So this poem is supposed to be about who a man has an epiphany about the destruction nature has witnessed while sitting on the rooftop garden of a city. He realises how artificial the city is and questions calling it is home due to its lack and poor imitation of nature. He attempts to make himself feel better by taking about aspects of the city that make him 'comfortable' but ends up contrasting them with nature's beauty.
Dear #wanderers of #Universe Have a glance and drop a #star or #scar in accordance with your feelings to the verse. Your suggestions are heartiest welcome. ---------------------------------------------------------- ** To all those stars you hide within 'O' Star etched soul, smile and shine Don't hesitate to twinkle before tumbling into the void Claim your precious presence that none can avoid.
Don't burry your lucid lustre Devour darkness with ardent valour In the dark night of despair and fear The bright stars of love and hope shimmer, truly forever.
Which one do you prefer? A shabby scar or a shimmery star? Tattered existence or an exquisite one? **
* GLOSSARY : Star etched - Decorated with stars, Tumble - Fall down, Void - Blank space, Burry - Cover, Lucid - Bright, Lustre - Glow or Glaze, Devour - Destroy or Consume, Ardent - Passionate,Valour - Courage, Despair - Hopelessness, Shimmer - Shine, Shabby and Tattered - Miserable or Poor, Exquisite - Beautiful *
what did words matter to a desert? -benjamin alire sáenz
i can't tell how many times i have to throw the letters back and forth to find a noun, an adjective, a verb. i mean, who knows when, or where, or why you have to toss the dice to find a number no more or less than the amount of spaces between your toes. can you count the void even? no, which just says this totally doesn't make any sense. because maybe i'm just half the number your left, or i'm only medial to lateral, a hand, a shoe, an eyepatch. the distance you take coming back from where you were to where you are.
it's just that i'm always stuck in an endless spiral, turning and turning in the tightening gyre like john green said. and the thing about spirals is that its circumference can never equalize the distance of its line, its endless line. from starting point to end point, shall i say, from the outward to its most inner void. the more you go, the more do you get into the middle of something that suffocates. life, i guess, is just this fixed radius. people are there for the fixed radius, this literal breathtaking, suffocating displacement over the entire distance.
they couldn't, somehow, grasp the concept of having to brush your teeth with your wrist slightly deviated for that streak of icing by the edge of your second molar. because they believed that you are partially conjoined to become something you refused to eat. but they said if you count the number of steps you take from the shallows to the deep, you'll realize they aren't less than the bubbles that pop in between your teeth. because we chew a little more than what we can swallow often, but never take foot more than what we can step.
if the birds understand not the concept of the sky, shouldn't we write the wings for other things; that know not to fly?
at a vast scale of individual mirrors lining up in a department store, i could no more count its repetitive visuals than determine the differences each will have to prove its worth of being chosen. they all reflect the same, i'd say. each person, mediating every intuition as the only thing that's possibly visible in front of it. like a yellow flower amidst a garden more of the same, in which the only apparent distinction they have is their place.
when i was small enough to fit in the dog house whose owners haven't drifted to a number no more than two, i could see the yard slowly being emptied with a picking stick and a trash bag of dried leaves. if circumstances are necessary, i'd reason out. being rebellious is in line with skipping classes or hitting a classmate, but not in avoiding chores, isn't it? but that honestly wasn't the main reason when the sun was up and my dad would sit on the porch step, counting to ten. i'd hide nowhere else other than a wooden kennel home with a holed roof, big enough to fit my childhood and a car engine you'll hear in the distance, saying maybe we'll finish the game tomorrow instead. so you'll wake up on your bed whilst falling asleep on the ground, again and again, until the hands that carry you decay faster than an autumn leaf adjacent to its decomposing tree.
"there's food in the fridge," my mom would say whenever i woke up, over and over, until they'd remember what my meals had consumed.
Dear Redolent souls Have a kind glance and raise your voice against the atrocities with children.
Warm Wishes on World Day Against Child Labour! ---------------------------------------------------------- **Don't snatch away fragrance of innocence Nurture them well to bloom with blissfulness Don't chain childhood with shackles to scream Free the wings to achieve their dreams and gleam.
For a peaceful and prosperous future Let's take a pledge to abolish Child Labour.**
*GLOSSARY :- Snatch away - Steal, Nurture - Care for and protect, Bloom - Be in flower, Blissfulness - State of Extreme happiness, Chain - Tie or bind, Shackles - Chains, Scream - Make a loud sound, Gleam - Shine brightly, Prosperous - Successful or Productive, Pledge - Solemn Promise, Abolish - Put an end* ---------------------------------------------------------- @writersnetwork@mirakee@writersbay@writerstolli
8 sunflowers with elegant sound Portrayed pearls on naive ground Engraved poetries inherited astound Some buried with time , some held on mound
Some epic , some sonnet , some octelle scattered on ground Dusted with lonesome lyrics searching a single heart to bound Princess of abode heading , shading inks to soothe the wild wound Turning the dispersed canvas in melodious paintings to spellbound
Nurture the metaphor erasing grown melancholic story Take my ink or my breath , just base the ruined~ abandoned storey
With a clink the carboy fell The corrosive black ink seeped through The vaguely, printed, vintage paper It traced the lined pathway Smearing the dullness of the paper_meaningfully A tear fell, into the pool of leaden abyss With an enormous blow and stifle smoke I came into existence_the wild fire The ember of love ablazes the coal-black dark I'm not an ember, I'm fire of passion That flares with atrocious intensity I either gleam through your soul To turn you into crystal, white, withered ashes That die for once but live forever Or I'm the holy saint hell fire When you glint with grace, I cling to your aesthetic gown and return you your dues, that you never wanted around Brightest I ignite when the crestfallen hearts Mourn for the mercy of hope But it's intriguing when, I ablaze without permit It's you who unknowingly carry me inside With staleness of gloom and extinguishing tears I still flicker in your words that you scribble In those vehement letters that you Burn in the memories of those who left you