Evenings are hopes
that canvas the tantalizing rays
of the dusk for the nefelibata,
A realm where time is lost
but never forgotten,
Whispering tales of triumph
and visions yet to glisten,
When nightfall unveils
its velvet curtain,
Dreamers rise to pen
their dreams forever uncertain.

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As biting frigid gale mercilessly
stings the skin,
Silhouettes gather the remnants
of yesterday's woe,
An orison to the sacred flames
before morning's first flush,
Hissing hues of amber and violets
crackle with life,
Burdens now laid down,
freeing our souls,
Embracing the spirit of bhogi
within our minds and dwellings.

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Little Things I Love,
Sanguine sundowns that
soothes a weary spirit,
Nostalgic whiffs of
bibliosmia from a
cherished vintage book,
Plinking raindrops,
a lullaby on a summer's eve,
Ambient orchestration of
twinkling fireflies
under the moonlight,
Starry constellations
that calls home to the lost.

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Dear January,

In the stillness of winter's embrace,
I seek solace, like a poet by their fire's grace,

Yet, a void lingers, untold and deep,
For nobody knows the rubies i had to relinquish,

I'll pen a verse, painting skies anew,
To honour the rubies, once held true.

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"The Alchemy of Yin-Yang: From Dust to Golden Threads"

(Read Caption)

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In the midst of darkness's mockery,
Labyrinth thoughts of deception plagues me,
Small flicker of flames will soon invite hazy twilights,
I implore you, O golden light, to hear my plea,
Reverse the clock's direction;
I've yet to face my reinvention.

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the ocean waves that never aims to pause.

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Are you a fashion / interior designer?

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that those hard times were not just lessons to be learnt but instead it was the water to grow stronger.

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Is to know when to hold on and when to let it go.

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