//What have I done, dwelling in the place I don't belong to? What have I done, loving the pain I shouldn't? What have I done, tracing the silhouettes, blind and dumb? Oh, what choice do I have than to embrace a painful lie, when the truth is agonizing!//
//The fire consumed me, body and soul. I ran, I flew, alone and away, in pain and agony, in hope of living. The known strangers cried, hugged the life outta me. But they are just that, strangers. I held out my hands, wishing for one person. A person cared not, or, maybe, dared not, to hold my hand.//
#temporary I am too lazy to delete my temporary posts and too tempted to make every post temporary! (One day I will push myself to push them into a trash can where they actually belong, like the day before yesterday)
Bury me with my mother's blanket of love wrapped around me. So I will not feel cold from the freezing nights. So her warmth will spread through my then-cold and stiff corpse. Bury me with my sister's pillow, the hard one she loves to sleep on, so I will not feel alone. So it will give the comfort my sister always gives me and will be the crying shoulder, my sister, then cant provide. Bury me, besides my father's grave, so I can tell him things I couldn't when I was alive, when he's alive. Maybe then, for once, he'll listen and actually understand.
Bury me, with my pen and paper, so people will know, I waged a war with a pen, my sword, and paper, my armor. And they are my only armaments. Bury me, with all my stories that didn't make it to the books, poems that didn't make it to the reader's eyes, letters that didn't make it to my lover. So people will know, I now made it to my haven, a bed of poetry, along with my mum's blanket and sister's pillow. And that will be my new home.
Bury me with my stethoscope and apron, so will know that the war I waged was not a lost battle, the life I lived was not completely useless.
//Bury me not with flowers and tears but with all those things that made me "me" over the years.//
is a slippery soap bubble that floats with the wind it can take you to float among the clouds or crash you like shooting stars
sometimes it slips through your fingers like sand and before you know it you are unable to count the bouquets of white lilies sitting on the crown of your head
and now you feel free because you have come to understand that all you could do was blow, blow, blow on the days the wind stood still with your fingers crossed behind your back wishing upon the shooting stars that your bubble never bursts
Nurturing tender reveries Melodies of feminine beauty The way they caress all banes, Enduring suffering beyond belief Most pivotal in places where rejected, And at zenith of love where embraced Its not so abstruse their unbridled importance Prevailing all pleasures and pain A woman is a symbol of pure compassion A palindrome for generosity in repeat Like a never ending song of Pristine bliss Brooks go dormant when her heart sings, Craving for Emancipation often wishing to fly away They are the other half of cosmic soul, Without one entire universe will be alone We all are incarnation of star dust Part feminine and part masculine One can't exist without the other half Cause that's how affection of world works With harmonious melodies sync for both as one. Making us realize how equality is so natural.
O' white chrysanthemum I adore your devoted love, Suffused in my heart with your loyal snuff.
O' pink chrysanthemum I am fascinated by your glimpse, Interweaved the hearts with untwined links.
O' flamboyant chrysanthemum you exist as rainbow like, I barely have allegory to describe you in my poetic vibes. @_gk_07 . . . The November birth flowers, chrysanthemums, are often nicknamed “mums.” The word, “chrysanthemum,” comes from the Greek prefix chrys- meaning golden and -anthemion, meaning flower. Its original colors were golden hues, though mums now come in many colors. . . . (~ I came to know about my birthday flower by this.... ) @_gk_07
Time's a torn fabric we've wrapped our hearts in. Life's a lone deamon we caged in our homes. And hopes are lost forever in denying the work of destiny. We all are too busy to know what flows deep down our bones.
On tinkling threads of time Let's weave for us a nest And sway upon its music Dancing all our best Holding your hand I'll swoon when you smile Holding me back You'll travel another mile I'll tap upon the threads And memories will pop out You'll jump to cath one As I'd watch you in doubt You'll unfold its paper As paper shows an image Your jaw drops down It's a woman in a carriage All past comes into present And present becomes life Memories are just pieces For one to catch, just too rife It shows how we dreamt it Shows how we always fancied Two hearts in a parallel world Talk all time but can't read Their words become butterflies And travel across oceans They talk their hearts out With no judgement or reason Covering the whole sky Butterflies flap their wings Dropping down your words In my humble old dwellings Kisses become tidings And at evening we sit at shore With all of their beauty Oceans splash you more Dripping wet in love You look up at the sky "Distance is a dream away" You say and you cry I get up from a dream And look up at the moon "I'll wrap you in my arms" I say and sleep soon When clocks fall down And earth stops moving Let's hold our ends strong Smiling and approving With an old key in your eyes You'll open my locked heart We'll both look at skies Creating our special art