4th October, and fall was right at the doorstep. It's always a wonder for me how with you by my side, the winds are much not chilly. Certainly, your eyes went wide reading that, as I was hoping for. And probably, you're smiling to yourself. I know you all too well, my love.
A letter from me was probably the least of your expectations from me, but like always, surprising you is something I love to do. My mind is always filled with the thoughts of you whenever you're not around. And before you start thinking of what goes on in my head when you're with me, I'm too busy admiring you and thinking how the hell did I get so lucky to have a wonderful soul like you with me.
This is just one of those many little things I wanna do for you. Hopefully this surprise of mine made you fall deeper for me. And don't you worry, I'm knee-deep into all the love you have for me. Maybe, I'll even drown in it someday. Patiently waiting for that day to come, as mine obviously will. For me, and much more for you.
A gentle breeze carried with it the hopes and dreams Of new beginnings. I closed my eyes as I took in the fragrance of flowers around. A bard like me found solace in the lap of nature. After all, it was the closest I could get to tranquility.
I sat down under a mighty cherry blossom tree; How I missed its vigor amidst the monotonous winter. Spring to me was vitality at its prime.
Some distance ahead, I laid my eyes upon a songbird. She saw me, head tilted to a side. I chuckled to myself realizing I was quite similar to her. No, I do not mean to call myself a bird. Would be a wonder if I was one. But, a songbird and a bard, they sing much about spring One you understand, one you don't.
Yet, you feel both of them giving you joy; It's the rays of the sun that fall so delicately on the world Bringing marvels we can only praise.
And there I sat taking in all that spring had to offer, The warm wind tingling my toes as I picked up a fallen flower. A gentle ray fell on it, the sun had her snuggled.
Not all poems are written to be read. Or so they say. Brimming with life and colours, I spent my days weaving and weaving. Each word to me was not something out of a mere dictionary, It was a thread, one that I would weave into my world Which would play symphonies to my sorrows And heal all the malice that laced my heart.
A poem here, a prose there; My loom always had a knack for fabrics that needed detail, Calloused hands worked on them, Not effortlessly, mind you. Weaving never is something so easy. Say, not all poems are written to be read But I weaved worlds beyond your minds, I've lived in places you'll never find.
So, even if you have never read them, I'm certain you've found a piece of fabric In a long forgotten daydream of yours Which perhaps had ties to the threads That I weave into mine.
He looked through the window for all he could see was a labyrinth of fallen leaves and hopes . His empty mind and futile efforts put him to cruces where he could either initiate a new dawn or cease the dusk he was living in. He was lost in the agony of intricate feelings as he realised it was nothing but a mere fallacy He laughed at how imbecile he had acted and his naive mind! Her eyes reminded him of warm sunsets and beautifully woven fantasies. Her smile was all that he ever urged to be the reason. The wavy golden locks she flaunted and her confident skin peeping through her dresses How could he let himself overlook such a beauty?
Thanks a ton @writersnetwork for the love and repost You legit make my days better Editors choice! Yaay ❤️ Thanks to @miraquill for the love
Along with pinkish cherry blossoms Spring knocks on the dreamy door The sweet scent of young love Landed on the stale vintage floor Flew towards the sunken windows Came back to the liveable balcony And stroked the ancient ceiling At the top of the outmoded Abandoned building nearby Perilous yet precious woodland Love dwells from beginning Of reddish yet delightful spring To the end of The heavy yet heavenly monsoon Feelings reside from beginning Of longing yet promising autumn To the end of Wistful yet fierce winter The entire house smelled divine Like a holy fragrance of red roses Bestowed upon the rivers of purity
Line: I'd rather weave poems with your leftovers memories than...
All written rights reserved, 21st of July'21
TO DIE A COMET'S DEATH
//I'd rather weave poems with your leftovers memories than,// Incinerate the ruins to cage the ashes in the forbidden chamber Of the sandcastle where we had once lived.
Ever since your departure, My quill remained jailed In the Iambic aperture Of longings and belongings. Did her nerves get necrosed? Or is she still waiting to die a comet's death or meet the Dandelion's fate?
The love we nurtured, Died on the gridiron of expectations, Where we had roasted Worldly predicaments. And toasted the world I had viewed through your intriguing amber eyes.
Ever since you left, I didn't change the wallpaper of my phone That said, //go laugh at the places, you've cried; Change the narrative. //
But how could I muster audacity To walk the lanes, Where vultures sing your vulnerable name?
Stranded on the crossroads, Today, my spine trembles again, This time not with the fear of losing, But the tremor of keeping A time bomb loaded with Your whiff and mischiefs!
"All's well that ends well" you'd say, Everytime we traced the tail of an ill-fated shooting star: Shining dead through the sky Flickering hope in the dead man's eyes.
So, I filled my pockets With the last beams of The homebound sun, To graffiti onto the walls Of that dilapidated sandcastle: //Endings can be beautiful, even when beginnings are painful//.
Tonight, on the wick of your white lies I shall set ablaze the polaroids Which had captured the happiest of our days; Gulp the time bomb which ticks synchronised to your heartbeat And, retrace the frozen trails, To salvage my quill and resuscitate her lungs, While injecting into her Jugular vein, The potion I brewed Stirring the cauldron, With the broken bone of Your hollowed promises.
Your departure is the painful beginning, Only to lead my quill to a beautiful ending; Maybe, to let it die a comet's death, Or help it meet the Dandelion's fate!
I relived my dark past the other day, flashbacks grabbed a tight hold of me and took me back to a haunted room.
There I was, I threw up broken glasses, glimmering sharp edges enticed me to a stupor.
Through a dark ruthless hollow, emerged a clenched fist searching for my soul. A humongous wrinkled demon slowly crawled upon skeletal remains and mushy blood clots of his recent victims.
I created this demon, I was his creator. He was built from scratch, from grudges, and thrived in anger. I feared what I created.
Enclosed within those four walls, slowly creaking, I sat on a chair. Silently weeping, I hid my emotions with a blank stare. Eerie silence filled the room with numbness.
Suddenly, a ray of light sneaked in through the window, lighting the entire room. Like a rainbow after a heavy downpour, it somehow gave me hope. A little voice spoke with assurance about better days to come.
Clinging the last bit of hope, I gathered the shattered glasses, one by one, picked them all up, then walked out the room and closed the door behind me.
I wish I wrote the way I thought, like the "autumn leaves falling like pieces into place" bringing back vintage memories, like the silvery rivers which take with them a whole ecosystem brimming with life, like the gladiolus which beams to the sun adding illuminance to the daylights; but expression is a tough occupation unlike that of reclining imaginations.
I'd write myself into nervous breakdowns and unsung elegies with elegance inviting the dark masquerading empyreans and their fluttering candyfloss clouds so that when they rain down again, they wouldn't smell of the day old treachery and resemble the fading constellations once more, for happiness is a priceless champagne which deserves plauds after every gulp.
I'd write to the point of suffocation until all my emotions travel into the pages and drape their attires with imageric metaphors and align themselves into blank crevices like threads which conceal the blemishes beneath, so that when a heartbreak glances through the verses which hold my elixir of life, they would hold an euphoric epiphany and rather not decorate its abysmal nothing, for hope is a flower meant to glisten in a heart which only knows to wither.
~ S r i K r i s h n a P S | July 21, 2021 ____________________________________________
> The first lines of each stanza is from the poem 'I wish I wrote the way I thought' by Benedict Smith. > The phrase in "----" is from the song 'All too well' of Taylor Swift.
Thanks a million billion trillion times @miraquill and team for POD. This mediocre soul is massively honored and humbled.
Today Miraquill's prompt has literally motivated me to learn and ink something new again after a long time. So, first of all, thanks a million Miraquill for providing such a great platform. I am here I even stayed in all the ups and downs, making its decorum and environment beautiful. Yeah, I never participated in any dispute to disturb the peace. Here's my lame try for today's prompt what I learned, and yeah, now students and literary souls will learn too. Old English Challenge in old dictionary words.
(Here's simple version of the poesy as well)
1: Blinding my wisdom, caring no sentiment; 2: Stubborn uhtceare urge to be silent. 3: It wants me to keep enduring the life, 4: eat whatever it feeds, brings eerie detriment
5: Mind feels itself persistently at the war, 6: Fights heart, not to be emotional anymore. 7: It yearns to remain rational in dark abyss, 8: against the world's dire inclination to abhor.
9: I will find focillation in enmeshing: 10: Aye! I didn't know in self-squandering. 11: I pray God shall never pay attention 12: and bless me peace along with his blessing
Refractory = Stubborn ontyhtan = to urge conticent = Silent áblindan = to make blind, blind andgit = intelligence; wisdom. meaning; sense. sense; one of the five senses. gíeman = to care focillation = a momentary act of comfort Enmesh = to become tangled in something