There are times when we feel lost, broken when all our hope turns into despair living with a broken heart and a messed up soul, trying not to fall apart. So many things raging a storm inside, i want to flood this all out to someone, someone who can understand exactly the way i feel but i guess there's no one, to whom i can talk to, to whom i can tell that i can't take this all anymore , that this all is eating me up inside.
If I could then, I would've been making self love easily accessible for the needy!
̶̶̶̶̶̶̶̶̶̶ ̶̶̶̶̶̶̶ - !
House, the calm ends of shores, The shop floats on the ebbs, but still stays by the shore. Whatever a person needs for self-love is served. Potions made of some crumbled old pages, that once preserved roses. Soups of charm, luck and courage.
Every soul sings about its long lost love, they collide with each other and leave together. Fantasy lives in their mind, that's why they can't realise the reality. Sanguinity is too slippery for them to stand on it.
Wearing plethora of metaphors, many decent souls walk past my shop. Some metaphors were shining like diamonds, while others were burning like fire, Wandering like some ships in the night, those stars, swim across the sky alone together.
/ Every corner of their brains has witnessed love, That their hearts failed to preserve. /
candied eyes with cacophonous voices were kept apart in a jar, they weren't bought by any. while sour souls + sweet potions were taken, planted in pots filled with stardust, potions poured little every night, made them to bloom.
I can see your shadow on the clouds. witnessing that thorns bore a bloom, don't get swayed by (love in) the air, self-love ain't selflessly wandering in air.
/But, bitter coffee and its aroma can make you feel better. Savouring favourite delicacies with lovely music can help you. Following the sunshine can help you. Travelling with the rains can help you bloom again./
Love for oneself can't be bought by someone and poured. Get it yourself.
Things like past never seem still like the memoirs of raindrop kisses And apparently clocks do have hearts, also they get tired, they run under personification;
Of a clock, the minute hand always betrays her gifts her a flower vase full of wilted blooms blooms which once inhaled feiulemort and freshness of broken promises before finally choking themselves indeed those blooms run, underneath her every breath adding poison to her past, while every minute ticking inside her feels the sapling of sadness growing inside her and the siblings planted on the backyard of her present.
Every 12:00 to 1:00 ante meridiem she struggles to be quiet, take some rest but betrayed again the hour hand sits idle by the side made himself comfortable on feathery cushions lack of work has deformed him and made him ultra lazy sometimes he utters nonsense he doesn't job but repeats his nursery rhymes after every one hour
bells continue .......
"Twinkle twinkle I sit idle I had a lot to tell But asleep I fell."
"Indeed, my little son." whispers the clock caressing his face in the backdrop of silence.
This lazy son of the minute hand is his burden lazy at home sleepy at work wakes up lately has more perks being the dad he has to work from the 1st minute till his last breath and you know, this father couldn't be replaced by his worthless son.
Let's come to the framework, the grandmother, the coffin of emotions her lap is home to her children and grandchildren she is one and all in herself she has an immense contribution in holding the family together, she is the frame, she is the outer clock she is the mother to minute hand she is the custodian of the flock.
PS - For clock is the concrete soul of a mother, she is also the abode of the minute hand (concrete father soul) and hour hand (concrete son/ daughter soul) with 24×7 and endless services. The outer clock (framework) being the the grandmother soul, she is a golden frame for a gain in her experience.