woodsorrels_

What would I do if there wasn't a you?

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  • woodsorrels_ 3d

    Monte's Waterlilies

    are colourful
    Like codd marbles
    And tiny tinted hair-clips
    Floating in a pond of pursuit
    With a teal bridge
    Seated above

    are chartreuse like
    Baby grass
    Salmon as the
    Foxgloves in queue
    Yellow like joy
    In Susan pockets
    Purple as prosperity
    In Lilac bonnets

    are a smell of
    freshness in the
    furrows of my new
    sweatshirt. A rainbow
    hidden under its collar
    And the aster stars its
    border is braided with

    are like a beautiful
    story maturing with the
    roots of sustenance
    and outgrowing all the
    seeds of uncertainty
    like a motif to live

    are still and saturated
    as a rain-fed skyline
    with Larkspurs compiling
    poems on wands and wires
    and the setting sunlight
    oozing hope in squirts

    are warm like dew
    on newly riped fruits
    wishing like love, tending
    like care and a kiss of
    morning prayer

    /A pleasure to open eyes and
    peace when closed/

    woodsorrels_

  • woodsorrels_ 5d

    Her Heart

    Her heart is a library
    Carved in his memory
    For the darkness
    He ripened into stillness
    And for the love
    She wrote in her diary

    woodsorrels_

  • woodsorrels_ 1w

    A Routine Day

    I wake up by dead dark at 6
    Cartwheeling in half-sleep
    Thrust up the curtains
    And ribbon my locks
    Sick from the night twirls
    Into an open day mood
    Put on my togs
    And rotate my feet
    For a step to comfort room
    Freshen up
    While making faces
    And knocking off noises
    A sit on the prayer mat
    And disappear to the kitchen
    Putting together morn chows
    Swallowing greedily
    And earning a start
    At my work
    Until it's 12
    And stomach rings a bell
    For the spreads at noon
    And a prayer afterwards
    Heating up hands
    Heeding to the cowbells
    Windchimes and the calm
    With afternoon shadowing
    At my window
    For a brisk wink
    While the sun packs up
    And starts signing off
    I trace sunset
    Until last light lit on walls
    Has me up
    One twilight teacup
    Sky-bath of eyes
    And Motia scent blooms
    Fetching dark and darker
    The darkest and lamps on
    Curtains drawn up
    And back to toil
    Till it's 9
    And hunger toys around
    Heavy dinner junk
    Rumbling on layers
    From the bedroom slit
    Gazing at stars
    Blinking, Thinking
    With night and coffee
    And him on a call
    Uttering in phantasy
    Few his talks
    Few my poems
    While breaths collide
    And sleeps entwine
    Into a beautiful dream
    Exciting from one side
    Ending at other
    10 min recital with eyes off
    Blanket over head
    And under feet
    One real day
    Gone to sleep

    woodsorrels_

  • woodsorrels_ 1w

    Winter At The Peephole

    Cold is here
    The window panes are sleepy
    And the air is yawning
    Morning wakes up late at 9
    Daylight and sun have parted their ways
    The sky is all outfitted in bone-white
    Yet clouds don't stop to sway
    Round the canyons and cliffs
    They sneak into the little spaces
    I see the frost on the ground
    Shaking shoulders to a pat of rain
    Like the falling leaves on a windy day
    Trees have untucked their gowns
    Branches rest naked
    For the hardships of winter
    To seep into their skin
    And strengthen the scars
    Power poles lay catty-cornered
    For the storm to deliver a direction
    Wires are pregnant, with snow
    Breathing on their waist
    Like an insurance
    With hands holding hope
    Somewhere on the hopeless horizon

    woodsorrels_

  • woodsorrels_ 2w

    Un-noticed

    I am a braided-sky
    Woven at the straw border of
    Your Mother's cotton saree
    Knotted into faces at edges
    And a glint in the middle
    An unnoticed story
    Waking from the cracked hands of
    A seamster to her last sewed sparkle
    Creases of persistence
    On your Grandma's left-wrist
    Flashing the forenoon sun at palms
    And the blazing winter crescent
    An unnoticed folk tale
    Ripening before dawn and
    Dozing off at midnight
    Riot in breathing
    Serenity in the coughs
    An unnoticed poem
    Lifting from the lips of verve
    To the lips of verge

    woodsorrels_

  • woodsorrels_ 3w

    A Sunday Sermon

    You breathe
    Yet again strive to live
    It's not always about the sap of peaches
    And the holy incense of roses nor
    It is about the soft hazelnut crunch
    Life is unpredictable
    As the ill-timed sun or rain
    Or the uninvited pain
    It lends you situations scattered
    And solutions in a crowd
    Failure in daylight
    And fortune at night
    101 phases of frustration
    Uncountable times to slam your skull
    Sufferings in a bundle
    And joy in sachets
    A grind at your brain
    Heart a wayfarer at war
    Yet you breathe
    And never stop striving
    Free yourself where it shackles you
    Put in the boots when it kicks
    Learn to fly when your road is blocked
    Wear your heart on your head
    And float where it ducks you down

    woodsorrels_

  • woodsorrels_ 3w

    It's Always Love

    Her heart was a sunless wardrobe
    darker than a hundred nights until
    one day he wore all her darkness
    onto his skin and it rained hope

    woodsorrels_

  • woodsorrels_ 3w

    Flowers

    They say flowers only bloom in spring
    In the sleeves of new grass
    Under the warm shadow of sun
    By the subtle surge of streams
    However, I don't agree
    Maybe the camellia and anemones
    Breathe and bloom in Maytime
    But, I have watched the dandelions,
    Scattering wings in autumn
    Crushing off the terror of spring,
    I have seen a snowdrop bathing in snow
    Holding heads high and feet light,
    I have felt the buttercups laughing winter
    The reds and oranges of autumn
    Kissing beds of corn-blooms
    The nights of December
    Strolling in togs of mahonia
    Invisible morns winking sun of purples
    White dusks talking the voice of lenten roses
    So tell me, O you, the buffs of spring
    Why can't the heat of autumn,
    Nuzzle the sprouts?
    And why not in the winter
    Two lovers can grow flowers?

    /Flowers- the only common thing in seasons
    Their only common love /

    woodsorrels_

  • woodsorrels_ 3w

    From Sunless Borders

    I have been growing hope
    In your backyard even when the
    Showers of your town didn't crack up
    Rainbows in your skies and the soil
    You dusted your feet with every noon,
    Withdrew to breed the bumps of
    Wood-sorrels and shamrocks
    My arms spread large like an early bird
    To wave the first chaplet of godsends
    And chisel a summer of happiness
    On your spine only to see you smile like those
    Abandoned flowers of a spent spring
    That were cooked half under the sun
    And half under clogged lakes of January
    Whacked by the wind one congested
    Winter night, yet they never forgot to smile
    From the lines of the torso to
    The roots of their gut, they invariably
    Worshipped "a last leaf of life"
    And when sunflowers fell off my
    Face one dawning, I understood it was you
    The sunlight in your orbs and the conviction
    Your petals held up cued me of a bud sunflower
    I once took out from sunless borders
    To the yellow, now that, there is so much
    Sunshine slumping off your shoulders
    I wish you advance this to another
    Flower who is under the cloud

    woodsorrels_

  • woodsorrels_ 4w

    A Woman Of Substance

    There was a storm in her silence,
    A tide of volume in her words,
    A sigh of patience in her bursts,
    A yard of warmth in her unconcern
    An aye of love in her discord
    Sunshine kissed on her forehead,
    The sky rained away her fears
    She was a wide world within
    Sometimes sky,
    Sometimes earth,
    Sometimes an ocean
    A shade of seasons,
    A flurry of emotions,
    A portrait of beauty
    With a heart of youth
    And a ripe soul

    woodsorrels_