There's a salvation when, your feet don't long to melt in the footsteps of chaos and you share this breathing space word by word on a blank leaf. A home you made, a temple it looked; where whole universe is draped in an explicit cloak of a rhyming poetry.
There were times when, the world was painted in green except for the blue skies and sapphire oceans, where we made love in epilogues of rainbow and loosened-letters called stars of dusk. Moon did brightened, twilight borrowed some hues; when the geometry of our souls was drawn amidst the syllables of a beautiful poetry.
There's a closet opening in my arms, of flowers that smell of hope and books that read self-worth when sunshine wraps around me and clouds leak pride. A wound I kissed, It bloomed into a rose; where scars are sown and raised as strength into the empty spaces of a free-versed poetry.
There's peace in silence when, the words turn down to ashes but are still sung upon in poems admired by each passerby. A dream you weaved, a beauty that flourished; where the midnight rustle of leaves and the blow of air is treasured in the collection of poetry, and in a touch of moment with ink I understood, Everyone becomes a poet. ~Purva
shrey2310The last three lines of the first stanza, loved that idea. Whole universe filled with complexity veiled with easy going rhymes. Defines very well how a poet makes things look different from what they really are. Wowie