the dancing orbs in front of me
sing a song, in the rain,
I hear the rat a tap
that resonates through my brain
why do I feel like the morning is so far away
when the moon has only come.
oh its right,
I have not had my night time caffeine,
that makes me sane
even with my bloodshot eyes.
the scandalous moon light
break through the torrent of my saved tears,
and when I find the stars-
I am too late into the abysmal song…
too wasted to even smile
when the moon comes shaking her hands with me.
I am so drunk with boredom and this is… just at the moment write. laugh with me or say I am foolish but don’t come preaching me I am wrong and worse 🙂 Let’s be friends in praising each other’s weirdness 😉
I am bound by the cartilage of winter’s eerily molded teardrops that drop once in a while as if a reminder pinning on my eyelashes saying, careful- my family’s on the way to cheer you up this dull gray morning.
As if that doesn’t deprive me of the beautiful things that I could be but didn’t choose to.
The dawn does weep Christmas wishes and I hear laughter echoing through the plain walls of my house, from miles apart; and the unmistakable giggling of over enthusiastic children.
My heart couldn’t bear anymore the rhyming of two rhythmic soul’s catapulting in each other’s calligraphic aura through rosy hues.
I draw unbroken heart shapes in the breath of ‘nature’s’ long echoing sigh on my bleary window but was easily mastered by another wave of agonizing misery of her wailings.
I lost the last heart again.
And after umpteenth effort, I stretch my sleeves hard enough to cover my finger tips listening numbly to the ripping of my heart. This sweater covering my feeble body from the desecrated cold has seen its better days. So, I ignore her protest in wanting to cover my fingers.
Somehow I feel like a mannequin stuck inside a clock; unable to move without being slapped by the needles.
And you are a parchment paper in which I have written my suicide notes as a will to the roses that have stopped whispering my name in your hands… but you give me them anyways since you can’t bear the thought of the thorn piercing into your bones, tattooing my tragedy.
Dear silence, bid me farewell to the moon where shadows don’t backbite and bicker.
Let me paint melancholy in the desolate part of the night sky and die a bluish death… so that I can smile happily believing that I just stopped becoming a story as the ink died in my veins.
I tried meditating in the sun, pouring through dusty slits of defiance; while I let myself soak in the morning grace of Sunday’s profanity. Its bread and blasphemy for breakfast with a little bit of bitter truth, for syrup, you know. I don’t know how it’s supposed to be, but I close my eyes irritated by the incessant knocking of unmelodious belch that needed to move out from my dormitory. I didn’t let it go. I gulped down fresh breath of cheerfulness and rotated my head like a slow song. My eyes fluttered.
Is this how serenity’s supposed to be? With angry ringtones in the tip of my throat croaking ugly sonnets throughout the day while I tried to capture as much positivity that the universe’s throwing around. Well, I guess today is not my day to earn myself a tan. I once again tie my knot and sit straight with head poised like a statue wondering how long I should be seated like this to embrace solace.
Once, inside the tranquility, I guess… it will ease my tent and let loose the parachute in the wind. I don’t know where this is moving me, but I guess it has to reach somewhere the sky is always periwinkle and clouds soft as cotton candy. I ignore the dancing dust particles that look happy with the only attention they get when in the strip of lemon syrup. I blow hard; hard enough to disrupt their slow pacing around like elegant ballerinas. I did not open my eyes. I smiled.
I listen to the slow rotation of the minute needle. Like it’s taking a stroll in the greenest garden. I wanted to open my eyes and search for the finish point in which I will get my bag of crayons so that I can set to paint the future in one straight line and add too many colors for happiness. I deliberately ignored black and banished grays. I, also do not need white, since I am all done with stippling freckles in place of where the wetness have left stains. I am all done with jumping from this tense to that sense, since, I can never stay in one place. I seriously need that red dot to focus but all I see are too many happy specks dancing around. Some, even giggling.
I sigh, then open my eyes, slump shoulders, uncross legs, and roll my eyes at the decision of heart to relax. I dared to look up at the waltzing needles and gape wide… it has been only fifteen minutes since I sat down, dwindling in the strong morning rays. So much for peace and optimism. I threw my yoga mat and boosted the rotund fat belly of a black liar and shook my hips to the blazing tunes whilst I let it go in the shower.
craft unhinged rhythm,
scattering seams of tarnished jokes
and level headed gossips
through thick glasses,
resting on top of his
boiling with perfection
in the heat of morning news
and crisp bacon
broken bottles narrate a forlorn tale
as kids with mountain on their head
and pant skidding below the waist line
bubble up with anticipation
to the street lamp, flickering.
a dog slowly meander
through the many rivulets of garbage
lining the sidewalk
where a man with ragged clothes
and heavy breath
leisurely rests with smoke
spiraling out like white serpents
traffic lights chase speeding cars
puffing dark poison
through pipes of exhaustion,
as they run impetuously
through the many degrees of life.
the blanket is pulled on and off
as the sky switches day and night
the wind pulls leaves out
and hem of their clothes
as they sway in harmony
and hoarse breaths
a coffee rests
on top of the red benches facing the scattering
the smoke swirls
as they narrate the tale
of this sleepless town
pen whisks images
on papers as the morning lark
to the hot Monday morning.
deep down the muddy round
is a place surrounded by yellow woods
slowly as the melon sun
rises from its fluffy bed
the place glisten like golden threads
and its where I rest my heart
verses flow like liquid gold
and I enunciate my sad sad song
singing to the rhythm of dandelions
and the foxglove frolics lusciously
my heart years to be like the marigold
in between honey drops, wafting a fragrance
and I melts down into the pool of tulips
dancing in the primrose garden
I hear the robin perching above me
autumn has gathered the spirits to yellow
and I feel the amber slowly forming
in this wood, lay my secrets
upon stones and bark and snowdrops
my words are etched too deep in this woods
and never will I go tarnished
roses, snapdragons and all that gold
shines in my armor and sings a song
never will I be alone in this woods
and my legacies will be sung eternally.
In the sweetest of nocturnal ponds, my eyes dip in the cool shores of silver, waiting to be rolled in warm bliss, by your fragrance wafting around the pond. Golden charm resonate while you hum, the melody of my serenade and I pinch myself to see this ballad is real and not a mild mirage like those dandelions there in your eyes. I dip my quill in the river of your love and write in the canvas of jasmine and rose. our love is the closure of unending legacies, unraveling through years of melted sonata
Our song is the boon of your whispers, where I slip into the gardens of Eden, devouring the eloquent shade of poetry only to write you an ode, from the temporal lobe of my cranium. Our song is the ballad sung by undulating wrapping up of blankets in the sultry ambiance of indigo passions. Our love is the shade of moon, whispering to the stars and guiding the way of forbidden fruits like us.
O divine verses of prose, glide me through your indispensable proximity of my love, that flows through the veins of river in between the root that hold the deepest of pleasure, that flutter through the dreams of pink, orange, amber, red painted sky….that mix with the zilch effervescence of this seedless night.
I shall make you weep those ink of eloquent aura, making me drip with emotions as your verses tangle my brains. I behold the torch of your divine presence that unveil glaciers and waterfalls of enduring metaphor, and I bathe in this pond of reverberation to rattle my love towards you, O fine piece of beauty.
What has it got us I wonder!
Look around to see the land chocking up remnants of memories once held pride.Now putrid emotions drench the land and spit out horrible gases chocking out brains. Looking at the long spiraling and non-spiraling buildings, I wonder….Don’t they give a chance. For people who was happy withe green and mud in their fingers. Now, deprived of freedom, farmers suicide and leave the land alone and barren for the big corporate to mark the site as “tourist luxury resorts”.
I am not blaming for these technical advancement has brought lots of chances and survival whims for many, but they have destroyed the place where we can leave happily. Each day, just take a on the spot circling tour and you will see the green is diminishing by minutes and grey is taking a toll on the land. Only grey could have been survived, but the black emitting from grey populate white formidable aliens destroying immunity and the instincts for survival sinks.
Never have been the majority against for such a thing and now the reason for their loud struggle is coming into existence. As long as the green starts to vaporize, fresh breath shall sink in and chock us with our blood infuriating. Even in this blazing heat, I see people cut down trees, huge shady trees and use it for something less important in this heat. I can;t comprehend this need of doing what is worst for others.Though they may never smell the patch of sweat bulging on their forehead, I wish they could only listen to the heavy breath of poor, pooling in their sweat for a one chance they could take down a proper meal.
Wishing and hoping for a change and that too, a big one, I look around………..anticipating.