Skip to main content

Chronicles of solitary rantings

I've caged myself in these subtle melancholies of life. The everyday trifles between these two inner voices.
The walls of the cage listen to me. They know me through every minuscule.
They have seen me live and die ...resuscitate and then again die a little more. These walls are my silent consolers. I confide in them.
The tapestries on the ceilings have painted me in yellow ecstasy and crimson pain. Only the curtains have hung closer when I cried
The floors have been stained with charred papers laden with verses of love and yet,never complained. The bedsheets soaked my miseries, my pain while I whined day in and day out...
Ask the pillows they've learnt by heart, the chronicles of nocturnal cursings. They have tasted my blood, seeping from my veins to theirs in the death of the night.
They've known me. They've grown me - from a girl to a woman.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Death Comes Closer

When the passion in my veins
becomes the poison in my blood
and death comes closer by a step
I will not shrivel in sudden fear
or dissolve into a mist of a pitiable plight
For even when I die
My words will illuminate lives with it's
perennial light.

A Nobody

The way your eyes smirk at my existence
and heavy breaths sublime under hallucinating lights
The rifts of your wet lips, abhorrent and unawaiting
On mine sometimes, sometimes gone
A lover's sigh, and poet's respite,

You.

The splash of aquamarine to my gloomy canvases.


Freckle

I was a virgin canvas
your lips couldn't stain

I had waterfalls inside my chest
your eyes couldn't contain

I ached in places
your hands couldn't touch

I spoke of autumns
words couldn't adorn much

So what you loved that beauty spot
on the edge of my waist,
Alongside thrived a freckle
you had already abandoned in haste.