feels to get drenched in those lovely metaphors, bask in those lovely proses and feel warm with those lovely fictional personas left in your bookshelf be crying along with you every night.
people laugh sarcastically, seeming "you know no springs." only you knew, /you once stored those roses carefully in your book but the zephrys of hatred blew those petals away one by one. Now what's left is just thorns. little did they know that, amongst the nodes you cultivate the cauliflorous patterns.
lilies and dreamflowers grow from your thorns of roses alone./
Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left ...
I'm floating on in unknown medium, strange enough to fear, I still see no one around me, it's dark and none to hear my roar. clutching onto corners of my destiny, to unfold the last chapters of my life, I find nothing but blank space, and a pen, to fill it all as I please.
I began writing, the last sun rises, in pink, the moon already reaching me, while I cry out my fantasies to the god, shiny lil flowers, bloom after 3000 years.
filling my quill with those petals, the sweet scent, drenching my parchments, I write, how would stars in thirst of moon, they fall and touch the earth, reach umbra, kiss it.
monotonous scripts carved into my heart, coughing out those pink petals, unrequited love stuck in my lungs, wine of those petals, running through my veins, I cherish the last days, just fine.
drawn onto the wet sand, petrichor alive, nourishes my soul forever.
ivy that carries fingerprints turns cold, gold leaves and black roses fade away. fireplace burns down the bookshelf, still, a familiar scent of my poetries thrives in air, while abience surrounds my heart to avoid love.
many smiles plastered on walls now vanish, my ink that fled my house seems to be lost, never returning those sweet letters to me, sour tears drawing from eyes stain all the sheets.
floors covered with crushed parchments, snowflakes stored in deep freezer, fresh juices of tangerines, still the same, but my abandoned house (soul) never stays the same.
nights steals stars from my scars, aurora steals sunshine from my wars, proses left in my eyes drown in myriad of dreams that are numb to this world, that I write to live, but fear to be in real.
timeblossom@thesunshineloves I'm sorry to hear that ..but yk what I see you as a younger sister ..ヾ(˙❥˙)ﾉso can always be comfortable around me and can share your issues . I'll try to ease your worry !! :')
But never leave without even saying a goodbye..mai jane ni dungi xd..you and some more old mirakeeans are the soul reason for me being here ♥️.
I'm from skies, born above the stars. zillions of sparkles or gallons of raindrops, millions of ounces of petrichor, or, countless fairy floss hanging in sky, nothing has been comparable to me ever.
I'm from beneath the lands, below the graves, rusted hellfire is helpless to my shine, roots from ashes of burnt fields, still carry the innocent scent of flowers, that dies in winters, waters from glaciers aren't as pure as me.
Love lost in the air in my lungs, sanguine thoughts with silver lining of crescent, my works still alive in my dead brain. What's left is, my bones, that have been inscribed with metaphors, still breathing through gravewax, neat.
I'm the main lead of lost stories, the books with no readers, like a beautiful moon lost in nights, I'm alive.
But the truth is, I'm the sunshine that lasts alone, from the beginning of, verses to universes.
15/04/2021 ------- Giselle, is a ballet form, first performed in paris. There are two acts for Giselle performed. ------- The story of Giselle is a romantic tale of innocent love and betrayal; of philandering Count Albrecht and a trusting peasant maid, Giselle. Although she has a weak heart, Giselle loves to dance. Her beauty has enchanted Albrecht. ... Giselle loses her reason, and the first act ends with the famous mad scene, and her death. ------- The second act is largely dominated by the Wilis, the spirits of maidens who died after being betrayed by their lovers, and take revenge in the night by dancing men to death by exhaustion (a popular theme in Romantic-era ballets). Led by Myrtha, the Queen of the Wilis, they summon Giselle from her grave and target her lover for her death, but Giselle's great love frees him from their grasp. They gain their power in numbers as they effortlessly move through dramatic patterns and synchronized movements, and control the stage with their long tulle dresses and stoic expressions, creating an ethereal atmosphere that builds as they gradually close in on Albrecht. By saving Albrecht from the Wilis, Giselle also saves herself from becoming one of them.
Again, if we begin, to draw those skies towards the grounds, to sweep off those dandelion fields with love to connect the stars and, sew them, to stay together forever, would we reach the destiny?
/I killed 3 things tonight, I killed 3 things tonight, our sky, our dandelion field, our stars, And I followed you to the graveyard./✿
Again, if we begin, to hang the cherries onto the trees, to ring the bells when someone prays, to paint the pale wings of butterflies, and sprinkle some stardust on them, would we reach the destiny?
/I killed 3 things tonight, I killed 3 things tonight, our trees, our butterflies, our prayers, And I followed you to the graveyard./✿
Again, if we begin, to make the sour memories sweet, the broken hearts meet, the dead escape back to life and, greet, the sombre summers of their lonely beloved, would we reach the destiny?
/I killed 3 things tonight, I killed 3 things tonight, our memories, the broken hearts, our summers, And I followed you to the graveyard. to which, the heart has left, leaving the soul behind./✿
Being the same person, some conflicts tend to be never-ending.
//Again, if we begin,
✿ apart from the seashores, we sail ✿ ✿ above the clouds, we fly ✿ ✿ around the moon, we play ✿ ✿ along the sun, we rise ✿ ✿ at the horizons, we meet ✿ ✿ adoring the beautiful deeds of ours ✿ ✿ a heart and a soul live together in the same ✿//
If I could then, I would've been making self love easily accessible for the needy!
̶̶̶̶̶̶̶̶̶̶ ̶̶̶̶̶̶̶ - !
House, the calm ends of shores, The shop floats on the ebbs, but still stays by the shore. Whatever a person needs for self-love is served. Potions made of some crumbled old pages, that once preserved roses. Soups of charm, luck and courage.
Every soul sings about its long lost love, they collide with each other and leave together. Fantasy lives in their mind, that's why they can't realise the reality. Sanguinity is too slippery for them to stand on it.
Wearing plethora of metaphors, many decent souls walk past my shop. Some metaphors were shining like diamonds, while others were burning like fire, Wandering like some ships in the night, those stars, swim across the sky alone together.
/ Every corner of their brains has witnessed love, That their hearts failed to preserve. /
candied eyes with cacophonous voices were kept apart in a jar, they weren't bought by any. while sour souls + sweet potions were taken, planted in pots filled with stardust, potions poured little every night, made them to bloom.
I can see your shadow on the clouds. witnessing that thorns bore a bloom, don't get swayed by (love in) the air, self-love ain't selflessly wandering in air.
/But, bitter coffee and its aroma can make you feel better. Savouring favourite delicacies with lovely music can help you. Following the sunshine can help you. Travelling with the rains can help you bloom again./
Love for oneself can't be bought by someone and poured. Get it yourself.
And my first ever pod!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ Thanks a lot for the repost!!! @mirakee❤️❤️❤️
The snow pearls cover us, Arresting the warmth in us. I'm unable to see the love in you is growing for me. For you're born for me and living for me.
The buttery-yellow petals of yours, cover up the love in you, When you bloom out of my tears, I get to see the love you hid in yourself.
I was never aware that your fragrance increases While you're facing me. The truth untold seems to break our hearts, As the world doesn't let me notice your tears.
Adorning my heart with you, on the top, Your sweet nectar dripping in my heart, Makes my broken heart heal better, leaving no scars. Your petals cover the thoughts in my head to make them clear, And make me believe in myself.
Alongwith the precious storms you cross with me, still reminds me, That you'll always be there with me To hold my hand.
We'll live many more winters, As you bloom in the last season of the year. Stay close to me, as I'm your winterbear, I'll collect your love and keep it warm in my heart. Ruffling in the bitter snow, yet warm due to the scent of your soul.
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