You're like a song that battles with life, a folded suicidal lyrics and it is okay if I add a melody to it. You are the black wall when solitude brings me to a corner and I stare at you. I wear you like bandages over my bare skin, a bruised metaphor sheath over my framework. It used to be a glossary of what moistening melancholy seems like. It had painstakingly built itself but sometimes the sebaceous glands happened to impregnate it. Further, pimples and acnes were used to such feeding on regular dosages of the lubricant, they grew and spreaded like thorns over the bosom of a rose.
I let my skin breath but all it does is weeping more on a lonely summer. My fall was not the story of a maple leaf but of a pebble down a rocky hill. It would be a sin if I didn't let the zephyrs bury me to the seashore and kiss the sand tubs. You know it isn't very easy to peel off the autumn, poise the injuries which are already poised. They want to live more, they find solace in your arms, they too tear. Their tear's blood. Injuries weep blood and young, oozing blood soothes their eye walls. They suffer and we let them suffer more, poor skin!
Shadows suck the sunshine from the horizon and melodies are left all grey dancing on those moody strings of my guitar, left untouched. There lies melody in broken faces but what more grey personalities do, adds a teaspoon of depression instead of pouring euphoric smiles. Even if death is certain, why not make it a happy end? As long you live, do not forget to crown yourself a happy life. Do not die with a frown, die with a broken smile.
At last, I should thank the poison, the nutrient that I was going to consume before my death. It lacked the ego of being a poison, so I did not pluck any interest in it. Moreover, my parents are too busy to take the blame of nourishing a betrayer. *tears the suicide note and bursts out in tears*
Sun cries hard for winter to get back and hibernate leaves shatter with the rust of autumn, storms begin, nature screams at a glance of poignancy.
Look at that lady who has a grip over your pain, you had a share of her land, her womb, an umbilical cord that could not separate 'you' from the landlady.
You who paddles your life ahead, should not hibernate. You are a girl child and the mother of generations dormant do not hibernate!
You are who is going to pay the landlady not with huge amounts but with huge respect. You, the young lady, is a beautiful caption, both visible and audible; winter, you are not an embryo anymore.
You are the eldest sister of your to be born brother, spring. You are everything for your mother and not the cursed one. You are parallel of her love as the landlady writes on the white clouds, a notification - "visit me soon mama"
*winds recite and nature conceives spring, winter pats the head of her younger brother and passes by*
winter migrates abroad, sun longs for his daughter.
Say, nobody says pain tied all over my breaths ashes of laughter underneath my self but nobody says, say... you are too long gone from the lanes of people but pain is a strong moustache you are a nostalgic melody you are a melancholic scene you, are just a memory that my mind ships every night through water of my tears again you depart tired of binding my mind.
I am the golden dew on the eyelashes of an angel or maybe a warrior, what is the difference, anyway? Dancing in the cold like a ray of sunshine in the fog of January, scattering warmth and hope.
I am the scar etched deep in the heart of a little girl, with freckles like scattered stars on a moonless night and the burning sun consuming her eyes; mending wounds instead of breaking dolls, she peaked a little too early and faded away into poetry.
I am the smile, beguiling and broken, on the lips of a sailor who has seen way many storms than meant for a wanderer; ruthless and fierce, he has felt the wrath of the sea; on nights he longed for home, he sailed even further and turned into a figher; he still longs for home, but he is lost way too deep to remember what it feels like anymore.