i feel
the grief of withered lavenders
on my skin.
dried. compressed. lifeless.

the chaos they whisper
being pressed between the pages,
in the midnight silence
wraps me in,
and i feel the rushing air around,
blowing me down
on the floor where
i was being compressed like a paper.

i feel
the misery, the weariness, the end.
i feel
how it feels to be lifeless
being living.
i feel
how it feels to be withered
and unloved.
i feel the scents of lovers
dying between pages
like an old lavender.

-

You incense like
redolent lavenders,
and Lavenders smell
like sweet home..

-

dipped in melancholy
my heart soaked all of it,
and
profuses the fragrances
of the unheard torments.
filled with grief
it is numb and cold,
nothing, but
a deepened hole.
i let you peep inside
so that you may see
the hurt you have grown,
and,
it doesn't smells
of lavenders anymore.

-

My poems smell of breeze
blowing past a lover
strumming soulful serenades
on moon for his beloved.

And I, miles away
dip my quill
in the incense of lavenders
blooming in his backyard.

-

Her poetries are lavender,
Words are Comforting,
Giving relaxation,
To the mind...

-