Skip to main content

Storms..

She was the kind of girl whose eyes you could look into, sitting under a cloudy moonlit sky (as tonight) , and the silence would tell you about the storms that had passed : over and over again, each time with a greater intensity. The storms that justify the dilapidated woman she is.

The storms that sure did swerve her into trances of insanity but couldn't uproot her.

Oh well.

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.