Piercing gaze of pines;
So much life on the verge of dying but
Languorous eyes can’t save anyone.
We lose something everyday;
I’m calling us we, though
The Art of losing is really easy.Let’s try to see things as such;
Hearts overflowing with hope always end up as disasters.
Languorous eyes can’t save anyone.
Let’s try to see things as such;
Hearts overflowing with hope always end up as disasters.
Languorous eyes can’t save anyone.
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.
I failed to check the alphabets
and ended up writing about love.
Once you asked me
how to write a poem on love
and I’m still searching for words.
I was trying to know love and poetry.
So I held my pen tight
and hoped for you to see the ink flow
through my fingers,
droplets dripping from my nails
to the hem of your shirt,
but you stayed there,
without a word
for none of us was ready to speak.
Well now,
I’m looking at your hands;
painfully beautiful hands.
I’m trying to reach out
and hold you.
Your soft, tender palms
come crashing me down
like the fresh waves at dawn.
I recognise the hands
I never held,
like your fingers were
designed to fit in mine.
But
Neither of us is ready.
Each day feels like a product
product of last words.
Words are crushing.
We’re yet to learn language.
Both of us are
waiting
for the other to speak.
You already know how this works;
I let you hold my hand
when we’re crossing streets,
Neither of us is bad at it.
Neither of us is ready to let go.
Maybe we’re just born to love and worry about the people we know, and to go on loving and worrying even when there are more important things we should be doing.
~Sally Rooney, Beautiful World, Where Are You
There’s this shade of brown
in your eyes
that make brown
more than just brown. You hate your eyes,
for the world
made you believe
Only blue is pretty.
And being a boy
you’re supposed to love blue.
Is what you’re paying worth the cost?
I worry about the way
your words form in your mouth
when you’re hurt.
I worry about the intensity
of your feelings and
I’m scared of the depth
with which you feel.
To tell you the truth,
I love you for the depth
in your emotions.
I’m afraid. Afraid
You’d leave
Am I investing too much?
Too much, too soon?
But I don’t know
how to stop.
How do I tell you
That I love you
and not act on it?
The world is on the verge of dying.
Age old civilizations
are about to fall.
From science to our faiths,
everything is shattered.
Everything is Sea.
Everything is land.
Sky is nowhere to be found.
And
I’m here,
Writing and worrying about you
While there’s a lot to do
To love
To see
To learn.
But I guess, this is what
makes us human.
Makes us, us.
(Image from Pinterest)
Hey! Hi! And Hello!
I am still counting days? Well, I think I’m good at it. How I missed being here and how I missed my 3rd year anniversary here! Anyways I’m trying to be back and feels good.
It’s been long and I’m kind of looking forward to it, this time (again). I have read all the mails and I have noticed many of you coming back here and reading previous posts. I’m truly grateful for this affection and trust.
Let me know how you all have been. And I know many of us don’t like to say that loud in comments, so you’re welcome to share this via email.
Be well. I’m yet to catch up with a lot of people. I’ll be writing here shortly, 1 post/week for the time being .
~🧜♀️
How do you manage to keep going
without the urge to throw yourself
away?
How does it feel like hearing everything
but your own heart?
Does it really get better with time?
Do layers of skin mange to cover it all?
Tell me how you escaped the pit
of rusty flowers decorating
humnae need of art,
Is there a way to escape your shadow?
Have you made peace with it all?
Deep down, in your heart
does it shine bright like the day?
Or is it pretty like the sky?
If you smiled bright
and visited be places
Would it matter?
Tell me,
Does it get better?
Tell me,
Is there any way out?
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.
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.
Most foolish act is to break down a minute. Time seems to be the most visible truth, unbiased and irrational or it’s engulfed by the past yearning for tomorrow?
For half a second, I’ll let the grief leave and try to look for good, for they say, you find happiness when you look for it. It can be true. We all want good. When we find it, we embrace the shadows and hold on to them, tight.
But grief? It’s not that hard to find it, You see. It’s always in the air as there’s no place for sadness in the bones. We hurt ourselves to merely fool ourselves, by building this wall of ‘soul’s pain’. We pretend not be bothered by whatever is outside.
But, what’s the point of killing pain with pain? Point of killing 30 of 60 seconds over what will always linger after another 30 of 60 (seconds/minutes)?
Every second I feel myself engulfed by the second that passed and the one yet to come, I’m stuck in time.
Is this what we call living!?
What if we were built this way? All of us? Can desire justify it or do I have to look for the synonyms of ‘escape’?
Desire is like air, it’s always there.
Most of the times we are unaware. We’re all stuck here, who said life is fair?
My heart is a building/
memories blow/
like the wind/
Seekers shall find
home in my bones/
My skin shall always
relive the moments here/
even if I go blind/
I draw hearts/
on the glass/
that shelters dew drops/
for love is all I know/
And to embrace the pain/
is no weakness/
For You shall grow/
only when You know/
In the hallways/
wander hearts/
romanticising pain/
In the name of art/
~Ignorant~
you don’t have to turn blue/
everytime/
to know that you’re alive/
Art is apposite/
soulful/
And a smile/
can work wonders/ too/
My poems/
doorways to melancholy/
Past those/ hides/
a happy me/
a.mermaid'spen_ 