Categories
poetry

Poems and women

If my poems were women
they will love you till
one of us is out of blood,
will make flowers out of your flesh
and bury the remnants in the mud.
They will drag you to the top of hills
and dare you jump off without second thought
there must be moments of pretty love but wild hearts is all that I have got.
No, my poems won’t read you books
for to learn something you need to gain,
I don’t promise to bring you stars
for them,leaving the moon can be pain.
Either there can be moments of deafening silence or subtle words shouting on my skin,
my poems do not believe in good
all they know is to sin.

Categories
poetry

This poem is whole.

I have heard
people complaining
about writers
not writing
their whole heart,
always trying
to hide some part.
And I have seen
people trying to
explore
the unknown;
like writers
are not people,
like they are
not their own.
And I always think
why is that so after all?
So here
I’m putting
my whole heart
(with all the pieces)
in this poem
and now
This poem is whole.

Categories
poetry

If I was a writer

If I was a writer
I’d write you love letters
perfectly folded
in the scent of wind
hidden under the silk sheets
from me to you
it can be a gift.
And I’d dip my pen in your hair
to check the length of your curls
and to steal the ink from you;
Your skin is a rainbow.
And I’d steal all your worries
like the rain
and store away the stuff that
steal your smile;
the thing you label as pain.
But I read somewhere
that pen is a writer’s sword
and I can’t harm the one
I adore the most
So I won’t pretend
to be a writer
and will sit here hoping
you’re falling in love
with me , almost?

Categories
poetry

You and poems

Distance between words
is our home.

I hang my words on the
red thread around your neck
and everytime I look at you
it reminds me of the fact
that my poems and you are one,
Talking about chills
I never met anyone like you, none.

Your smile reminds me of the sky
under which we first met,
and the summer breeze
take me back to the mix tape
you left on my table,
Yes , I’m not over it yet.

The only thing I feel anymore
is you and poems,
My skin is poems and you.

~🧜

Categories
poetry

Hope

It’s raining almost every second day,
and I’m learning to bloom from the earth,
From life less branches to bed of dead leaves,
something inside of me is telling me to know my worth.

Sun is always shining over mountains
still, there is this darkness in the woods,
dripping down the lifeless branches
in a way only hope could.

My mind feels quiet than usual
sending the shivers down my spine,
these fingers gripping core of my skin
bringing my stars back to shine.

Sun rays are claiming my body;
reaching the places which need hope the most,
With every breath, life is teaching me to live a little;
I’m falling for love, almost.

~🧜

Also, Instagram

Categories
poetry

Broken Sunset

Once I met a broken sunset
stunning in pink and beautifully alone,
He was tip toe-ing through twilight
asking me to step into unknown.

My inside and out felt like stones
but I was willing to know what it has to say,
For sometimes the most ordinary things become blessings
and I had nothing to do, anyway.

He took me to the core of colours
and said he can give me all of them,
And he asked me:
Humans talk about the lonely hearts that bleed in silence whole night, but what about the open wounds that stinks at 2 pm?

Categories
poetry

Art

From silent poetry to screaming voice of art
I have met people, creative from the heart.

They tried to teach structure and rhythm but who they are to decide what we are?
I have seen pioneers of colours
and words – the weapons which give scars and help the world win wars.

From Van Gogh to Franz Kafka
all the names make me want to paint stars,
Sometimes I resonate with Rupi Kaur’s wolves but my heart is trapped in Sylvia’s “The Bell Jar” .

~🧜

Also Instagram

Categories
poetry

Pockets full of Cosmos.

Those honey coated eyes
were the “okay.” to every “okay?”
I used to throw,
when sheets used to haunt me
In search of rhythm,
to him I used to go.

The one
named after my favourite colour
In his smile
I used to see the rainbow,
Every mountain was his own
and every stream
he used to know.

His poetry
were the narrow roads
and wide sea used to
inspire him the most,
For they said he carried galaxies
within his eyes
had pockets full of cosmos.

~🧜

Categories
poetry

An uncertain journey

The thought of bleeding
and running out of love
is what makes the pen fall still,
Even though we can always
paint the sky yellow, but the fear
that others never will.
We always look for the spring
without trying to learn
the cold beauty of snow,
Why choose the abandoned cracks to hide
when it can be a place where we can grow?
One day without any warning,
ocean will swallow
the only earth we ought to call home,
So be proud of your heart I say,
for its a whole universe,
let it roam.
Even when your blood dries out
or when the world turns upside down
breaking apart only painting
you ever drew,
Let your heart
have this privilege
of being your first home,
try to look up at sky,
even if it’s blue.

~🧜‍♀

Categories
gratitude

Gratitude

Hello everyone,

Yesterday I got a notification from WordPress about crossing 5k, of course it made me happy but I really didn’t believe it until one of my friends sent me a screenshot.
Numbers never really mattered ( because I suck at maths and I am fan of puns xD) but today they does and I can’t explain in words how much they matter.
Past few months have been weird and you won’t believe, some days blog was my only motivation to not to give up.
Thank you all for believing in me, always encouraging and checking on me ( I have read all the mails and I couldn’t be more grateful).
Thank you for being here at times when I couldn’t.❤