There's a salvation when, your feet don't long to melt in the footsteps of chaos and you share this breathing space word by word on a blank leaf. A home you made, a temple it looked; where whole universe is draped in an explicit cloak of a rhyming poetry.
There were times when, the world was painted in green except for the blue skies and sapphire oceans, where we made love in epilogues of rainbow and loosened-letters called stars of dusk. Moon did brightened, twilight borrowed some hues; when the geometry of our souls was drawn amidst the syllables of a beautiful poetry.
There's a closet opening in my arms, of flowers that smell of hope and books that read self-worth when sunshine wraps around me and clouds leak pride. A wound I kissed, It bloomed into a rose; where scars are sown and raised as strength into the empty spaces of a free-versed poetry.
There's peace in silence when, the words turn down to ashes but are still sung upon in poems admired by each passerby. A dream you weaved, a beauty that flourished; where the midnight rustle of leaves and the blow of air is treasured in the collection of poetry, and in a touch of moment with ink I understood, Everyone becomes a poet. ~Purva
I blink in the eye of morose, trespassing the aftermath of carnage, the soil reeks of rotten blood and brewing forlorn. The golden sun settles on the forehead of warriors while pain camouflage, I thought that peace would stay forever: I was wrong.
I burn on massacred battlefields, where flowers aren't plucked but slaughtered beneath feet turning their homes into barren lands. Winds blow away withered petals and eulogies are sung upon, I thought inhabitants be sheltered forever: I was wrong.
I stand and recall last spoken words of a father, son and spouse choked inside throat while wrapping in the arms of motherland. Life looked like half burnt cigarette, there was much to offer but it snatched back, I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. ~Purva
Your smile is a lie to the world but a womb of belief to me, that settles inside my throat choking it each minute, every hour, imbued with subtle waves flourishing the ripples of forever, when my heart and voyage are bequeathed in thunder-storms.
Your smile is a lie of utmost human thought that breaths with a frolic imagination when my sky is suppressed in anxiety, where clouds darn wails but your lips etch a rainbow over horizons that are dipped in midnight scrutiny.
Your smile is a lie as explicit as the eternity of autumnal leaves deceptive yet crucial to transpire, an amalgamation of ache and sentiments wrapping the truth in veiled reveries like ashes preserved from the burning fire.
Your smile is a lie like the sun that rise to slumber till evening, that weave hope from moments like picking out meaning from idioms. It's an arrow to my fragility some days but today it's the charm of my poetry. ~Purva
Let me tell you, about my muse - a woman festooned with bloomed lilacs, her hairs unfurling into mauve sky and womb embroidered of pastured lands.
She's the concoction of earthly being and celestial entity, liberating moon to wander in liberty. When sun sets in her palms and metropolis thud onto shores, birds inhabit betwixt her ravines in plurality.
The reveries you paint on stars are tapestries of her, which gets plucked into meteors to stitch each hue breezing into existence. On empty lanes beneath the clear sky, she stands as sunlight and not a streetlight, illuminating boulevards of bleak divergence.
There blows a soft wind which bereaves your anxiety when exhaled smog of chimneys ebbs out of her lungs. Unaware of industrial kissed zephyr, she nurtures her field with nightingale melodies and a mother's crooning rhythm.
Some days, she's a rural mosaic unfathomable as poetry. Some days, she's a typhoon which can't be fathomed for eternity. ~Purva
Fluttering dragon flies Cosmic night seeking sighs Beguiling blanket wrapped twilight Boulevards feeling brazen breeze Brewing coffee, sipping tranquility Forming translations betwixt dreams Her hairs assuaging utopian cicatrix For fingertips melting upon tender lips, Whenever quixotic ink pours with poetries It tends to paint portraits along fine margins, Marking beginnings with sunshines Slipping raindrops on her wings They flutter like dragon flies mating, Vehemently vibrating in appease Fabric of life often bittersweet There's love along shadows of ache, There's bliss behind unimaginable pain There's hope after teary eyes begin to beam There're cosmic night to forget everything And let your heart be in solemn peace.
He huddled up as the dry September breeze wafted over him, something inside him rose to its feet his thoughts aligned themselves with a voice, a voice that was now standing tall, a voice that had no shape or form, a voice that had been hushed and forgotten, a voice that had reached a crescendo; she drew up her knees, as she sat down beside him, something glistened in her fierce eyes something feminine, something he yearned for.
The clouds parted above their heads, the wind tickled the tree that housed them, a few leaves tinged with yellow fell on the ground; tears of laughter. The two of them sat there smiling at the night sky as the stars aligned, and the universe looked them in the eye and the whispers they exchanged echoed throughout the night.
a thought runs its thumb on the spine of a surreal moment, curling its fingers around a cup of light, gulping the sun one sip at a time, watching how time subdues pain when it talks in high pitch, screaming for undivided attention in the absence of silence
standing still under the storm's eyelids, a raindrop blinks twice to let the sky know that better days aren't a myth
and when the ground is dressed in autumn leaves, leaving sepia memories in trees in a dream, everyone becomes a poet.