Strawberry milkshakes scooped in rose wines, Dawning dilemmas crossing the threshold of morality, When the the stakes were too high and alternatives two scarce, All when you were for laughing on kind of lame but kind of funny jokes.
The wisdom of the sages and the majesty of the Dravadian temples are revered like the way my medieval bones stay skeptical about a thousand babybud events. Failure of conundrum on the foreign shores has chained welcoming gates and wearied flights elsewhere.
This feeling of uncertainty rolling over my sleeves is like snooping grasshoppers and ancestral anthills, with a monstrous tail and an angel's face that momentarily jettisons me into a wobbling conundrum of despotic fireball with reverberating chats of "go with the flow, go with flow" whenever I seek answers to it's ambiguity. But at times the joy of chomping on concealed pathways excites my senses. Someone said that the universe will hold my hand when I will stumble my footsteps and together we will cross oceans and valleys. Do you believe in the magic of the cosmos? Well, I do because it is simply beautiful.
The cackling of fresh stressors on my door intimidates the old ones who act like coffee-nosed attention seekers. This perpetual trap sometime makes me wonder if I am a prey to these hunters. With the wall paints, our monotous daily schedules running briskly alongwith time also gets eroded.Eating cornetto in periods of intrinsic tornados is an example of reminding yourself that in the end, the taste of relief will dissolve on the tip of your tongue if you keep moving ahead without any halt as puffed solutions will greet your somewhere in the way.
What are the camouflaged verses and thundering phrases lavishing the literature textbooks if not are interpretations of someone else.Can we precisely investigate the real intentions of the author's mind? What if the author denies to answer and leave it open ended for readers like you to preserve the essence of writing.Will the time traveling go in vain or will you fix the machine to the flourishing sites of the Harappan civilization to trace it's mysterious ending?
For me, writing is a prosperous cigarette, a sweet addiction, an inexpensive yet affordable therapy. Writing and me is like crumbled sugar and Little Hearts, pizza and jalepino, cardamom and rusk. The clubbed alphabets placed before and after "and" compliments each other the way writing complicates me. Winter is arriving in chariots and a battle will be fought in the land of early chilled mornings between your gaze and the fog. I know you are too busy in praising the season of fall.
Light leaks from the leaves of the sugar apple trees after feasting on fresh fruits and touches the morning petrichor sungazing on the ground. The holiday lights snore unapologetically as the hustle and bustle of the busy city is added as a preservative in the jar of January juice being served on the first Sunday of the calendar year.
Twenty minutes have already passed in the hunting of the novel I left unread on Pg 243 last night. I am wandering helplessly in the woodland of my house with arrows shooting from my eyes, hitting on the kladeoscopic titles resting on the bookshelf and weapons oozing out of my hands, digging the scattered clothes and littered table. Giggles slice the silence in the air and crash on my ears. I peep out of the window in the garden to trace the source of its origin.
Winter wearing blue sunglasses is sunbathing while resting comfortably on the chaise longue. Laughing hysterically with joy, holding a hot mug of coffee in one hand while other clutched on the novel which was the treasure of my hunt. I cannot calm the fury down while screaming its name.
The falcon skies and withering daylight bolstered the undaunted anxiety clasping in between my fingertips, the one that is not a conflagration intended to confine the light flickering at the end of my mind but the one that comes like a desert storm at the tickling hours before they strike the commencement of a significant event.
I am adding five drops of lemon and two tablespoons of sugar in my tea when the yelling sound of my mom commands my attention and I rush to the lawn to witness a cold scolding for missing her call twice. I blame my absence to the earsplittling volumes of WWE Smackdown that beguiles the senses of my younger brother sufficiently to brush aside all the happenings of the real world surrounding him, he frowns at once and screams in ruffling excitement while staying glued to the television.
sweet cacophonies, pumping hearts and trojan clouds swindles out of confiscation at the glimpse of auburn sky infused with nerve tonic by a syringe that floats on the archipelago of sun-feasting horizon.
like the adorned anklets of a classical dancer with musical bells, my poems are embellished with nature's charm as my perpetual muse.
when my feeble trials to club metaphors and alliterations go in vain, the words themselves create a vaulted valley for me to chase under the evergreen trees and bougainvillea vines.
flowers are the clementine sips of chamomile tea brewed in the nature's cafeteria that rejuvenates the downtrodden curves of comforting peace.
the coffee flushed pages of my journal reeks the relics of a medieval castle, the cramming words scribbled in a downpouring hush looks like a bombarded battlefield wincing at the blood-breathing war, a hefty snowstorm flicks out of the ocean liquidated pen when I hold its neck untying the monstrous story buried down inside my chest, thumping indecisively at the autumn dripping sun. they think they can understand but they fail every time to sneak cautiously at it's calloused edges from the corners of my lying eyes.
a superstitious notion is as dangerous as a triggered phobia.
a gratitude refilled heart is as lively as a newly bloomed hibiscus.
a comforting positive self- talk is as surprising as an uninvited robbery.
to thrive empathy and to unleash the magic taming in your heart, include your name while addressing yourself, catch the fireflies exclusively meant for you.
what fires together wires together- don't let your negative way of thinking become an autonomous vehicle of your mind.
I am not really a collab person xd so this is my first attempt which somehow turned successful because I was supposed to lead the poem. All thanks to @anirockz7 for this collab.
The syllables of goodbye share a contagious relationship with nostalgia, the tip of tongue burns, the ache of heart returns, memories of the past savagely stifle the passing hours, I wonder whether our amorphous tale was crafted in cloud swept heavens or fiery hells.
So after long realization I realized that it was neither hell nor heaven but beyond infinity cause when I whispered goodbye I uttered in our love language so gods or demons can't take you away from me and I shall send you to 7th dimension where you'll be free from favours of karma and ultimately achieve salvation.
This place is like a dream to me where my reality doesn't know about that I exist here too. So thankful to those stygian nights who help me to reside within them and shelter my metaphors in a dreamy wardrobe which is made up of love and care. My silhouette is more blessed to find its home finally within the landscape of many heavenward syllables. Since three years, my dream has been breathing here with the melodies of an unseen lyre.
And, inside my cobbled dream, I'm just a mere orchid which blooms in a pallette of colours unknowingly and learning to bloom from other charming orchids and I shall continue to learn how to bloom and rise perfectly. One day, I will wither for sure but before the autumn's fall, I want to enjoy every side of this beautiful cruise.
This orchid is thankful for all the love you water and I will conceal the chalice of your kindness inside my closet to look that how I was loved and lived.
Completing three years here :-*
If I'll tag each and everyone whom I know and from whom I inspire, then it may take me a year to mention each and everyone. Kindly understand the situation xd. And really I'm thankful.
This is about my first time going to Women's Organisation called Sambhali Trust in my hometown as a school educational trip that put forward the real hidden powers in front that a single women could hold up despite of the difficuties one suffer from. Those women- widows, married, single mothers who had suffered throughout but still chose to shine bright like a diamond really inspire me till date. And interviewing them, spending time with them is one of the beautiful memories that i treasure. So I tried....