love... an infinite mirage ?
an oasis of what ifs, the hoping
coiled around withered souls
breathing a sense of
Illusion..?

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Ever felt essence of this four letter word
H O M E ?
maybe its where you
see happiest version of yourself
where your eyelids close
with lullabies of bliss..
bliss that moves to your bones
where your soul feel warmth
such as warmness of tender eyes
or in the pretty smile of quiet lips
whispering L O V E
without needing to speak♡

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It wells up in me
'til i lose myself bit by bit
until words drift towards canvas
and i paint what's there
and what is not~
nothing rests at an angle
at odds with symmetry
painting reality or is it a lie~
with every stroke I glide
and paint my poetry to you♡

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And the wind carries along
a whispered memory
on an empty stone bench
I sit, like a statue
a place of peace
everything around is green
but my head feels grey
I step into a
doorway of silence in which
another voice may speak!

-

I would drench in them
slowly soaking stardust
in my veins
forever illuminating
throwing sparks against
the endless night sky
with the beauty of the stars
from within

-

there's an aching heart
seeking refuge under the
mirage of hopeful words
there's an ounce of pain
between the heavy
rise and fall of
the breaths
longing for the wish
to be fulfilled..

-

What can grow in emptiness?
maybe some yellow verse
with roots of hope within
that shed layers of blue away
blowing through old bones
that works as an elixir
for a soul tired of being
tainted with sorrow

-

Behind every poem
there lies an ache of emotion
clung to each word written
wave of endless longing
little flash of happiness
some silent wars
and oceans of mistakes
floating forever lost..

-

an ache that spreads through everything
my body, my heart, my head
all hurt in tandem
being weighted down by
the bag full of expectations
even my arms feel heavy now
isn't it ironic?
how we grow used to
the burdens we carry..

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•Garden of poetry•

This is my secret hideaway
far away from the noise of this world
I dig and bury my feelings here
pour in lamenting metaphors to water
give them warmth of some blissful rhymes
strongly rooted in love and hope
it blooms to a delicate flower
petals tinted in zestful similes
waiting to be plucked
this is my secret garden,
weeds do not grow here
but poetry does

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