The dawn still awaits as we float in a slumber of tomorrow
Facing the darkness, the day grows bright, brighter until it cannot anymore.
While we stare at the nothingness of fleeting time, a poem awaits for its darkness to shine.
What if a poem is dead? And making it breathe, is futile.
You still blow the winds you sigh into its lifeless embodiment of dying wisp
For it to be a little dead even if dead is what it breathes.
My poems are dead. They still stare at me believing my sighs will nudge their deflated walls.
It still awaits while another day gradually faces darkness, fading for a while.
Poems never breathe. They suffocate. One breathe at a time. Awaiting your sighs into their arid diaphragm and you feel you are wanted.
You cling on for a while until you can no more.
Beneath the abyss awaits.
Staring. Starving. But mostly barren with silent stories of dried blood.
Fossilized one layer at a time before the nascent Era finds any poem worth a tell
There you let go off your last finger on the cliff.
Gravitating into the free fall of history, breathing only to breathe no more at the end.
There awaits your poem.
-
To my YQ fam,
😎 I saw you when you unconsciously smiled through the etched words of my quotes - (humbled)
😎 I saw you even when those words which ornamented your page filled my comment section with spring too ( blessed)
😎 I saw you when you peeped into my account to seek the truth I had seeked and tried to show in my quotes ( ecstatic)
😎 I saw you when you hyped my existence with your unadulterated love through the testimonials you dedicated. ( heaven-ed)
😎 I saw all of it but couldn't show you the source that prompted most of it... Yes It is the REST ZONE and if you are those I meant above, trust me you have more than five better reasons to follow and call it a family too. ❤️😊-
But my winter-smitten petals hibernate to thrive
To coronate my ruined tree-tower upon its restored height-
In an untamed night
of starless sky,
She's the shooting star,
a wish!
polar steam of
a clinging roof,
Melting remnants
of burning suns,
She would choose to fall
Like the shooting star
She would choose to embrace
the fallen glory.
-
They say, you die of age,
age borne of breaths
and you pant to create more of it
careful not to suffocate.
//Caption//-
The unstained shade of white
reflects transparent rainbow
it never owned
Often like a barren mother,
sheltering motherhood she never knew.
-
For now there's no more voids
In your dripping heart,
that poured the filled
Leaving a vacuum never to show
There were voids amidst the full.-
On days when my puerile unreality summons the sky
and realises there are impossibilities
She gravitates the floating sky
and brings me the possible sea.
She's indeed 'The Bridge' .
-