Chorusing on the pelages of some Yellow Warblers the goatherd faded away behind those ridges ; tripping on the fantastic skylines of sunset some slender reeds giggled through billows.
The plough boy, who was guiding some virgin clouds through his gentle smile and courteous shoon ; Where I, a scalded poet, was standing near the breaths of autumn to scribble about the pastoral hamlet for you.
Those clouds receded from my view, that plough boy didn't appear again but I whispered for the warblers "O darling ! Your sky won't forget me, right !"
I'm a lost child of autumn who hides behind the hunter's moon to steal the metaphors for cold heartbreaks, tipsy sunsets and twirling lavenders and I scribble sonnets near the blanket of darkness while embracing the collapsing world & disguised phantoms.
And you're the alone firefly neither belong to the breathless autumn nor belong to the purple lavenders You belong to that unclasping darkness melting away near the scalds of hopes while crumpling the wreaths of withered orchids & dead chrysanthemums.
We, two divergent portraits hung on the walls of two unrelated porches but we gulp the same syllable of a poet inside his antichamber of grey-lipped solitude yet offbeat for his paired fantasies.
Tomorrow I may forget those rhymes of your poem I may not remember your sumptuous sonnets Let me paint you with the umbrageous syllables now below the billows of a welkin and inlay my soul with the cheerful stars and your maiden moon.
Tomorrow I may not knuckle your face with my fingers I may scroll your elegies before gulping them Let me drown now inside the ocean of your diadem with the wreaths of orchids, tulips and daffodils I, a wallflower, again ween to be your austere hem.
Tomorrow The death may kiss my delicate clavicle I may abut the stars without bidding a final goodbye Let me breathe now inside the soliloquies of the worm moon before the death could scald my red tongue Let me chug those curtains of memories for the last time darling.
~those broken crayons in my bag are screaming inside the emptiness of life.
That day had something special The rays of the sun had different shine Flowers were blooming in extreme happiness Wind sounded whispering poetries of love My diary got written very first page of it Just I saw your first glimpse with smiling face That day had something special!
A refrain in literature refers to a phrase, line or group of lines repeated at intervals throughout a poem, most commonly at the end of each stanza. The practice of using refrains is very old. There exists two broad forms of refrain: First, where a line is repeated throughout the poem and second, where words are repeated.