The clouds and rains that screamed at me,
are now one with the sea.
I find stories in nightmares.
Obstacles look like stairs.
Once just living felt like a dare,
but there's an echo to my prayers.
The shivering winter, the crying summer,
stuck in the centre of relentless gossamer.
But stars don't leave on the new moon.
The rains don't fail june.
Now the sun burns less every noon,
and my feet catch every tune.
The flowers that bloom on the birth of life,
are the ones that grace the dead on time.
And the sky still chooses to be blue.
The consistency of every new.
If the world maintained its hue,
I can too.
The yellow roses smell like flags of freedom.
Slaves escaped the ruthless kingdom.
My frozen nerves are free,
the helpless mind is a devotee.
There is beauty,
there's beauty in every asymmetry.
Everyday was a challenge,
every second was strange.
Dancing through the bad, singing through the worse,
like I broke the brittle mighty curse.
I sway on every terrible verse.
The scars still stayed when the wounds were nursed.
The shadows still loom around,
intimidating my ground.
But there's no fright.
The song of my heart is louder than the night.
The wrongs of the day are weaker than the right,
and there's only light.
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Thoughts of a Juvenile
PoetryWords are sharper than knife they say. Yes it is true. Some perfectly moulded good words can both make and break a heart easily. A poem is a group of such perfectly moulded words given wings to fly. They fly through the mind and heart easily. A hob...
