I tried abstract this time. I know it's weird and complicated but I hope it'll give you hope. I know it's not easy to smile these days but maybe pretence will become real someday. So smile my dears, for me, for your loved ones, for your worthy self.
@writersnetwork you guys are love. Thank you for always supporting me. Muuaah
@miraquill you guys made my day. You guys made me smile. Thank you so much for POD. I'm grateful. Love ya fam
And thank you'll for always supporting me and giving me reason to smile. Thank you for all the likes, reposts and wishes.
As the last winter wave recede back to the oak tree I look at flaxen bright sun resembling to ripened mango with vengeance, for summer no more yields roses and sunflowers evenly, nor does men and women take uniform steps on Gogh's canvas of briskly hued divergence.
I pull up my gaze and stare at the chaos which spreads like Monsoon rain, burdening already weighted shoulders around this vicinity. Ma says flowers were women at ancient times, existing as daughters of kasturi which took birth from the womb of deer, she tells tales that they are delicate and outburst in cacophony.
The skin etched on my flesh looks dark like those grey clouds blooming at June evening and it pricks me, tongues, like needles going in and out. There lights a rainbow on the candle of hope every time a flower blooms in spring, it reminds me of colleen victories and teaches me to be resilient when the last winter wave recede back to the oak tree. ~Purva
If flowers could speak, I think they'd tell us to stop plucking their wings in the name of love, to stop pressing them between verses and poetries only to be withered away, like another sad story; they'd tell us to start watering roots instead of just what appears to be, to start appreciating things before they wilt away; to breathe freely, take in the fragrance of life and let them too.
If the sky could speak, I think it'd tell us to stop looking wistfully at colours of dusk, as the sun dips in crimson- a token of passion and not sin; it'd tell us to keep running behind things that make us happy but at the same time stop wishing, on things that keep falling, on ones that are not meant to be ours; to let ourselves dream, to begin again with a new dawn, a beautiful one.
Trust me when I say I'm no pain etched poetry In dried up veins But
A p o e t i c b e r s e r k
Looking for Polaroids in skies And whites in greys There's anxiety on my nail paint Where my elation went astray I stop smiling midway when frowns stop by Of stories behind my tan lines And a massacre behind my eyes.
Trust me when I say I'm no romantic autumn Lovers talk about But
A s o u r h e a r t b r e a k
Stuffed in pockets Because my soul still denies And my hands are cold From a half written forever And half-lived moments Behind every memory
Trust me when I say Illusions are contradictions I'm all but
A d y i n g p h a n t o m
On my way Who is often left alone Under the morning mist To looks for secrets I lost on my way To strangers with smiles That would win hearts And I'm the one Suffering from a broken heart
Trust me when I say You don't want to fall in love With me at least Because I'm
A s o r e m u s e
That no one writes about And that you're young Like the summer sky And I'm drenched in grey And you have more hearts to break More wishes to make And that I'll write you An eulogy that stays Because at the end I'm all but