I sit on the viridescent grass under the sky at night, Illuminate just a little By the constellations of stars That I've deciphered Onto the black canvas That had held before Tinges of black and blue only.
I've always craved to daub the sky, With those colours that my heart Chooses to bleed. But all I could save was Gyrates of silver, drops of pearl white And shades of celestial blue.
I spun the star string With uttermost elegance and delicacy Fearing the chagrin of Athena. As had Arachne, Her shouts and terror played before my eyes, But slowly they faded away. Eclipsed by beauty, I concocted my own essence.
My perishable hands failed to darn The fabric of celestial bodies but "We are celestial beings.", Someone once told me this . So I allowed my own stardust Flow into it with ease.
Paradigm I wove With softness that's not mine And sprinkled into them life With what was left of my whole.
Once I was done with it, I wrapped the angelic veil, Beaded with the string of Orion Onto the black space of the cosmic sky. And the universe discerned art Oozing out of my veins. But no single homosapien spared a glance. Not a single praise tickled my ears And the sonorous silence clawed at my heart. But I wouldn't let that be.
The euphony my soul warbled Cuddled deep in the milky way of my creation. Too messy to make out If all I did was disburse random symphonies. Or my messed up tiny heart Had pondered for aeons To present the orchestra my eyes saw unfold.
But none of them mattered Because the universe of my creation Was silent no more.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Perhaps the last post of 2k20 Happy new year in advance to all of you ❤
The saccharine little laments of my sentiment bringing back the ardent meter play of the pink cherry blossom blushing full on the skyline's panorama that is sombre and meagre that lasts undefiled caffeinated straw in my hand while the void heart only pumps pale red blood , so terribly fragile.
Drop by drop, it finds a way to those scandalous expressed dumb things and brings back those delusive glitters of elysian nights. Every sip of the saccharine drink which is made of berries that I intake , takes an impost on me tethering my larynx with virulent liqueur, my tongue turning as ruthless as my confessions will gasp me to death while sleeping on a late dark night and leaving blur series of happiness behind.
I've always been told, but in opposition to that I yell, scream and shout deceiving to stand bold and dauntless, victimized everytime when I tried when I made myself another one of your faults. Drowning numb, zonked and into the murk often attempting to incline to that shimmering moon, the feathers of affection that forges me lunatic and agitated.
Those tiniest pecks on my shoulders hurts me like blades incising my bones in the most defensive way. The sheer and pellucid shroud that protects my unexpected withering jocund array, manages to transude the sanguine stained cloak through the flickering and compulsive pain and that lately cracked stress of denied strokes are kept safe.
Soft touches of rose petals on my ecchymosed skin makes it feel spry at times that grew brown in the illusion called " l i f e ".
Unexpected fulgurating glitter that seemed to bloom full and whole, seeped into my eyes and bled them dizzy because
//the details to captivating tales are always horrendous.//
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Idk what actually this is.. Maybe a rant of mine *_*
then I'll stare at you with a bemused look for a few minutes and answer in a perplexed tone that I'm a v a g a b o n d who carries a transparent yet an obscure heart in the ribcage and forages metaphors in serenity and tries to hear the clandestines that are camouflaged behind the grey walls of my monotonous room.
If you ask me who I'm
then I might say that I'm a subdued p o e t e s s who hopelessly scribbles for the one who made me believe that forever is a "fable" and broke my heart into myriad of pieces and wrapped it in the box of melancholy and gifted me. I'm a poetess who spews the remains of the torment reposing in my heart since long in the form of my poesies.
If you ask me who I'm
Then I'll say that I'm an underrated p o e m made up of broken words, obscured phrases and nubile vocabulary.I run candidly in the megalopolis of literature unveiling my vulnerabilities and insecurities.
If you ask me who I'm
Then I'll say that I'm a s u r v i v o r of the brain wars that plunges my larynx with slender knives and swords, awaiting the very moment when I'll perish. Shortly, when I would be gone , but till then let me persevere to endure all the havocs that the brain wars create every day.
If you ask me who I'm
Then I'll say with a wide smile on my face that I'm an eensy p u p a sleeping inside the cocoon and anticipating for the day when I'll finally transform into a flamboyant butterfly and float from petal to petal blithely.
//I'm devoid of life, clutching the brook of tears for aeons in my eyes until I let them transude to cry. Quick chokes all of a sudden declines , as soon as I Iet my pangs lie supine on my sleeves so well that now, I seem half dead to myself.//
The brush of melancholy Paints the whole evening with a tinge of blue. The katydids croons and the birds dance in the balladries of heartbreak.
And here, I sit with a pen in my hand And play with your metaphors. The metaphors that once procured my heart. I still conceal them in my diary.
I sit on the bridge of reminiscence And turn the pages of halcyon days. And search those pearly white jasmines. But all I find everywhere is withered, dead roses.
You egressed the door of my heart, Breakin' it into myraid of pieces. And the splintered pieces of my heart Often beseeches me to darn them with Your metaphors that I preserved in my diary and adorn them with jasmines like the way you adorned my bun with it.
~Darlin' where are those jasmines?~ //I need them to adorn my splintered heart.//
Denude your soul to those pale yellow pages, Reveal to it your stygian clandestines, Irksome evocations, vulnerabilities, Scribbled with the camouflaged ichor driblets, Of plight and pangs tainted by this bleak world.
Denude your soul to Those yellow pages, Chronicle the catastrophe of terror, That encompass you, Raising, penetrating, The cavernous pits of your heart, Of your brain, of your soul.
Spew the wrecks, That are spoiling And suppurating within. Let not the cataclysm win. Instead, let alleviating be your aim.
Bare your soul to those yellow pages And let catharsis betide. ------------------------------------------------------------------------
Okay! So I'm making it permanent because of you all❤ Especially for @coral
//•Foreshadowing the day's end, moonlight smells like fathomless echoes of •the screams of her soul from the grave.
There she stays obscured In the parterre of dead roses. Diurnal, she would swallow the melancholies that her inamorato gifted her and would spew wilted hopes.//
As I walk from the megalomania of my desires to the memoirs of your reality, the hush of mellow zephyr shivers my clavicle and an instant clutch of thoughts rolls down my throat through an ooze of sanity. And I live in the world where imaginations are beautiful and reality isn't that lovely, where curve of my lips no more elaborates the vibes of ecstasy.
//She paints those moments with the sanguine stains that are lingering on her faded skin since aeons. The dancing droplets of rain lands on her lifeless body and drenches her with the reminiscence of those beguiling moments with him. Those bijou luminous fireflies no more ignites her soul with zest. The croons of those katydids no more sounds dulcet to her.//
Now stages of my life turned into immortal stories evoking the thunders of retrospect, where the aurora of flashback plays a vintage radio flickering storms of my intellect.
//A blanket of serenity covers the whole necropolis Everytime she sits on the bridge of heartbreak And stitches poem with those metaphors that she Purloined from him once.//
Fake love, broken trust, dead hopes, unravelled promises, withered the walls of my heart dearranged the statistics of my heart beats and turned my pale fair skin crimson brown, where adjectives laugh at me, metaphors ignore my existence, maybe because I'm no more a noun.
//She is a debilitated soul who is waiting since aeons for her beau to take her back With him from where he jilted her//
Entangled in forbidden thoughts, •words and scars collapsed into a pale and obscure desolation of• unwrapped memories, where the allusion of my mortal soul took shelter on the horizon of poetries.
Autumn leaves fell and my heart failed too, but I'll live for myself because I've got a beautiful life too. And I'll fly with the wings of my dreams and swim with the gills of my ambitions, and prove to the world that I'm the persona of my own reflection.
My heart has been melting into the colosseum of reminiscence like the coarse glaciers of Kashmir from the day I first met you and it's been aeons now that my futile hopes have reclined on the arms of your exalted breathes turning the storms of souvenir into the abode of dew.
I've been waiting, yes I've been waiting from so long, for that emollient sunrise which you and me could embrace together but the darkness of this amiable nights no more leaves me unlike you. And I'm afraid, I'm afraid of my own self not you, not even the darkness, for I'm unable to change my feelings and the direction to which they're headed. No matter how hard I try but nothing seems to work and my each possibility turns into an unfavorable outcome.
'You can fall right out of the sky and end up living in a place called memories' this very thought stabs the last ounce of my strength everyday and the rotten pieces of my shattered courage hold your morals and throws me away. If only I would've followed my heart once, if only I would've pulled you a little closer towards me, if only I would've know how much you meant to me at least I would've understood the worth of our love. I failed terribly and you turned away from me, even the mirror is scared of reflecting the greediness leaking out of my scorched bones, even the lakes are scared to reflect the beast within me so how should I expect a lovely person like you to turn this beast into a human....
Letting you go was like pouring my soul out of my body but the faith of your love still beats in the voids of my heart and I'll try to become someone who is needed.
//I've been the artist of breaking heart and thus I need to learn the art of letting go//
I just wish "if I could ever meet you whether it is another world or another birth, I'll wait for you..." ~Purva D
There's a home of happiness on the outskirts of persistence where echoes the mélange of love as the courtesy of frame shatters into 2 n 1/2 pretty smiles and the florid walls are painted by the wavelength of tangerine rust oozing out of mine and her collar bone. And a room of poetry pounds inside the chest of my broken heart where the first drop of my last wound leaks out of window colouring the wilted rose carmine red. And the courtyard of sinew instill sanguinity on the ceiling with drawers full of dreams to squirt the diluted nostalgia out of my fathomless brain. A zephyr of lost exuberance slides past thy counterpart squirting the saturated dust from the off-white envelope, my heart pounds in my hands and tears dribble on my cheeks as the sapphire ink polishes the confession of love which she scribbled 6 January's back which she engraved on metallic staircase, so that one day my lips could read them and retaliate love for love instead of hate. Now my eyelashes are concealed with dust craving for the affection this place holds. There's are a place called home sculpted by my mother, with all 20 corners decorated by her diligent hands. And I'm still breathing there... ~Purva D
Wishing you Happiest Birthday Mummy... May your life shine with the rainbows of success❤️ love you so much
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*