petrichor_tales

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now that you've met me do you still believe in coincidences?��

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  • petrichor_tales 58w

    Sharing Sakshi's post

    I was on a break..
    It's sad to return briefly to such a news.
    May his soul rest in piece. @kehta_hai_joker

    You are a gem for the thought Sakshi ❤️ @my_cup_of_poetry

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  • petrichor_tales 59w

    Shivers threaten to rip these muscles into shreds until all that remains are bare bones made of white hopes that wanted to hold up a feeble life, never realising how much it would all weigh in the end
    ©petrichor_tales

  • petrichor_tales 59w

    Would it be cruel to plant seeds of a beautiful flower upon pale bodies that are decaying, have no names and were once drowned in misery until it left their lungs in wisps of whitewashed memories
    ©petrichor_tales

  • petrichor_tales 59w

    Rip open every seam of this twisted life of mine and I'll scream into the night until my throat resembles the parched land of my dessicated hopes
    ©petrichor_tales

  • petrichor_tales 60w

    5.10.20 | ©k.s
    p.c: Alberto Zanetti (Unsplash)
    #life #mondaymantras

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    Life is a meandering mess of poetic lines. While some form enough to seem concrete and become admired others are free, yet equally leaves it's mark in the world
    ©petrichor_tales

  • petrichor_tales 60w

    Where do we go wrong?
    When did forgiveness become a weakness?
    Are we all so less humane each day that
    we are no longer able to smile at hate
    and laugh at jealousy?
    Where did we go wrong if all of us aren't to be blamed.. together?

    We were mysteries to ourselves from the day we were born. We look into the eyes of our mothers in curiosity while they do so in wonder. A child learns through their mistakes. He grows up learning about humanity seeing the worlds faults and compassion through his mother's eyes.
    When it tears up, he would understand that wrong hath been done upon a kindred and kind.
    He would introspect each day to thus and thus far until he becomes a tool that fits perfectly into the world. Something which then tries to make changes to it's structure until a change has been made. How good the change has then depend upon how and when he was taught by his father, how to mould the strength in arms and the tenderness in his voice to being about changes to his world and in his people respectively.

    Each neuron in our brain that fire away electrical signals into its synapses and down unto our muscles and tendons ending up with a creature with magnificent will to create and perceive, beauty and emotions, is still the greatest mystery to us.
    What one such forms does with each other and unto each other still perplexes the greatest of our minds. Yet we choose to squabble and sunder by the feeblest notions of self, under the stars that we rotate with. Does there need to be a better look into the world than understanding the great metaphor of how we orbit around each other one way or another.

    This is how the world soon views us and what is sees is an amalgam of every little mystery we ever strived to understand and feel by ourselves. To unravel it in kindness and to hold onto each other when it gets tough.
    To forgive is a blessing, not because it helps us, but because it helps everyone we love too. For the world we now live in, was never built by one man or woman but by a shared responsibility to understand these empyreal mysteries
    ©petrichor_tales

    #writersnetwork

    #nurturekindnessforoursiblings

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  • petrichor_tales 61w

    And if this was a day
    like any another,
    I would have stopped
    my words from escaping my heart
    bottled it up
    half empty
    in a crumpled paper
    for it to collect dust
    and spiders would make it their home.
    It would change it's colours
    from white to ivory and even brown
    The words would fade
    and the ink would corrode
    until finally one day I'd pick up
    the duster and clean up my room.
    You would ask me where my
    letters and metaphors
    went to and I'd point
    at the dustbin
    you'd pause and ask if thats where
    all my incomplete feelings
    ended up in
    and I'd smile

    My answer would be a vague 'yes?'
    I'm not a writer neither am I a poet
    I'm an actor posing with a box of lexicon
    e v e n l y spaced out so as not to cause
    a readers attention to slip away, before they
    notice how his words have started to take
    form, but then it never held meaning, did it?

    You'd slowly walk up to me
    hug me tight
    breathe a sigh of relief
    and then walk away
    to the door
    just before I expected
    you to disappear,
    you
    turn around and ask me something
    "Then why do you smell of burnt papers and hopes?"
    ©petrichor_tales

    P.C: Pranav Kumar Jain (Unsplash)
    Edit: myself

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  • petrichor_tales 65w

    Dear someone?

    I don't know when we began to kiss in the mornings. But then again our love story was never normal to begin with. We stole our first kiss when we were drunk and you barfing aloud immediately after. You asked me to hold your hair and then continued on making a mess. I smiled though. It had been months since I did that. You looked at me quizzically and I just shook my head still smiling.
    You asked me to marry you there and then and I smiled wider. I told you I barely knew you and you laughed sarcastically too say 'like I get to know the guy I'll be forced to marry by my parents'. And then you went ahead and slapped me hard on my face and before I could even get out of the shock, you kissed me like no one ever had before.

    Kisses are said to taste like mint gums and strawberries or whatever the mix of lipstick and gum the guy and the girl chooses.. why then did our kisses taste of remnant vomit and spirited souls? I guess I'd always be confused on that. But I couldn't deny it was a kiss that was meant to be there. Someone hooted from and a distance and I snapped back into reality enough to separate us apart.
    I questioned you what was that for and you asked me if I meant the kiss or the slap.
    I answered both and she replied with a simple shrug and said we needed to get out of there.

    We were shivering because of the cold as we threw what threadbare of modesty we had left and made love in some place far from the fantasies anyone could have cooked up.
    The glasses of the windows made dewdrops and we stared into it as we lay side by side, our breaths mingling into each other. I traced the scars upon your shoulders but didn't say a word. You looked into my eyes and I knew it said thank you. I still don't know how I knew that. You started drawing something on the glasspanes and I thought it'd be a heart or a snowflake. But you drew a lopsided moon and two monkeys looking from down below. I smiled and held you closer. You stopped moving and lay against my chest as I fell asleep to the sound of dry thunder in the sky.

    I still wonder why you slapped me again in the morning, but what I didn't know was your name or why you told me that I needed to smile more. 'People lie and disappear all the time' you said 'dont look for their stories or write letters to them because they probably aren't listening to the memories left behind' maybe I shouldn't write this letter to you then. Maybe I should burn it before the next sunrise. But who knows.. who knows...

    Yours truly(?)
    who?

    ©petrichor_tales

  • petrichor_tales 65w

    If we were butterflies dancing around each other in delight
    I wonder, when would our flower of existence bloom?
    ©petrichor_tales

  • petrichor_tales 65w

    Kiss my lips, shred my skin
    rip my bones and burn me alive
    In the morning, give a toast to all of my lies
    ©petrichor_tales