#december Merry Christmas ☃️ Thank you so much for POD team! And thank you everyone for the love, wish I could be here more often, but it's a lil hard these days, but I'm so happy after seeing this :) Thank you again ❤️ #pod_s
/ Take a deep breath Until both sides of your heart get numb Until it hurts a little Let out your breath even more Until you feel like there’s nothing left inside It’s alright if you run out of breath No one will blame you It’s okay to make mistakes sometimes Because anyone can do so Although comforting by saying it’s alright Are just words.../ ~ (Breathe, Kim Jonghyun)
Minutes before being hanged, no matter how big of a crime, death is tragic... #start Smh I write too long these days '_'
I stand against the wind today, And oh! Can this night be any calmer?, Brimming with fear and eerie nostalgia, like a sad romance of darkness and light, one overpowering, the other every second. And dreams slip and fall off my sleeves, how long can they hold on, when life itself doesn't? The only vision I have is of chaotic peace, why does death seem so surreal? Oh no longing, no desire to go back, now that everything stops, except for my footsteps, like the ticking of a horrid clock. Bliss and delight are dead children, no spectators to the moon's playtime, only demons dance amidst blades of grass, like a piece of classic dark poetry. My wife's trinkets jingle in my pocket, can I ever return them to her bare hands? And if not, they shall stay, shining upon the world the silvery moonlight. Fireflies are roaming around, oh can beauty camouflage with dread? Silence a best friend to the screeching soul, wanting to break away somewhere. Vague are memories, on my bleeding mind, vague are tears and grief, since no tears save life on knife edges, no grief stronger than regret. Walking through the corridors, of an endless night, mirages of lakesides and dinner tables, oh what part of my hypnotized mind, still remembers good days for so long? My children are gazing out, to a non existent tomorrow, when I come back and embrace them tight, oh if only god didn't make little children, suffer the atrocities of the old. Stars dazzle, as I near the loop, threatening to suffocate, vowing to be the justice for all.
LAST LETTER ~~~~~~~~~ (Poet) If today my hands, were f r e e and weren't bound by syringes, pumping blood into my parched heart, oh! my love, I would've held you so tight, and so close to me, lest we fell apart. Oh my love, do you still press butterflies, and your dearest daisies, onto the bare chests of my favourite books? Where else do you store affection, in our dainty little house, now that the bed is empty, and the cupboards silent? Oh my love! Only if we, were less apart, my feet wouldn't wait, to carry yours, and the sky wouldn't dress, like an ill patient. But oh my love, how pathetic is life, like weeds we thrived, and yet so fragile, like frail dandelions, we flew apart? Lend me the pain, of your lonesome heart, oh my love, I'll ease your soul, till I rest in deathbed, but don't you suffer, in your innocent mind, when my last letter, doesn't arrive.
Inspired by Grave of the fireflies •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Hearts of malice? ••••••••••••••••••••••
Now as I write about war, I can remember his shadowed eyes, his grey sweatshirt and hanging hood, the sounds of battle that resonate, as he strides with heavy steps, through smoged streets, smoking a cigarette, a silhouette so eerie, an aura of tragic history, and donated heritage. "A product of war", a foetus grown in horse backs, and secret tunnels, a soul packed inside a bag of shotguns, and a cereal bowl full of bullets. Ruins of a house, brown grasslands, and yet somehow unnoticed, is this dreary tragedy. What consolation dries the tears of war? What realm of time, soothes their fossiled scars?
(2. The bag)
Grey walls, contrast the sand coloured rucksack, a child of war dust, knife scars lining its edges. On hunched backs it has endured, neverending marathons, of hunger chases, and sword threats. On beautiful evenings it was forced, inside gloomy cabinets, inside death coloured tanks, listening to the music of war. Do you call it fate, or mere mentality, that inanimate things, become refugees too? Oh! No heartache, no sympathy, a journey from a slave factory, on a relief truck, to someone's young, fragile hands, just a mere bag of possessions, ever loyal to the boy's back, tearing like glass, through pages of war memoirs.
Blue are my eyes The skies above your head And clouds over the horizon Bell-flowers hoping to breeze Love-in-a-mist and the Forget-me-nots shaking hands The face of the new year moon And the oceans beneath And the waves spurting within Blue is my Father's First office t-shirt and My mother's prayer mat The kerchief I wear for the night And the denim pants my aunt Got me from another city Blue are the lagoons The butterfly pea flower tea And the blue curçao The blueberry crème buns And the lavender and Seafoam shell scented candles Old turquoise and lapis lazuli Locket of my grandmother Blue are the gas flames and The cobalt beach glass pebbles Blue are the blue pansy butterflies Bouncing in the backyard And the lucky feather pendant Swivelling in my room Blues are the balloons and crayons Umbrellas and my monsoon shoes The bluebirds and the cerulean taxis Blue is a rose of benevolence An explicit welcome note And a true-blue goodbye letter
--Today, write about a beloved December tradition--
Do you bake cakes every year, watch the same holiday movie, or decorate with family? Incorporate these beloved rituals and activities into a poem. Make the reader feel like part of the moment through enriching specifics.
This place is like a dream to me where my reality doesn't know about that I exist here too. So thankful to those stygian nights who help me to reside within them and shelter my metaphors in a dreamy wardrobe which is made up of love and care. My silhouette is more blessed to find its home finally within the landscape of many heavenward syllables. Since three years, my dream has been breathing here with the melodies of an unseen lyre.
And, inside my cobbled dream, I'm just a mere orchid which blooms in a pallette of colours unknowingly and learning to bloom from other charming orchids and I shall continue to learn how to bloom and rise perfectly. One day, I will wither for sure but before the autumn's fall, I want to enjoy every side of this beautiful cruise.
This orchid is thankful for all the love you water and I will conceal the chalice of your kindness inside my closet to look that how I was loved and lived.
Completing three years here :-*
If I'll tag each and everyone whom I know and from whom I inspire, then it may take me a year to mention each and everyone. Kindly understand the situation xd. And really I'm thankful.