Still chasing your scent in the ghost of my bed,
Where memories blossom, then break in my head!
Dreams bleed to nightmares, yet I cling to the view —
'Cause baby, everybody’s addicted; mine just happens to be you!-
Amidst the rumbling of skies that grieve and groan,
The scent of rain made solitude feel known!
My dreams lay bare where old regrets had grown,
As time slipped by in verses carved from stone.-
The beauty we fail to cherish blooms brightest in the aching garden of memory, once it’s lost.
-
You don’t curse the clouds for one drop of rain,
Nor abandon love when it brings you pain!
For storms will fade, and skies turn bright,
A new day will dawn after each sleepless night!-
The starlight taking over my dreams through midnight blues,
Yet I wait to be enchanted by her majestic hues!
Is this love, you ask?
Wait until you see her dance upon the grass of my thoughts,
Free at last, letting herself loose!-
"Whispers"
The finite in my imaginary infinity grew tired,
Chasing endless dreams that never expired.
It danced through realms of the vast unknown,
Yet found no place it could call its own.
What did it mean to pause, to rest, to be—
A single point in eternity?
Amid the eerie silence, it sensed a breeze,
A soft embrace that set the soul at ease.
"Be still," it whispered, "and you will see,
Infinity lies nowhere except within thee."-
Forged God
The sky is the limit, they said,
But I found stars even beyond it.
With each step I took, the horizon stretched,
Turning dreams into paths, endless and etched.
With courage as my wings, I rise and ascend,
Bound not by scriptures, but by where I intend!
Through clouds of doubt and winds that roar,
I soared and shattered fears, breaking every closed door!
For the sky was never the limit, you see;
It was merely the prologue to who I was destined to be!-
//And when the sleepless night will skip half a beat,
I’ll wake up to ensure your blanket’s snug and sweet!//
-
In poetry, we don’t ask, "Isn’t this love?"
Instead, we wonder:
When the sun drowns in chaotic screams and tear-stained hymns, before the quiet night drapes its starry blanket, is it wrong to wrap my emotions around your weary form and let my fingers trace the words they ache to write?-
How beautifully chaotic it is that everything stays in place, except for you within your own memories!
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