…and my cries died in the wails of nature’s misery…

 

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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.

Apple tart melody and salted pillows as the stage- Meditation Fail.

 

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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.

Dear blog

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Ok, that sounds stupid. But I think I will keep it like that 😉

I created this blog with many ideas. Now… I am stuck. Stuck with no thoughts, no ideas, no words and definitely nothing. It’s like I am drained of everything. And that’ s true in a sense.

These days I feel so tired. I feel so drained and exhausted. I am writing a novel based on true events in wattpad and I am seriously getting disinterested.I am like wondering if I should just stop. But if one starts something… one should end it, right? I know where I should go with the plot, story line and all; but I’m seriously getting second thoughts about it.

So now, if only you have a voice dear blog, tell me, should I complete it?? Well, as you can see I am writing in wattpad and I am here in WordPress. So obviously there will be some connections, right? So, yea I am advertising my book 🙂 its free advertising. Come on, everyone gets a heart swell when some random reader from somewhere says, we have written a good story or poem or something right?

Now I feel stupid about it all. Haha, I am sometimes. The thing is when I am doing something I get many other ideas, inspirations, and thoughts which make everything jumbled and finally… I won’t be completing my first job and I won’t be saving any thoughts that sounded really good in my head.

Like right now, when I am writing my current novel, I get ideas for another book and I start writing the ideas of it and then I begin with the story completely ignoring the first one. Everyone gets that, I know… I have heard many say that. Funny… yea…

Anyway, I need to feed my stomach or my migraine will soar high and then I will be over exhausted as if I was the one holding earth.

bye bye, my dear. See ya soon 🙂

I hate somewhere’s.

Somewhere inside calloused knees,
a voice gyrates
slowly murmuring holy scriptures
emanating inside caged ribs
caged by ivory promises and skeletal reminisces.

emerged from somewhere deep
was a round egg
cracked to the horizon;
only to sizzle up wavy patterns
of yellowish pus
looking too cool in the aftermath
of an explosion.
I raised my hands devouring all the exclamations
later constipated by trendy syllables;
yet, I stared at my knees
decorated with too many vowels
all having an interesting story to narrate,
embarrassing me.

the apparitions of medieval history
gagged me, by the colorfulness;
I was bound to black and gray
traveling back to antiquity
somewhere I belong.

somewhere inside a coliseum
build upon anagram
shuffled to the word trust
I stood barefoot
enjoying the coldness
bathing my foot with prickles
later to sting with numbness,
but I stood still
blanketed with Goosebumps;
yet, I never got what I wanted
I don’t know what I want.

slim and prim were the actor
hiding behind thick shades of blue,
peeking in and out
like it’s hiding from me.
a lone star encourages the pregnant moon
to come out and shine
but, her fingers are wrapped upon invisible guilt
of having the burden
within her
and she is at last everyone’s milky queen.
but she feels bad
for pushing out her outward belly;
only in a days time, to collect them back.
I am like her,
how, I don’t know.

I am eaten up by moth
crawling from the books;
by the size of the moth
my mom scolds me, it’s because two days
is the max I take to complete
a four hundred page novel.
You can’t blame me, to feel incompetent,
I complain.
she shakes her head in defeat
and by the end of my umpteenth snickers bar,
I lost count of the book that smells fresh,
like me after a bath.
I am indispensable;

am I?

glass slippers are so old school,
so I custom made
from silverware,
and folded my clothes
with golden threads.
Alas,
I can only shape
what I can
with my hands; others are just
forbidden fruit.