Categories
NaPoWriMo

Colour of beach bark

She smelt like the old stories
The Ones my mother sang,
her huge house was a shell
a garden,
lacking only a spring.

She told us tales
of people who left her behind,
I was in awe of all that she had
And what she didn’t.

Her daughter was of my age
A pretty face and fragile hands,
A girl, surrounded by people
A girl, no one could understand.

I fell in love with her boy
The walking beauty
of our gloomy beach,
His heart was a sacred place
a glittering thing, I couldn’t reach.

He’d walk on words
and swim in love
But we failed to keep in touch.
My memory seems forgotten
like the book you don’t miss much.

Categories
NaPoWriMo

Crimson Red

Weather is dripping
from your tongue.


White of the clouds
is the calm
the calm you carry around,
the calm I lack,
the calm world needs.

Love?
Love is the crimson red;
of all the times
you have died
because of
your complexity,
For never fitting in,
For never being understood,
For never having been loved.

They say war is an opportunity.
Red tears are
a substitute for poppies.
But
how do you know
the colour of tears?
Who claimed it?
Who named it red, anyway?

This is an apology
to all the Colours
to all the shades I wrote about
without knowing
what a colour is.

Categories
NaPoWriMo

To bake a cake in the eye of the Storm

It hurts to grow old, he said
with a hint of pain in his eyes,
and looked at his trembling hands
maybe was trying to recognise something.

“Movement is tiring” he said
to bake a cake in the eye of the storm,
To see the same souls and faces
in all the people, in all the forms.

I wonder if it gets better
for they say everything does,
People generalise though
And when they do,
do they think of us?

Maybe it’s more about losing
than to fit in,
All the storms took things from us
But I miss the spot
We used to sit in.

Categories
NaPoWriMo

Things that make home- a poem

There’s this tiny plant at home
which fills me with a desire to roam,
I hold my heart and lay on grass
A shiny thing, fragile as glass.

Walls here are over protective
The colour? Not so attractive,
Feelings grip my ankle, as hard as stone
I’m filled with desires, completely unknown.

The sun is roaming in the sky
A bird is here, to lie,
Earth has me and stubborn trees
You and me- children of a chilly breeze.

I thought I had forever
Was running on the motto of- now or never,
I don’t know how just be
It must take great price, to actually be free.

Categories
short poem

Summer

What is summer if not the
excitement brought by
fragrance of spring
tangled in cold wind,
running through the hills
desperately,
to reach the soil blooming
in plains??

The sun shinning over trees
The source of light and heat
curing blues of winter patiently
and the pearly clouds around
playing hide and seek.
Doesn’t the Sky feel dreamy?

The enticing aroma
of fleshy mangoes
is scattered around the
spring dominating branches.
Birds, now and then
take shelter in curled
lively trees.
Life is blooming everywhere.
Life is inviting me to live.

Categories
short poem

Garden

Another day while I was trying
to escape from the dark,
I saw this boy
in middle of the park.
Everyone was sitting in shade
but he sat in open,
The smile on his face
was near to broken.
Instead of sky
I started staring him,
when our eyes met
his went dim.
He got up and started walking
towards my way,
shaking hair, a mixture of black and grey.
Abruptly, he gave me a smile
the one, hard to exist,
Before leaving, he gave me a star
on my wrist.

Categories
NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo- Metaphor for Anxiety

/The joy of walking on old stairs, built on new stones and the fragrance of fresh paint is scintillating//

I am always happy to visit home
yet worried seeing it
The thought
that a place might be different
from what I think it will look like,
is devastating.
Even if a colour gets a little brighter
than what I had in my mind
causes panic 

Anxiety is like being stuck in past home while living in a new house.

I have moved on, I did,
atleast physically.
We have new flowers here
all are different
none of them belong here
or to each other
They seem distant.
Grass is greener here, too much green.
Abundance has  never been this shallow.

From my window
sunsets are blue,
Sky is pretty as always.
Sea is in harmony with the wind
But I’m worried of rain.
I am trying to adjust here
I eventually will.

Prompt: Metaphor for anxiety by Silverleafpoetry