the sky never seemed to care about what you feel. for a poetic touch, you gave it a color, a life, and a story that fits in your journal.
but it was never the same, always changing; from one color to another. blue to the orange to the red and sometimes, a bit too grey for your liking.
you chose a word to match the color and a few more for the clouds and the wind.
it's always blue when you begin, not too bright but not too sad peeking through the window to the beginning; a beginning that's so uncertain. but put a smile on your face, a tired little one where your lips barely move.
you don't know why, but grey always had a sad story to rain down. sometimes a gentle kiss on your numb body sometimes drowning you to death. but, it always had something sad about it.
sadness that always fits so perfectly about a long lost one, as it rains down to drench the streets and numb the pain of all the ones that look through a window and leave a sigh.
like a fine Claude Monet's painting, the sky bleeds into a perfect stroke of all the colors; but it's never the same the next day. silent, but tranquil moments of serendipity that lets you breathe. some endings are always more artistic than some beginnings.
the day strips down into the night to end the charade; there is too much dark between the stars. we turn on the artificial colors to fill the room, darkness always questioned your existence.
you always loved the night sky, my moonchild; when the sky lay bare against your eyes you wrote the best lines of all the things that never made sense in your head but somehow someone felt connected to like the stars that always stayed till the end.
a tiny dot in the endless space, awed by the wonders that hide from the sight. perhaps, some infinities are bigger than what we can comprehend. but you always wondered what the sky feels.
At any hour, be it a drab day or deep into a nefarious night it seems neither obligatory nor perfunctory a borderline violation of the inhibitory volition she undresses her indispositions rattling the cage of a halcyon beast;
her voice enrages its vices as she awaits its atonement a moan of hers almost as frail as a whisper makes it claw the walls of properness a wily willingness is curtained as she pulls it closer to her faltering face she engraves her wishes on its bare chest the marks are a telltale of the erudite evidences a presage of the pleasure as pretext of purgatories for preferences;
under the holy vows eager to be diligently devoured she lets loose the reins of the beast for the carouse of her drippings the beast savours it like drops of wine a fermentation of her augmented arousal and it savours it in a decadence her wishes projected on its glistening face;
the tremors of its tongue over the luscious lips of hers a red hot knife over a crimsoned crevice fingers entangled while fallling through a precipice the throat profusely parched whilst the saliva perched on the tips she guides it through the wilderness sweltering it by the silkened whips of her whims;
a symbiotic semblance of a simmering symphony they utter their names as a pleasurable epithet a protraction deposited as it drivels an acceptance postulating its intended intensities crafting the cusps, changing positions the beast tamed as she is emancipated their battered bodies lying in the aftermath their eyes meet amidst a satiated wrath a silence beholding the promises of recurrence she wanes like a moon and it withers in her darkness!
There is no enough life to be lived, not enough time to be reached to the destination, not enough food to be eaten, not enough night to be slept, not enough love to be felt, not enough words to be spoken and not enough thought to be scribbled... Just some hands we touch in our bygone hours, some voices we hear in the playlist of time and some faces we see in the path through which we pass at the same time and same moment....
The whole life is a journey from birth to death and we spend every moment by remembering things.. everyone expect us only to REMEMBER... Remember our color, remember I'm not beautiful or I'm beautiful, remember our gender, remember the things that we are allowed to do or not allowed to do... Remember all the people around us, those last night tears, food that we swallowed but not tasted, songs that we heard but not sung and those poems we read but not felt....
All those felt unfelt moments are we find in our journey towards an another life which is a loop but we don't want to believe the fact... We controlled our emotions, prayers and curse at the same time to be accepted by the heaven's society... Only then we can be felt more than alive...
The more time we breathe, the more distance reduces.... But on that journey, apart from remembering our entities, million times we feel alive or dead... When our hearts breathe and we deny to accept...
//walking miles and miles in this journey, don't know where should I stop and where I'm going with fast heartbeat, I can only trust my eyes and feet.. what I touch is the perfect skin of reality... the journey is taking years, minutes and centuries//
I was about to die in my birth, reality denied my homecoming, but I survived because of the blessings of her womb, she knitted dreams by her falling lashes and hold me in her arms, so similar those eyes, she painted her constellation in my skin, I felt alive. When I wrote my first alphabet and my father taught me to write my name I felt alive. When I first visited my dance school and my feet first touched those metal beats I felt alive. When I first saw changes in my body with growing age I felt alive. When I came back home from school and my pets were waiting for my touch I felt alive. Still when I go to sleep and various imaginations run in my veins to be written to be said to the world, I feel I'm alive...
At the same time I tasted the salt of hell, when I hardly felt my breathe. When I first lied to my parents, when I first saw my grandmother so calm and lifeless, sleeping her last sleep, when I saw one of my friends after many years and she couldn't recall my name, when I walked through the same lane everyday and then also no one smiled at me. When I tried to write my days of Autumn but the summer night wiped my ink by its tears... Still sometimes I feel myself empty handed when my heart and mind dancing in their own monologues.
//there are days when I lay on the wet soil in my own quagmire of tears and death comes around unexpectedly time after time, I see some fruits of hope so well matured to eat... I feel like dying but I don't want to... Gather those tears for another day cause all of a sudden I've found the meaning of its language//
All I know, we don't need the sky to fly. When I feel the breeze tickles my hair and pores drenched by the fire, old skin fell on the ground and became the misty grass and I call my name by broken all the fears, I drift with the sparrow, I just need to open my arms wide and just soar to the home where I barely cry...
There's no enough life to be lived but enough moments to breathe...
This is a piece I wrote for the "Tale of Two Lovers, Retold" challenge on my other account. The idea was to choose a pair of famous lovebirds and give their story a different ending. So in my portrayal of the tale of Sir Lancelot and Lady Guinevere, King Arthur dies and Guinevere remains with Lancelot; whereas in the original version, King Arthur and his knights fight off Lancelot, and Lady Guinevere remains with the king. Thank you for reading!
A LOVERS TALE RETOLD by Carolyn Glackin And now behold what time forgot Of the fabled night Sir Lancelot Who betrayed the king Whom he held dear For the love of Lady Guinevere In the days when mermaids Graced the shores And dragons flew Throughout the moors When the fairy realm Was plainly seen While tending to the land so green When wizards chose The fates of man And witches sought To thwart their plan When wars were fought upon a horse Blade to blade, with no remorse Those bygone days When bards would sing To tell the tales of queen and king A knight, it was, I mentioned first For a fated love, he would be cursed Despite dire warnings, cloaked in fear He still pursued his Guinevere And might I add, she loved him too A tender love, so deep and true Already though, she'd wed the king And lo but how her deeds did sting! So what's a noble king to do? Betrayed by wife, and best friend too It proved too much for him to bear The loss of Lady Guinevere With broken heart and damaged pride An anger rose from deep inside His fury launched a civil war He fought, he did! Like ne'er before! A mortal wound would end his reign Alas! His life snuffed out in vein! Then laid to rest, that moment on In the mystical place called Avalon And what of our two lovers, dear? Sir Lancelot and Guinevere... Well, rumor has it, no one knows But my guess is their love still grows And now you know what some forgot Of Guinevere and Lancelot. Copyright Carolyn Glackin 4/21/2020