Happy Birthday you beautiful beautiful human. You are a special person who deserves everything beautiful in life. You are strong , beautiful and just the right shoulder anyone can count on and I knew I could count in you the day you told me you hated rain XD. And Ily for that . Thank you for being the person who checks up on everyone and for always being the person who never gives up on love, thank you for all the gossip you share and thank you for always being YOU. You can count on me anyday and I'll be there for you just like you have been there. I never thought I'd make such a great friend.A friendship that really matters . So here's to great friendship, to awkward talks , to listening songs and here's to drooling over damon salvatore. I love youuuu and I hope you have the best day .
Do not kill me for the poem I promise to write you a good one when I get over my block.
Here's to the hope she carries And the kindness that nestles within . To the endless love that resides And turning frowns to smiles . To the sunflowers that dance to her rhymes And poems that stall your heart. Rhymes that sing you to sleep, And words that paint the skies shy. She's a metaphor of everything good , With soul as beautiful as sunflowers under the sky. Here's to celebrating this person today and everyday ♥️
I keep my medications under the sink, under the bed hidden because Ma thinks a smiling face is always happy and therapy is a myth.
Her face is a warzone of all the anger my father keeps on his fingertips and serves it to her from the day she decided to question the lavender smell from his blue shirt because she knows he keeps perfumes away from his skin as he keeps her away from smiles.
Because women to him are objects and mere objects that he wishes to keep holding in his hands wishing they don’t melt away from their anger, from lavender scents.
The walls of my house have gone deaf through the screams and shout it hears 6 days out of 7. While other women in the building are brave enough to hear them and not shed a tear for humanity. Because women are the same all around the world for they hide out scars from last night under 3 layers of makeup and judge the one showing their long legs under a tulip mustard dress.
But ma calls abuse as adjustments because she says if you talk your voice over men they'll cut your tongue leaving them hanging from your mouth until you bleed and die and because revolution is harder than oppression, and because patriarchy never existed it just the way a man lives and women are meant to live and at the end of the day boys will be boys.
The rose petals in my journals have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawers haven't tasted air for years now. They keep growing in dust and I in melancholy.
Your photographs are polaroids of memories I am too afraid to open too afraid to name love. Smiles have been fading and my wounds now ache in love and whisper your name every time they bleed. They have grown sour to all the memories that rot inside, It stinks like a reminder of not being enough.
The mirror on the wall is old and I sit staring at it in long breaths and cold hands.
Nose too big- Check Lips too chapped- Check Eyes not pretty enough- Check The heart is too broken - Check No self-love - Check
I keep whispering it like an LKG rhyme again and again for I carry too much hate for me and too much love for him. I remember things I shouldn't and love people I don't want to. Oh, but do they love me back? They don't, they never did.
I brush my lips across yours and you whimper while you smile your guilt away and we fold into each other's arms like lovers that meet after the war.
I trace your smiles, the curves on your body, the taste of your blood and the chills of your body against mine and follow them like a madman in search of the home knowing that there is a part of me that is going to love you so much you'd think the sky just split apart caressing every inch of your skin with the stardust and smiles and lift your sadness that lives inside your hollow bones and kiss it a goodbye while you plant kisses on my scars like poetries and mouth a hundred eulogies to love.
A hundred poems are written across the skyline you borrow your words from and I keep burying myself in your poetries too often chasing metaphors and smiling at your soft lies.
Poems are often written about roses that wilt and wallflower that grow aloof and sunflowers that never bloom and how grief aches over them; and never about how roses flicker your eyes every time they bloom and wallflower that dances to the swaying hymns of the sunflowers.
There are always pretty skies clinging at the footsteps of rhymes where they suck the sadness out of me that talk about heartbreaks a little too fondly and how they carry grief like a handkerchief in the breast pocket.
And there is poetry written all over me but all I can smell is stale metaphors of hope stringed with happiness at its bottom.
Two humans 1 soul Seven births of love Death for death One alive one dead.
Thursday morning over the stained sofa I sit in white , there is grief sitting on the corner of my lips, and I sit naked to let it barge out of me Hands pass down my back passing a nudge of hope and she slips right away, everytime.
My eyes red and hands shivering grey. He stopped breathing, he stopped all of a sudden and once for all. No more beeps of the ventilator and no more money for oxygen . No more tears to flow, no more smiles my way. No more rainbows for me , no more red flowers from him. No more bangles for you my mother says, And no more colours either. No more colours to my lips and no more attempt of being fair. A black woman for a black man. And white for white, But what's left for girl like me whose womanhood is lost and is dressed under coats of blue Do you paint me black again or do you paint me grey the colour of his ash?
To, A man with huge arms and feet, a scratchy beard with black upturned mustache often found with his iron-stiff shirts of the colour of the sky buttoned neatly and tucked under his brown pants and who doesn't smile often.
You are often seated at the corner when poems are scribbled over sacrifice, With pretty metaphors of love ,sacrifice grins within.
You mother , she calls you a warrior, As you set off to the world where you smile until your jaws hurt with grief clenched to your teeth. Because men he says we're never built that way. On most days he spreads his arms wide apart asking me to bury all my sorrows inside it For he is a man and it says without going grief sticks on a mans face without a pain unlike women that a shed a tear.
On the days when I see my life mending it's verses among heartbreaks , His particularly hoarse voice pulls me under his tender smiles. Showing rainbows under dark clouds, Being yellow in my blues.
He says I love yous a little less than Ma, But his passwords says otherwise. 4 walls and a roof over my head, And his arms I call home.
From, The one who feels a little safe with your hand holding her little fingers and who smiles a lot more around you and loves you till eternity.
It has been almost a year, no, it has been a year since I met you from that quiet yet aesthetically beautiful account of @sereiin, full and full of love poems. Compared to that day and today, it would be an understatement if I say you are the best person I have met here. You honestly remind me of sunflowers (but ofc you have a new nickname now --> raddish ) always and always bringing smiles to my face. I never have to worry about getting back bitched about my weird habits and personality with you; and that's just one of the many things that makes me utterly comfortable around you, as if I know I have a safe place where I can be who I am without holding anything back. Our endless song sessions, passionate discussions about books (particularly from the romance genre xD), hyping about series that are still somehow trending on social media, like... one can pick up any kind of topics with you and talk to you for hours about it. And that pretty pretty face of yours, ufff; BOHT BOHT SUNDR HAIN AND DON'T YOU EVEN DARE QUESTION THIS FACT BEFORE ME T_T
I don't know why but these days, I feel a lot awkward here and run out of compliments to give to people. Maybe because I am done with this place finally; maybe my life outside this platform has shown me nothing really matters at the end of the day; but let me just tell you, I ABSOLUTELY ADORE YOU FOR THE KIND OF PERSON YOU ARE!
HAPPY 20th BIRTHDAY RADHIKA. I have heard 20s are one of the best phases of life where you are allowed to be selfish enough to walk from anything that doesn't seem to fit into your story I wish you loads of smiles and pretty skies for this new journey of yours.
P.S. I have lost touch with writing for a long time now and nothing I write satisfies me anymore but I will try on this part ;_;
Monsoon plays the gramophone Its tender echo against my windowpane The rains have a saviour complex It checks on me every while You don't explain feminine tears, Or rains in tropical zones But it's so humane to leave Yet so natural to stay The thunder knocks upon my reverie, You're never here when it rains.
My poetries are home to delirious welkins and wild constellations. My breaths hold the coldness of saturn rings and homeless hailstorms. You left dregs of catastrophes between my ribs and barbed forevers. I call it a calamity when my verses smell like a dead autumns for all the scars and the holocausts left. What hurts? Silhouettes of a gypsy muse that pirouettes further away into the making of a trauma poetry. Heartbreaks sew into moonbows on a brumous october. I see the blood on your fingers for every love poem you write, for every ache your city has undergone. I'll end up being a metaphoric berserk when art resurrects from a graveyard. For now, there's this burning sky scribbling elegies on my skin. Home tastes like apocalyptic salvation.
They hurled him to a desolate corner and dressed themselves as sanguinary mortals to smother his scared buds of snowdrops, and when the sun sung songs in the suburbs, he woke up with crimson pools and cuts all over. And when a twelve spring old irony woke up with autumns all around, he decided to paint his canvas with shades of daffodils and roses, to find more than mere air for another breath. Now when he looks in the mirror, he smiles.
~threnodies of a threadbare tulip~
~ S r i K r i s h n a P S | July 14, 2021 _____________________________________________
/ I won't tell you I'm lonely 'Cause it might be selfish I won't ask you to hold me 'Cause that won't mend what's helpless There's not a thing I could say Not a song I could sing For your mind to change Nothing can fill up the space Won't ask you to stay //
It’s been two hundred forty eight days since I saw you from the corner of my eyes so that you don’t catch me looking at you. Only if I’d known it was the last time I got to see you, I would’ve looked you in the eye and told you how my love for you knows no bounds, how my naive heart doesn’t care if you break it every minute of every day, how it tells me that it isn’t going to love anyone like it loved you.
/ But let me ask you one thing Oh-o-oh When did you fall out of love? Out of love? Oh-o-oh, when did you fall out of love with me //
It’s been five hundred and fifty eight days since I hugged you. Every night my arms crunch at me for not hugging you longer. My mind shouts at me to call you but my tongue tied mouth, cannot say anything to confront your decision. I doubt if it’s love. It cannot be. It’s either beyond this realm or just nothing. Because as much as y(our) love set me free, it’s caused me equal pain. Maybe they are two sides of the same coin, while you got my love, I embraced the pain you gave.
/ I can't float in an ocean That's already been drained I won't cry at your feet now I know my tears will fall in vein There's not a thing I could say Not a song I could sing For your mind to change Nothing can fill up the space Won't ask you to stay But let me ask you one thing //
It’s been countless days since I slept. Whenever I close my eyes and invite sleep to take me away for a little time, your crescent smile flashes the darkness away and paints me with despair all over again. I’ve stopped trying now. I simply have accepted the fact that I’ll always remember you. I befriended night, insomnia, moon, quill and a few words that are stuck in my throat.
/ Oh-o-oh, when did you fall out of love? Out of love? Oh-o-oh, when did you fall out of love with me? No use Wondering Why your change in heart has wondered So I ask you this question 'Cause it might help me sleep longer //
You say you never, ever loved me, not even for a moment, then what was it that I felt?
/ lines are from the song 'out of love' by 'Alyssa cara'