Unconscious were they
Like the bay of Gaundanamo
Boarded to heaven many a times
Peeling hearts that they had
They amazed the skill of a vulture
Hardships of an empire; its known
Untried by blood and sweats
Stones continued to hinges
Shadows never die, though lie
What did we gain, naked are the mirror
Instance happieness, juvenile freedom
They carve a space deepest in time
Tremors are gone, left with blood of a slave
Master and his master rejoices, amicably yours ...
It is as steady as a stale shadow. My morning with Sun nimbing somewhere ahead of time. Violet petals were far from awake, heeding to their eternal wishes in dreams to come. True itself, lies were withering many times in breathing crimes. Stretch of the day was beneath the complete sky. Trend of winds were as predictable as the good words. They lived as per expectation.
They need a change; wild orchids , graves of silence, stellar skies, tremoring leaves, slit throats, split molecules, many universes, vibrant verses, harking heavens; not sure of what they possess they shed light and resorted in spinning mountains, quite subserviently ...
It begins so in disguise : I would be craving to be a winter green which otherwise does not exist. A vague sense of togetherness with loneliness; Words seldom reflect what they mean. a sense of mystery prevails in nature. May be its labour in its beauty and its expressionless that constitute aesthetics.
Why do I diverge from myself ? Irrespective of being deeply reflective and introspective, I tend to complicate the incompleteness.
An authoritative, impulsive behaviour pervaded all my senses. Inspite of this aversion to all personal, territorial attachments and knots , I tend to melt into dreams and desires all the times.
An interrupting question; why do we like to reflect on water bodies just as streams of consciousness? Is it the primordial remembrance - the lose of a perennial abode? Or a prophetic sense of last resort in times of annihilation and apocalypse ...!
Never know for sure. Porous lungs and fragmented nerves burn at ease. Ashes cannot reclaim the flames; yet they can recollect the pebbles that were pearls once and for all.
Is poetry addictive or withering ? Not sure again. It has a thrust of imminent cognizance and warping senders of time.
Perhaps a darkness looms within. Frail forms of life keeps vibrating over and above the sighs. Distance was past. Heavy silence stones my fingers. And I persist in tunneling eloquence. When time reveals days become one of songs and innocence.
Levelling dreams and feasts our tribes engage in tiring interpretations. Unaware of meanings, winds strayed in tune with dust of the dread ...
Normal plains. They were crushing. Agile in my hands, I was weathering many a storms. Language was never a barrier, yet monotony prevailed. Beneath the feathers, there is a heart that shrinks temporal. All of yours ...
My endless destiny is short of captured time that dilate towards semantic apertures. Yet it spells a vision that truncates melancholy and permuted omens. Words cast in painless soils , they gifted my desire open and autumn. @Gokul
