I went by a swerving line
the fidgety kind
it looped, all over itself
a word a time,
till the story didn't have a meaning,
a writer sits confused,
love wins the day,
rose colored tint quills
have their way!

-

SOMEONE

You are
salty as brine
sweet bitter lime into
on balmy days, shade wispy grey
tweet titter time passage
waspy in tone
you be.

Komal Sharma Gupta

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Silence, the dark truth of me
words let be
letters heave melancholy
find invasive, judged spaces
sing faces
disagree, in jealousy.

-

SOMEONE

You are
salty as brine
sweet bitter lime into
on balmy days, shade wispy grey
sweet bitter time passage
waspy in tone
you are.



#eintou

-

You are
salty as brine
sweet bitter as lime
on balmy days, shady Grey
sweet bitter as time
waspy in tone
you are

-

We be magic,
we be the music
we be the lines
we be letters
all jumbled up
we be words
made up
we be stories
we be the lives
intertwined
one blank space after another
a writer muses, twiddling a quill.

-

Time, a song
lyrics born of a moment,
stretch into hours, years, centuries
across elements,
harps of feelings, plucking at hearts.
Words echo across chasms of unending lines.

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Fibres inside a papyrus nestle words of yore, some deep in recesses of an enmeshed world, interconnected yet defiantly separate,
a few days , a few centuries apart
living lives on their terms,
disappear, come to light
as is their wont.
A writer muses, quill in hand.

-

A word stood its ground,
tethering on a line,
whiplashed, storm tossed
bare knuckled, stripped to its lettery skeleton ,
shivering, doubting, second guessing
its existence
the thoughts would never give up,
cruel in their deceit, a truth from others they would keep,
they kept at it, as in the past,
but the word stood steadfast,
not a nudge, nor a blow
would it let go of its shining light,
steady she goes, steady she goes
calm yet adrift, her destination is just a
beautiful thoughtful wish away.
:))

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There was the word,
stretched out across in infinity
the first letter pushing to be its own master, disregarded others,
the last letter sought newer pastures,
a metamorphosis of meaning coiled into its being,
the in-betweens, volcanic in their own right, never felt seen,but only pushed aside,
the war within wordy realms continues as words make up stories,
stories that make up truth, lies and all that in grey areas of life survives,
stories that drift in time's realms,
disheveled , make-upped,
words scatter, join forces and disband,
as the churn continues
mighty, haughty and hoity toity letters
rule with a careless hand,
clans with agendas bland,
a writer seeks to fix an impossible world,
a poet nudges, refuses to budge
from an imagination, soft, fragile
a pen's mighty fight
someone has faith, and smiles.

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