I often turn my path to those streets which are forever blooming with the scents you left and where I see myself smiling wide beside YOU. A smile bloomed as my life felt your presence, A friendship bloomed between those loud giggles And memories bloomed of those silly fights and eventually a magnificent garden came into existence from your presence. My ink and words were never enough and will never be enough to describe her existence. Her blooming made to bloom a beautiful garden for me.
With only seventeen sunflowers in my garden still I sit here writing about life but my pen seems repellent towards those sullen pages and moves to an old, blank canvas, starts with a vacuous stroke to give a monochromatic shade of green and narrate tales of these flowers.
Four sunflowers were blooming in a beeline but as the fifth one bloomed a stroke of black(fear) was added 'cause during its realm, a soft, nascent hand slipped off her parents' fingers, in the turmoil of the streets but she was blessed with good luck and this time holded the hands tightly along with the fear of being left alone.
The fourteenth sunflower seemed sanguine a stroke of yellow(hope) was added and green was fading but when was life prosaic and without some piquant? when this slender figure, rose upto a great height on tawny hills, above clouds for trekking what if my legs would have slipped, followed by an earthward plummet I swear, this time I felt close to you, to death.
The graph of this journey is affluent with ups and downs, petrichors were always pleasant, until they turned into storms, but 'I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship' and the canvas of these seventeen sunflowers is exuberant with variegate shades except grey and with remnants of each downfall.
As the aureate strings seem to ooze out from behind the mountain caps and not so frosty but feeble zephyrs move calmly through my finger gaps, I roll my hair into a bun and from my toolkit collect some words, make a garland of alliterations matching with the whispers of the zephyr and conceal it in my diary.
PERSONIFICATION - SKY
When the azure and amort firmament behind white beds turns red then blue and then moonlit, personification is in my toolkit for these, to personify them with the human nature of love, calmness and shining with scars.
RHYMES - AVES
There is a tall tree beside my house, the home of morning melodies, whose leaves dance to the chirping of birds. For me, they are my abode of blithe which bestrew sweetest euphony. I had secretly once woven rhymes under moonlight and now it's the time to enunciate it to the young birds and appreciate them for their first flight and to wish them luck for the horizon.
FREE VERSE - FALLEN LEAVES
The autumn season has arrived and the meadows look flaxen. The impuissant ochre leaves, which intended to make a free fall, now flow on the barque of zephyrs. I espy on that one leaf, who has yet not reach its destination. I sit down writing free verses for that free leaf who bid adieu to its home for its destiny.
HYPERBOLE - THUNDERS
Petrichor, as I said, now feels unpleasant because it often brings thunders with it. This aroma has again hit so, this time I would dip my poesies in heavy hyperboles and won't let windstorms leave them half broken as my heart.
Herbs and shrubs seem more viridescent as if hit by ecstasy, greenery enliven in the sombre meadows as the weather wears the fragnance of petrichor.
I always wonder, what evokes this aroma and I desire to store them in my perfume bottles. I try to enclose them in poesies with the scent of metaphors and from down the memory lane I collect my childhood petrichor stories and enunciate it to them.
But it seems, they aren't good listeners and etiquette isn't in their behaviour. Because Petrichor is followed by stygian clouds, which even conceal the horizon, aureate sky descends to grey and seems hopeless. Winds rush, for an unknown destination and my poetries are flown away leaving behind harsh tales and dried ink.
Whoa @miraquill thank you for the like. Made my day
The daily battle
There is a war of mocking words going on inside me The nameless figurines lines up, I run and run to escape But not a thing moves except me
There is a fire of appendix burst inside me The excruciating agony haunts me, I pour and pour water on it But nothing gets wet except my cheeks
There is a creaking sound ringing inside me The devil's ethylic laughter slowly poisoning my soul, I fear and fear hiding behind the veil But nothing pacifies my storm except bringing me to the end of the rope
There is a firefly buzzing around my ear invading my dreams I get hold of her and squeeze her tight, mapping my agony The dying ember, weak and painful But no light oozes out , neither her fading glimmer nor the light of my dusk.
I wake up plunging into reality, sweat filled and shocked, Softly breathing into another tomorrow (Gathering the pale yellow petals that withered last night)
Obsolete perceptions now termed as redundant Stereotypes and Taboos no longer a blasphemy Flaws embellished on the dress, so resplendent Obsolete perceptions now termed as redundant Mediaeval customs were unnervingly abundant Questioning liberty and life's alchemy Obsolete perceptions now termed as redundant Stereotypes and Taboos no longer a blasphemy
Here's another weekend challenge! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Okay so now the rules are:
1. Tell us the topic (only one!) That you are most passionate about ..that you write on the most...like nature, friendship, sadness, resilience, loneliness, mental health, education, politics, romance.. Anything...that you pen the most about.
2. Tag one of your own posts (that you wrote on the aforementioned topic) with hashtag #j_mustread
3. Write a TRIOLET poem on the same topic. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
//A Triolet poem. A poem of eight lines. 1st, 4th, and 7th lines repeat,and 2nd, and 8th lines repeat. Rhyming pattern ABaAabAB.//
Example: one of my TRIOLET poem: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ For, life goes on despite hurdles Your mirth and sorrows will come in circles... Be hopeful when dealing obstacles For, life goes on despite hurdles Persistent are cherished in all Chronicles It's sometimes sun and sometimes icicles For, life goes on despite hurdles Your mirth and sorrows will come in circles...