Pondering over the thoughts Of what I got or what I lost I took my old pen, and began to wrote The words, weaving a warm blanket of memories were falling apart Making it ardous to hold the fragile thread of words It was slipping down my hands repeatedly Making it extremely difficult to explain the misery of my heart Memories of a loved one Who made me believe that warm blankets do exists That the threads of mere words could be turned into a warm cloak I again mustered up all the courage and stopped myself from thinking about a sojourner A sojourner who was part of journey A journey which is not over A journey which I will complete with my woven blanket I again picked my pen And started weaving a new journey of eternal peace and happiness.
We all are agitated souls Living in the world of incessant materialistic demands A world resembling to a glass terrarium Sealed by our limited life duration The walls are made up of our desires Inside which we all are confined We get tempted by those fanciful desires But we forget that desires are neverending and fragile just like the glass wall of the terrarium It looks really alluring when looked from outside But it's baffling enough to make one wonder about their mere existence Before we are able to understand our creation inside our glassy world, Our senescence comes and now all that left is our love. Our love for loved ones, the joyful and sad moments all boils down to the memories The memories we imprint on canvas like minds of people we met on the journey that has been finished now. The terrarium is still beautiful, for the gazer who is away from tangling ropes of this world.
I am a fallen maple leaf a leaf which has a story, A story about getting faded with the lapse of time A story about changing hue, from shiny green to crimson red, to the bright yellow, to the monochromatic dead and dry matter I've seen it all, I changed my colours too, That's what I am destined to do I am beautiful when about to fall Isn't this the irony about you all? Once I am felled on the earth, detached from my home I begin to realise my perished existence I get controlled by the swirls of wind, Sometimes I am taken to an unknown place, while sometimes I am just laying there depending entirely for an unknown stroke of wind to take me away.
I am in pain, you are far Just like a distant shining star A star which is pleasurable to the eyes But it is in those unattainable skies The pain is going through my veins Cutting my throat with barbed chains Gulping down the sadness My stomach is filled with the agonizing pain Dreams appears as a severe drought even if drenched with rain
What if life were a book Every chapter a phase in our lives Every paragraph different events Each word a moment in time ? What if life were a rabbit hole One that could be found only After tumbling down ? Where every new day would Be marked by wonder Each moment would await to be found What if life were an empty well Filled with dark despair and terror ? Where days would exist as echos And moments would live on forever What if life were the top of a mount Each day , each moment Frozen and forever cold ? Life would be serene and beauteous Like a postcard being sold What if life were a never ending Vicious circle Days never arriving at an end ? What would the moments look like When everything would go Around the bend ? What if life were a pot of ink Capable of permanence, not Soluble in water ? Able to write one’s destiny With one hand With the other reduce it to a splatter Are fate and destiny the same Or are they different ends of the rope Do we become what was Destined for us Or the ones we’d always hoped Does taking life by the horns determine Our destiny or our fate ? Maybe we are destined to arrive At the answers fated for us Just a little late
Shaking a leg, you hatched. Pearly smiles covered their teary delight. Raptures of flowers bloomed in their garden. Impeccable nexus turned idyllic. Nifty junctures became protuberant. Giggles and grins were only heard around.
Sojourner of shrewd toddler to a novice juvenile you became. Ubiquitous you flattered in a while. Merrinent encrusted your tan, Mirth became your favorite pill. Eagerness to grow up was all you wanted, With Radiant and rakish sunshine beside.
Altering your happiness, adult you became. Unbidden responsibilities knocked your door. Time left your home in slighter interval. Unnatural swaping of esteem took palce, Mincing the jouissance, crops you mowed. Naive vexations ruled your head.
There is a close corrrespondence between the seasons and the stages of life from birth to death. In this sense, Spring represents birth while summer represents youth, autumn adulthood and winter old age and death. Source: google. _______________________
sᴀɴɢᴜɪɴᴇᴏᴜs tepals of the imbues ᴘᴀssɪᴏɴ in those dismal woods ʀʜᴀᴘsᴏᴅɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ as the rejuvenescent spring ɪɴᴄᴇɴᴅɪᴀʀʏ alike a blazing flame or ɴᴀᴢᴇ of delicate nacarat, dulcet as the 's call ɢʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ the deserted range of the .
Palash blooms are emblematic of 'Holi'—the Indian festival of colours that's associated with prosperity, happiness and merriment generally celebrated in the month of March. In olden days, the orange hued dyes used in 'Holi' were extracted from the flowers of 'Palash'.
Glossary: Sanguineous~ Related to the colour of blood. Incendiary~ Flammable/something that incites agitation. Naze~ Cape. Nacarat~ Bright orange-red colour.
Attics in your home will be painted in colors of slanging hope Unarmored, still shining and brave enough to wash away your blues Tapestries will adorn your ripped apart edges Unheard stories will fly free from those rusted cages, Meadows will flush in your gardens for light is not lost yet Nurturing in your heart,ay down your worries for a moment but you're not lost yet.