Mirakee
An eventful day
A gentle lash into thin air;
A sweet flap of carefully painted wings;
The tender one takes off
With a lingering trail of wind.
A shy pollen in far corner
Responds to the windy call;
Glides past the petals, the sepals and all.
The little butterfly circles through
Yellow sunflower fields;
Thousand fairies from fantasy stories
Play the morning tune.
The dew that clung
To the leaf night long
Falls into a mirrory pond.
Rippling waves rekindling hope
As Ant adrift on a red brown leaf
Surfs her way upto the shore.
The mouse from underground
Takes his sunglasses off
After a day of hardwork.
News reports gather from around lake Fear
Of a fish that slipped through fishnet tear.
The eagle in the sky
Flies above the clouds and high.
A rider in the mountains strains his eyes
As his horse races into freedom.
A shooting star made her mark
On the endless sky,
An astronaut from her spacecraft
Bids Earth goodbye.
©temporal_verses
temporal_verses
more than happy and more than sad, more than living and more have than ever had
-
-
I am a Traveller
I am a traveller,
A traveller of worlds.
I walk on seabeds
And forests and mountains.
I speak with tigers
And elephants and lions.
I am a traveller,
A traveller of times.
I have changed the past,
Of kings and knights.
I have come from the future,
Of octogenarian heads and unbridled heights.
I am a traveller,
A traveller of deserts.
I have dug water out of rocks
And stones and rubbles.
I have discovered smiles on roads;
On windows, tree-shades and shambles.
I am a traveller,
A traveller of dimensions.
I have seen projections
Of projections of my own self.
I have seen myself search for me
Among the countless images of mine.
I am a traveller,
A traveller lost in space and time.
I have crossed the same paths
Over and over again.
I have watched the beginning and the end;
I was there before everything and before me.
I am a traveller,
A traveller with a clock in hand,
Counting ticks and forgetting counts.
I am walking, never in a hurry;
I am untouched with nothing to worry;
I am invariant and immortal
And a little melancholy.
©temporal_verses -
Severed head
In the land of solemn justice
Rules the king of quintessential power.
Collars tied to beheaded necks,
Invisible leashes drag to a blank future.
The Ghost king sets the laws,
Peaceful people abide by.
Nor does a baby cry, nor are you allowed
To count sands in eternal sandstorms,
Or blood grains on worn out swords.
Counting stars in the calm lakes,
Restrictions reside with looking up.
People are cold and the streets are gray,
A mild breeze ripples past;
A mellifluous tune plays in the air.
Tremors rise from underground coffins;
Cockerels on wind vanes 'come alive.
Swordsmen on red unicorns rush;
The black mist has placed a bounty
On the King's head.
Finally the door opens
As the age old rusty lock is sliced through.
There lies the ghost king,
Dead for decades long.
In the bed, a tailors handiwork;
Stitched head of the tyrannical Emperor.
Behind the curtains are heartless people,
Profiteers of the past,
Ghost king of the present,
A severed head that replaced another.
©temporal_verses -
Singing Streets
Triumphant flags wave on exultant streets,
Trumpets trumpet from Elephant backs,
Raining petals pave the way
For an exuberant majesty.
On from a golden chariot,
The King sets the emotions free.
The crowds sing and the crowds acclaim,
No cloud comes near this dazzling day.
A rich parade of delicate clothings
Rings close to the vibrant skies;
Men and Women adorn themselves
With their most beautiful smiles.
A kingdom detached
From heavens they connect,
A kingdom of green
Set under a blue firmament;
A kingdom for a king
Who conquered the waves,
Beside the shores
And alongside the raves.
Faraway there is a wall unseen,
Untouched by the ever-widening roads.
For every sunny day in the capital,
Rabbles accumulate on the otherside
Under everlasting shadows.
The Heaven's architect is banished there.
The colors from the singing streets
Mingle into a black mist.
What remains are the remnants
Of a glorious today,
Where streets never sing, Sun never shines
And kings let loose
Blind smiles and tears overlooked.
©temporal_verses -
Plunge pool
Facing me is a wall of cloud.
I take two steps back in confusion.
I look back.
A blank white.
There were people behind me!
Where are they now?
I stand and I stand;
For eternity I stand.
I wait and I wait
But nobody ever comes.
Throbbing heart pauses for a moment.
Courage takes a step forward.
My feet struggles
As dried blood underneath keeps it stuck
To the ground.
I look back, again.
Carefully I look.
Bloodprints ended long back
And here again,
Dried blood has made its mark.
I have stayed here for too long
But, this is the end
Of a path of certainty.
Just a few steps
And I will be hearing
Bellowing clouds and
Dazzling thunder claps.
I stand in the distinction
Between white emptiness
And dark clouds shrouded in mystery.
Perception of distance gets lost
In front of this infinite stretch
Of black and white.
I am exhausted, I am sleepwalking
I am getting gobbled up
By the cloud of calamity.
Another black silhouette
Blends into the darkness.
Just those reddish brown patches remain
In the long roads of white.
©temporal_verses -
HUNTER
H uman flesh stuck
U nder the teeth,
N ovember rains wash away
T iger's red fingerprint.
E vening sun counts one less trip,
R ainbow fades in oblivion.
©temporal_verses -
Maze-stuck
Written fates and stringent vows,
Symmetric mazes with no get-outs.
Chasing forever a neverending melody,
The illusionary loop claims the exuberant me.
I smell the wood of my own funeral pyre;
Time has passed, life is gone;
The maze remains, but inhabitants unknown.
©temporal_verses -
The infinite fall
I am falling down,
I am breaking apart,
Spiralling down to the core.
I am falling faster than anyone else,
Changing colors don't hurt me anymore.
My heart is burning in the flames that rise
From deep inside, dreadful screams agonize.
I am getting farther from the event horizon
Shreds of glass fly to me from the abyss,
My broken reflections make me bleed.
Days of torment get too long.
Time is but a puppeteer,
Nothing more.
©temporal_verses -
Fever
The fan in the ceiling rests
Motionless and still;
A calm wintry evening it is,
Haunted by silence and feels.
Shivers run in lonely rooms
Sleepless minds fly on magic brooms.
Empty glasses remain cold and tired.
Coffee sachets never hired.
The arms are getting numb.
The mind is down with fever.
Pain echoes from within,
The doorbell rings never.
The world is down with fever,
Imaginary distances creep betweeen hearts.
Wished to Santa for the cure,
The last year and the year before.
Still waiting in front of the window
For a raindeer chariot to pass the Moon.
Am I the only one,
Forgotten and left alone ?
©temporal_verses -
temporal_verses
10w
The seas are dreaming.
The skies are dreaming.
The deserts are dreaming.
But even in dreams, sirens keep me awake.
©temporal_verses
-
a_gentilischi
3d
Read MoreThis is my first POD. I'm dizzy with happiness.
Thank you so much for the repost @writersnetwork and @mirakee . I'm honoured.
Also thanks to everyone, for their feedback and support.
A special shout out to @jerry_21 for unknowingly being an amazing inspiration
��
___________________________________________________
This is a story of endings.
Death
Destruction
Dreadfull carnage
Dying flames embrace
Dessicated metropolis
Desolation rings, as the death bells toll
Damask of burnt dreams, amidst the knoll
Rage
Ruination, of a
Ravaged nation
Ruined to memories. Once
Ripe with greed and sin and hatred
Redolent with the stench of humanity
Ruminated in my firery embers till cleansed
Ash
All around
A darkened sky
Adorned with death.
A mindlessly cruel crusade's
Ascension to so-called glory
Abridged to a blood bath for all
Gore
Guzzled flesh
Greed, this is not
Great revenge, it should be
Gazing upon smoking wasteland
Gaunt pyres for the killers of my kin
Gone are they, bequeathing legacy of grief
Once
On river banks
Obscure among clouds
Overwhelming love, I knew
Open wings of a mate and brood
Orchestra of gentle grunts, affectionate purrs
Oblivious of the omens, of an impending oblivion
Now
No more killers.
None, except me.
Night embraces dawn
No more dragons roam
Nymphs of fire dance around me
Nuturing the flames that I bathe in. Breath in.
#dragons #pleiadespoem #wod #pod
#mirakee #writersnetwork
@writersnetwork
#thoughts #time #stories #life #deathThe last dragon
.
©a_gentilischi -
trippy_potato
2w
Read More@writersnetwork
I see very few if any political texts ( the few I do see are hilariously dumb), let alone leftist content on this platform; if you're a progressive leftist who wants to write about the worker's cause, I'll follow your account. Let me know in the comments. I'd be happy to have conversation and debates too. :)
Solidarity!✊✊✊✊Bourgeoisie electoralism
Chanting heads,
Cowed and bent,
Accepted chains
Undeserved by men;
With hollow ornament
And aesthetic appeal,
The crowd is kept
From the thinly veiled
Chambers where
Their toil and tears
Are stored in piles
Guarded with fear.
And decrepit Lords
Roost like jealous dragons,
Fed by blood and gold
Drunk from bony flagons;
And they cheer to health
As the working folk,
Line up for pittance
In branded clothes;
And bicker amongst them
Over bread and butter
And cheer to wars
And kill one another.
And the shrewd Lords
Count loss and gain,
To pay the senator
And crush all that refrain.
And the truth is cuffed
As wastes wax in girth,
Sooty faces are forgotten
In their cramped berths;
And those that can
Close eyes and follow
Akin flesh wrought automata
With souls all hollowed;
They are lifted high
In the aristocracy of fools,
Satiated with breadcrumbs
For enforcing rules.
And conquest is masked
Under the guise of trade,
My comrades are culled
And shot where they tread;
And democracy allowed
When and only if,
It secures the power of the few
Over the billions to them bequeathed.
©trippy_potato -
Cadres of falsehoods
Valour, honour,
Strength and manner:
Convention binding
Under a heavy banner.
Respect made ritual,
Fetishised reverence
For subjective wisdom
That makes no difference-
To material that tethers
Held and delegated
To the rungs of hierarchy
From imbalance emanated.
And upon the back of man
This edifice of human deeds,
Accredited to nature's order,
Actually born from want and need.
The subtleties though lost upon all
In fervent promises of lost zeniths,
Power again given in earnest
But never returned after beginning.
How cruelly fate plays
When the vision of toilers
Is but the tool of power;
And the critique of sands
And winds remain the only
Rebelling forces at war.
And suffering morphs
To the glories of mythic past,
Lost to the whims of Gods
And effigies to tyrrants.
Incensed fire obscures truth
Bereft of symbology
And man's rhetoric;
Truth beyond stories
Chanted into hymnals,
Glory beyond brutality
Over the unlucky and feeble;
For what truth beyond material
That decimates and makes?
What hierarchy more just
Than that imposed by united slaves?
©trippy_potato -
Knots and nooses.
In night's heart
Carved from empty streets,
I'm the sole disturbance
To the settling breeze;
And streetlight reds
My only guide:
Homesick, blue,
I'm a stranger twined
With unseen strings
That loosen and tense
Through past's vagaries
And the present immense.
And in night's quiet
Where dreams coalesce:
No destination seems apt
To put a stop to my steps;
And the welcome chill
Invites me again to desert,
Yet strings tie, strings keep
From freedom undeserved.
©trippy_potato -
stringsofsoul
1w
Read MoreThe cramped galley is littered with the dust of closed memories
of smiling quakers, clabber girls, and red-haired cherubs
Dust-powdery, the shelves, lined with faded blue geese silhouettes
stack his sustenance for future glories:
cartons, cans, and canisters
rows and rows
of string bean almandine, Norway bristling, and cream of wheat
A table braces the north wall
sporting a solitary cane-back chair,
its cushion long forgetful of its youth.
Rich brocade tapestry of burgundy and teal
now balding
bleeds kapok and dignity,
wheedling verbal complaints with each fraying human encounter
Sticky with tiny droplets of peach juice,
marinara, fuzzy with Life, dances in congealed rings
on oil cloth once checked red and white
now cracked and crumbling
pale as ancient skin
popping like tired joints coerced beyond enduring usefulness
when caressed by the breakfast dishes
A blood black rose, withered
tentatively clings to a gray and brittle stem
that searches futilely for life nourishing moisture
at the bottom of a Waterford vase
The sun no longer plays upon its leaded facets
now dull and clouded with the dry spatterings of dinner
the dust of neglect and forgetting, lifeless as the rose
At the table he is waiting
waiting in the forever darkness
'By the light of morning,' he murmurs, 'I will hear the Trumpet's Call.
A call to come and serve.'
His fingers forever intertwined in Earthly renunciation
white, confused in twisted yearnings for golden roads and pearly gates
And an end to the Waiting
At the table he is waiting in a patient cocoon of powerlessness
'Dear Lord, I haven't had a drink.
I haven't smoked.
I haven't sinned.
I haven't touched a Woman
or let her taint my pious heart.
I've spent my life beseeching you and now await
the Rapture of Your Call.'
'I am waiting to hear the Apocalyptic horses' hooves,
the fluttering of giant Angels' wings
to sweep my consecrated soul into the clouds of Heaven keep.
I have lived for nothing but Your promises.'
At the table he is waiting in the stale and musty stench of his decay
He fills with the acrid sulfur
of unkept promises of sacred immortality
At the table he is waiting,
waiting in the Forever Darkness
He strains to hear the horses' hooves with deaf ears
He strains to feel the zephyr of Angel wing with aching bones
He strains to capture the sweetness of Heaven in his nostrils
He strains to see the face of God with empty eyes
He strains to ignite his chest, devoid of Human Love, with Rapture's Fire
The Rose
dark with death
releases the stem
and falls to peace
It flutters on impact to dust
Then rising to Heaven whole, velvet red as new
it sings of Love and sharing
It rejoices in Life's fiery illumination
The Waiting Man extends his bony fingers in the Darkness to touch the miracle
but despairs in finding himself immobilized paralyzed
The Rose sings in rapture once more to teach the Man in Darkness
But is grimacing skull can no longer rotate on its axis to see.
Tears can no longer flow from his vacant eyes
Distant waterdrips of laughter sound echoes he cannot hear
His phantom heart, consigned to unrequited promises, is now touched by cold terror
He is touching Forever.
@mirakee @writersnetwork.
Waiting here,
a sappy romantic flick flashing,
but not registering, before my eyes.
I don't even like them, but they
make me feel closer to you.
©satrun -
absynth
1w
Skewed Sky
What if the sprawling sky
One day starts feeling too shy
Of its great heights
And starts to blush
Every once in a while
So that the bewildered earth
starts finding it tough
To predict those iridescent mood swings
And seeks the intervention of tree tops and birds
To pep up the dwindling spirits of the welkin
with their rustling and chirping poetries?
What if the stars
One day take up arms against their creator,
Break free from the shackles of their constellations
And form a cavalcade to infiltrate the earth
In search of their human counterparts
Signing a pact with them of never being apart
With a pen of bones and an ink of ash
As they exchange a handful of ether for a handful of earth
Sealing the solidarity of a common birth?
What if the clouds
One day start feeling sorry
For every wounded soul below
And land up on the ground
With wads of soft cotton in their arms
To soak the flow of tears
And flush away the profound pain
With a torrent of pristine rain drops
And make a home forever in this dirt
The magic of their touch
Manifesting an Eden on earth?
What if the sun and moon
Stop making room for each other
Let their giant egos rule
the brilliance of their lustre
Every sun spot turns to a despot
every crater becomes a dictator
And needs to be shown its place
By the mighty force of dark matter?
No. Not another big bang
When we still haven't sobered up
To the last one's hangover.
Oft I look at and admire the sky
Not for its palette of colors
Or its promise of a horizon
But for its true grit to keep its wits together
While providing a shelter to such cosmic diversity
It never looks down on the earth
But always helps it to ressurect
From the setbacks of every natural calamity
And human atrocity.
But what if one day the sky finally decides
To throw up a tantrum
And gives up on this divine facade of ethereal beauty,
Putting up an insanity plea?
What will become of us?
What will become of love?
What will become of eternity?
©absynth -
_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_
2w
Read MoreTo,
Someone I'll find. Eventually.
These are my skies. I have them draped in graffiti because I was tired of not being able to decide what I saw when I looked up. There were always only two plots to choose from, anyway - gloom or gloom. I envy people who can look up and trace and find unicorns and candyfloss and smiles with their clouds.For me, they've always looked like distorted mirror images of daggers and pottery gone wrong. I'd realized this celestial, divine modern art was not for me and I stopped looking at the sky for very long. I did not want to acknowledge my fears. But I want you to know that my palms get sweaty, I can't walk straight and I spend 23 hours every day trying to undo the nightmares that the sky above me weaves. And the last time, I looked at the sky, I was blindfolded - busy making my skies like me. And now, my skies do not sparkle in cycles. They do not exchange blue for crimson and crimson for black because they don't have to.
When the blue moon glittered on the edges of my nails last night, and my iris did not want to drown in any more light, I do not know how but I landed up in this dream. I do not dream often. It is a "once in a blue moon" occurrence {pun (un)intended} but I remember every pixel of what I saw last night. It is engrained on every inch of my memory reel. I do not know what it means but I think it led me to you. It was all brilliantly bright - so bright, I could not see my own fingers and there was a very distinct siren wail in the background. I slid through what looked like a library of memories - butterflies locked in jars, half-eaten toasts, shattered wreathes and in the end - a ring. Then came the embrace. The water held me tight by my hips and even though i could not breathe, it felt like I wanted to stay there - amidst the coral and weed. The siren wail was gone and it was almost as if the water itself was singing to me, very meekly yet adamantly, as if it wanted me to remember - " Auburn hair. Letter. You must. "
It is funny how ever since I learnt to write, the word "solace" has brought me to you. I have not given you a shape or skin colour but I have known your lips on my scars. I have felt like we know each other across hamlets and universes and even if my heaviness does not collide into your home some night, you will be the only one I run to, when the streetlights become jammed and my hands can't move from under the lampshade. I have thought of you like the wind, breathing into my ears and reminding me, I am not alone. I have known you as the laughter in my crayons. It is a miracle but for once, you reassure me of owning a home. It is a miracle but for once, I think I have known love. It is a miracle but for once, I have started to like the rains.
There are a million stories I have wrapped and thrown under the thickest journal I possess that lies unlabelled under the weight of love letters I've written to myself because everytime I've tried reading them aloud to people who tell me they "love" me, I've been reciprocated with confused glares and detachment floating between our breaths. Often, "fiction", mama tells me is the genre of these stories but how do I tell her that her daughter has swum across every word that makes them ? I have grounded these stories in my golden cage of exulansis. I don't speak of them anymore. And things that I don't speak of, I write because when I am gone, I would like to be unravelled. I would like to come undone in the hands of someone and make them weep. I would like my pages to get wet in their tears and I would like them to think of me in their sleep and say - "I wish I'd found her sooner because I love her. " but when I peek at you through my window and I look at the gleam in your eyes, I find hope and you'll probably make it happen before I'm gone, right ?
I know, I am acatalepsy personified. I know that no matter how hard you try, you will never be able to get to the bed of my ocean and I don't expect you to, either but with me, things will never be difficult. Because I read. When you walk into the café to see me for the first time, it will not be difficult to spot me. My hair will be loose and I will have to keep tucking it behind my ear because tying it into a bun would mean, letting go of the book in my hands. My coffee will be begging for attention as my eyes tear through pages of a bestseller I grabbed on my way there and my face will give away the plot. If the plot is sad, you will find me holding a handkerchief to my nose beacuse it runs faster than my eyes. If the characters are growing with the story, I will smile and laugh and garner stares from the old lady sitting opposite to me. My heart will turn into a tachyon and I will fall in love with the male lead faster than the speed of light. You may have to do something to catch my attention at first but when you have, you will have all of me. It will not be difficult to start a conversation. Ask me about the last book i read or why I love Murakami or what I understood of the Ulysses. It will not be difficult to go shopping because I spend more on books than clothes. It will not be difficult to pick a present. You can gift me books for Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries and it will never be difficult to fall asleep next to me because I will read you my favourite poems every night. It will never be difficult to fall for me, not because I read but because I write.
I am not innocent. I am hungry and I am bored. I am fierce for there is nothing I want more than the sunlight shining on my neat hair, rejoicing in starbursts. I have desperately waited. Not for someone. Not for something. I have waited because that's all I have learnt to and sometimes I fear that I'll be dead and no one will remember to close my eyes and even in death, I'll wait for that's all I'd have learnt. And you took one look at me and broke the earth open for desire. No one can storm my heart to surrender and though, I am not innocent, I was not taken. I left. The footprints on the mud near your mile-high gates are mine. Walking for you felt nice. It felt like you coaxed spring from inside of me.
There is no single quiddity to me. I do not come down to something as mundane as my "essence". I am all over everything. I collect rags to sew them to my scrapbook and look at them transition to your portrait. I walk over pearl bridges and I forget to turn the room heater off. I can be dancing among the sunflowers one moment and the next, you will find me at war with my ideals trying to figure what amounts to nothingness or inspidity. You will hear me singing melodies to the larks and voicing what many render as "tacenda" between my syllables. My colours are as raw as the beetroots we dug up this morning and as ripe as the honey trickling from the comb of your sun-hued eyes. I have made peace with being in the Japanese "Ukiyo". I can be the tide retreating and swallowing your pain but on days that I go rogue I wish you don't leave me. I wish you caress my wounds with more pride than you flaunt my accomplishments. I wish you hold on to me when I roar and scratch and hurt you so you can dance to my poems when they begin to sing for you.
~ Yours,
Someone who'll find you. Eventually.
©_creatingworldsthatdonotexist_
-----------------------------------××××------------------------------------
@bluepuppy01 @ablaze_writer - Your dares. aah. done :")
@daphnae - answer to your "truth" question (๑´•.̫ • `๑)
CHALLENGE HOSTED BY @cyan_rose
-----------------------------------××××------------------------------------
@ikigaii - Tried your challenge toooo. Thanks a tonne for it (•ө•)♡
-----------------------------------××××------------------------------------
@writersbay #tidec.
-
a_gentilischi
3w
Read More
O Boreas mighty North wind,
You looked upon us when we were starved
Starved of warmth, till our lips were blue
Blue, were the edges of our bruised hearts
Hearts gone hard and cold, frostbitten through
O Zephyros gentle South wind,
You smiled down on us, young and in love
In love, enveloped in sweet spring breezes
Breezes that played melodies on our heartstrings
Strings of adoration, spun gold, with no creases
O Notus wild West wind,
You slaked our thirst with sultry summer storms
Storms to revel in the piquant taste of passion
Passion that burnt, oblivious of the mounting pains
Pain left untended, warnings unheeden, minds ashen
O Eurus jealous East wind,
You simply chuckled in glee, when we walked away
Away from the veritable abyss of a thousand hurts
Hurt by our own cruel words, callous and sharp
Sharp jagged cracks, forever on our scarred hearts
@mirakee @writersnetwork
#winds #wod #pod
#mirakee #writersnetwork
#thoughts #love #lifeOde to The Winds
.
©a_gentilischi -
a_gentilischi
2w
Read More
#coloursspeak #wod #pod
#mirakee #writersnetwork
#colours #thoughts #life
@writersnetwork thank you so much for the repost. You made my day��Black
For some I am darkness
Neither silent, nor loud
To others I am emptiness
A conundrum, standing proud
I'm an outcast and a stranger
In a world of greens and blues
The only colour without a voice
Amidst a thousand unnamed hues
I hate that martyr, calling himself white
Why do I get darkness, when he got light?
We are held in thrall by this blind world
Where people can't see, beyond two sides
Light and dark (or is it good and bad?)
Locked in what is called the eternal fight
The inseparable purity of Yin and Yang
Symmetry and perfection in plain sight
For even when this canvas is black
The letters are brilliant white
Yet, some even think I'm not a colour
Their eyes only see what is bright
I am the only one full, in a used box of paint
Because no one paints their bleakest nightmares
And so I languish, needed but undesired
In a world that wants white hot burns and flares
©a_gentilischi -
New beginnings
As the soft fuschia sunlight waltzes over the gosammers on a conventional winter morning, the sparrows chirp a different melody to cut the red ribbon for a new day. The clouds of Christmas carols have ebbed away as the bright azure reflects a new beginning.
With snow and sunlight quarrelling like the lovers in youth, to colour every nook of this new dawn with white and azure, finally, compromises to coalesce into a golden beginning. leaving some of the canvas hollow, welcoming us to paint it ourselves. Trail of lights and jingles left by Santa's sleigh, leading to the North Star overhead promises to lead us out of the gyre whenever snow beneath feels treacherous. For, this is the prologue crafted out of our hands held together.
Winter Jasmines bloom shyly as frost coloured in love, beauty and sensuality touches the petals, burying itself in them. Snow birds wear their new coat decorated with jewels, eyes laden with hope and they sing, hale and true- a melody of endings, for sunsets left behind and sunrises on their way while they place Heather crowns beaded with icicles on heads of their eggs.
Mistletoes glimmer amidst sun kissed leaves as the dew garnishes everything with a new layer of gloss. Sunshine kisses the iced lakes and frames into a rainbow tinted crown on the new world. And languidly, the Christmas lights and scents mingle with dawn's luminescence as we let go off the blurred glimpses of yesternights and our hearts rekindle to embrace this aureate beginning. The snowflakes embellish our windowpanes with new patterns and the world breathes in the dulcet aroma of winter flowers.
Demurred musings whirl buoyant and bluffing nightfall doffs the vagaries, when the aurora forges surpassing hues of gray and cyan, the aeonian shaft rogitates rame. 0-dark-hundred bids adieu to brume while the sun brings lambent utopia.
The uncaressed paintbrushes will pick up new shades and the marmoris will kiss up the new chapters happily waiting to be read. The keen jingle of a new carol in every street and a clinquant hope whispering from every lip, is weaving some secret stories in the apricity of this new beginning, so gear up little darling, the magic of a new year is about to begin.
Everything in nature wears the attire of hope, the hope of a new beginning, a start, arrival of a new year and the poignant ending of the year, with eyes that of a child, beholding new stationery and colour pencils. The sky picks up a various combination of colours ranging cantaloupe, medallion, sangria but chooses a shade of melancholic blue as her last identity. Sunsets are the cheapest dates anyone could afford inducing spirituality and peace in you; allowing you to self introspect and love selflessly.
Nightmares had already arrived to horizon of sunset with kiss of stars decorating it with jewels of new sunrise.Escalating rainbow in sky portrayed a chorus of new year verses with happiness under the lantern blending with glowing empty page of prosperity. Viridity of eunoia thoughts are blooming with irenic irony of limitless dreams and possibilities. Illecebrous lesson of time has begin with eyesome footsteps of universal divine. Gold coast of floral pattern is weaving the loom of diamond moonflower once again to hold our life together by rame moira.
The doors you pushed close behind with all your remaining might, are still giving a way to the light you left behind, through the gaps. Stars would lend you some spark but do take that light along with you in search of grander doors through these long winter nights. Maybe the heart is still beating December but the way you survived all of it and managed to spread a carpet made of your smiles for January is meant to be cherished for years to come.
Endings are overrated, and so is the pain after separation. but this time, i will rather make my sky bleed than crying over the promises of winter they made to me. I will rather let the warm snowflakes melt, than letting my heart to do the same over their rhymes. this time the freezing midnight to us will lead to a new dawn of sunlight.
-Mahek, Amrutha, Raika, Aahana, Chaheti, Riya, Devika, Janhavi, Ketki, Sadiah
