Today while I was sprawled on my bed , my head resting on headstand . I heard tick tocks of clock crafting some screeches , embellishing inferno of my heart a bit more . Each note of screeches were torturing the cacophony of my own encephalon , I shuddered my cranium a bit , fatiguing to formulate begrime notes in a facile symphony . And I felt the little kid in me shivering after consuming those symphonies which clearly sang " He has became so evil ".
* EVIL * why was I being called that?
"For ferociously mangling valleys of rose - coloured petals where you and your mum used to play Rat-a-tat
whole day when you were six ",my inner essence cried .

" That was to blaze the departed flowers of memories which were thoroughly buried In verso of my worth like heart ", a voice came somewhere from my core justifying my felony .

"And the fingers which you pierced holding shattered wedges of glass ewer last week in that dark cranny , were not they the same fingers which used to curl around floral bodycone dress of granny whenver she brought up ghosts in night tales . Where did that callow mate go ?" , my inner essence wrangled loudly this time.
"He buried him nearby the sepulcher of his father , the same day when he was hexing him for igniting all the folios of laughter of his mum's home . Just because he was too scared to even touch the folios now" , that voice from core said calmly .

This squabbling liquidated all the sonnets of lingering compassion and was drowning them in puddles of dead poetries along with verses of my old worn out ruminations , when finally the tick tocks composed one more symphony which sang
"Maybe we made him who he is today" , hearing this melodies my suckling prose of sentiments sighed a bit ! :)




©diaryticko